Page 5 of Written in the Charts

CHAPTERTHREE

Evan

The pitchfork sank into the hay easily, spearing it so I could lift it and place it into the feeding trough and break it up. Derek had hired me on as a farmhand when I came back from Afghanistan, when my heart was crushed, and I had no place else to go. It was because of his support that I made it through the difficult transition back to normal life. I owed him so much, so helping out now even long after my need for the extra income had passed was just as much about payback as it was friendship.

“I can’t tell you how much it means for you to keep coming around. Once you got stationed at the base and went back to work full time, this place was a handful. I had Peter, but man, did I miss you.” Derek wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his sleeve. It was warm for May, already in the mid-nineties and not even peaked for the day.

“No problem. I enjoy working with the animals. Did I ever tell you I was going to be a vet?”

Derek looked up at me in surprise. “No way.” His sideways smile as he sipped from his water bottle made him dribble water onto his chest, which he ignored.

“Yeah. I was going to take veterinary science, but my girlfriend at the time didn’t get accepted to the same college. I didn’t want to go without her.” That was only half the truth. The other half was that my dad had died, driving me away from this place as fast as I could leave. It still hurt being back and feeling powerless over my own life.

“I never knew that. Well, it’s great that you can come help out around here. Maybe you’ll go back to school once you retire from the army.” His voice faded off as he turned with his pitchfork and began dragging straw out of a stall.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, forcing me to drop my pitchfork and wipe my brow. I wasn’t expecting a call from anyone, so I knew it was personal long before I pulled the phone out and saw Misty’s number. I thought I’d given her good enough reason to never call me again the day I beat the shit out of her boyfriend right in front of her, but she hadn’t learned her lesson. She called about once a month asking me to come back to her, claiming she’d made a mistake.

I wanted to ignore it, but I knew what would happen if I did. She’d continue calling every ten or fifteen minutes until I got so upset I answered. That would lead to a shouting match, and I didn’t want that in front of Derek, so I swiped right and answered the first time, hoping I could keep my cool.

“Yeah, what?” My tone was cold, and I avoided looking at Derek on purpose. I didn’t need his judgment right now.

“Hey, baby.” Misty’s soft croon annoyed me. She used to call me that when she wanted something and she knew I didn’t want to do it or give it. “I miss you. I thought we could talk.”

“Now’s not a good time.” I eyed Derek, who glanced at me and then focused on his work again. Misty had no reason to call me. We had no business with each other anymore at all.

“Baby, I miss you. Can you come home? I said I’m sorry a thousand times.”

Her whiny tone made me want to shout, but I tried to keep my calm. I turned my back on Derek and took a few steps away so he wouldn’t hear the rest of our conversation.

“I said, now’s not a good time. And I’m not coming home.”

“Evan, please. This is getting ridiculous. How long will you keep playing this game? It’s been more than six months. We have a wedding planned, and a life together.”

The way she took a sharp tone with me didn’t sit well. I had done nothing wrong. She was the liar and the cheat. I had been serving overseas when I came home and found her pregnant with another man seated at my dining room table. She acted innocent, but when it was all said and done, the police were dragging me away in cuffs and a court martial meant I was removed from active duty temporarily while they did an investigation.

My commanding officer at the time was generous, and even though I was charged with conduct unbecoming, I was restationed here in Yellow Springs rather than being sidelined completely. I had no interest in going back to her. I lost too much over that incident to have it happen all over again.

“What on earth possesses you to believe we are still getting married?” I could feel my top about to burst. My voice was several notches louder than it had been only moments before. She had a way of doing that to me. “I don't want to marry you. I don’t even want to talk to you. I tried to tell you to fuck off a long time ago.”

“Evan. If you don’t start treating me nicer, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Stop calling?” By this time, I was shouting so loud the birds in the rafters of Evan’s barn flew out. A few horses that lingered by the trough hung just outside the window had their ears turned back, and one had walked away. “Good. I don’t want you calling me to begin with. It’s over, Misty. What don’t you get about that?”

In usual fashion, Misty’s voice turned from snarky snapping at me to pleading. “Evan, baby, please. I said I’m sorry a hundred times.”

“And I’ve said it’s over a hundred times. Stop fucking calling me.” I hung up, seething. This always happened to me when I spoke to her—or any time I felt any strong emotion, for that matter. I knew my temper was an issue. I just didn’t know how to not get angry. And in this case, why should I try to stay calm? What did it matter?

“Hey, you alright?” Derek had ceased his activity. I turned to face him. He stood with the pitchfork in hand, a look of concern etched on his brow. I wasn’t the sort to talk about my feelings, so I shrugged.

“I’ll be fine.” Picking up the pitchfork I had set down as the call came in, I thrust it into the straw, but in doing so, I snapped the cord that had it bound, thus breaking the bale open. Straw spilled out onto the ground. I got angrier, stabbing the bale again, trying to pick up what remained of it and only making the mess worse. To top it off, once I got turned around with the remnants of the bale on my fork, I realized I hadn’t even mucked out the dirty straw.

I got so angry I threw the bale, pitchfork and all, into the dirty stall with a loud growl of anger. The handle of the pitchfork slammed against the sidewall of the barn, startling the horses, who whinnied and ran away. I saw Derek move too, in my periphery. He set down his fork and walked over toward me, and I stood with my chest heaving, glaring at the broken bale of straw like it was a murder victim and I the murderer.

“You don’t seem okay.”

Derek wasn’t military, so he had no idea what I was going through. How could he expect me to open up and be all loosey-goosey with my emotions when I’d been trained for the past eight years to shut them down?

“I’m fine.”

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