Page 7 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

ENTER MARIBELLA, THE CHICKEN

Beckett

“Right there! There’s a spot closer to the exit, behind the red bike. I can walk; you don’t need to go all in!”

Cassandra picks up her backpack and places it over her thighs before glancing at me again. It’s some kind of pink mess she’s had since her first year at Sainte Madeleine, personalized with cool Star Wars pins and a starfish keychain.

I snort lightly, and she narrows her eyes at me with suspicion. Truthfully, my reaction is not meant to be derisive or mocking. It’s just… She’s insane if she thinks I’m going to make her walk all the way to the gates.

“I’m dropping you off by the gates, or I’m not dropping you off at all.” I turn the steering wheel to the left, maneuvering the truck through the parking lot.

My tone sounds serious enough, and she doesn’t question me. Cassandra grins instead, her upturned nose twitching as she does so.

She’s so cute.

“What do you mean by not dropping me? Are you bringing me to work with you?”

“Only if you’re not afraid of walking on cow poop.”

My lips pop around the last word, and her enthusiasm fades, replaced by a devastating look of disgust on her face instead.

“I thought you’d know how to avoid all the poop by now.”

“I do, but I’m just guessing that you don’t.”

“So much for being a farmer.”

I throw her a quick, curious glance, feeling a little surprised that she even remembers that I work at Well’s farm.

“You’re keeping tabs on me, Rivera?”

“I do like to know things,” Cassandra answers simply, not giving me much information at all.

I lean my head back against the seat while also slowing the car down.

The parking lot is empty, and I’m assuming Cassandra is walking into class a lot later than she was supposed to do today.

I try not to stare as she blindly reapplies her lip gloss next to me.

She smacks her lips together twice, making loud sounds before looking at me again.

I release the pedal and force the car into a full stop.

“Do I look crazy?”

My answer is as honest as it can be. “You look pretty.”

Cassandra likes to keep an effortlessly beautiful kind of look that probably makes other boys think that she doesn’t do a lot.

I know the real deal.

I mean, I lived with my sister for seventeen whole years of shopping for hours just to find the right kind of concealer—the one that’s not too yellow, too red, too dark, or too bright.

I also sat through enough rounds of getting fitted for the perfect black dress to be able to tell when a girl is careful about those things; Lucia had her first date with Antony a few days after her fourteenth birthday. It was kind of a big moment for her.

Cassandra’s hair does look exceptionally voluminous today, but it’s not a bad look by any means. A few gold strands are thinner and shorter, slipping out of her ponytail to frame the sides of her round face. The color of her eyes reminds me of chamomile tea and honey, warm and sweet.

Something about the way her mouth is shaped, how her Cupid’s bow is softly undefined, makes her painfully beautiful to look at.Nobody can deny that, not even me. It’s a good thing we don’t see each other every single day, or else it’d become a fact increasingly harder to ignore.

“You really think I’m pretty?” Cassandra asks, sounding honest-to-God surprised by my answer.

“Yeah, I do.” I look away, catching sight of her flaming cheeks with my peripheral vision. “Will you take my jacket with you?”

“I really shouldn’t,” she answers and tries to take the jacket off, but I stop her, catching her wrist.

“I want you to,” I insist, staring at her.

“But it’s yours.”

“You’re right, it’s mine. And I don’t want you to get cold in class,” I explain, thinking of how Mrs. Yun likes to keep her windows open all the time.

Cassandra avoids my gaze, a smile trying to break through.

She’s cute.

“Alright, Becky. Thank you.”

I let her arm go, feeling the tips of my fingers itch.

“You’re welcome.”

“And thanks for driving me.” She opens the door and gets out of the car. “I really owe you.”

“Don’t say that,” I smile, rolling my eyes at her.

“Or what?” Cassandra stops by the door in an act of sudden bravery, leaning back inside the car. “You might finally ask me to repay you this time around? Yeah, right.”

She winks at me and closes the door really quickly before I can respond.

What a silly girl.

I watch my neighbor as she runs up to the school gates, her ponytail swinging behind her like some kind of adorable cartoon character.

Unaware of my staring, Cassandra holds my jacket over her head, the only thing protecting her from the rain falling from the sky.

She stops in her tracks, trying to skip over muddy puddles.

Something tells me I’m not getting that jacket back.

My phone starts to ring, and I pick it up, fighting the grin off my face.

“Yes?”

“Hi. I need you to stop by the store and pick up some hot glue again… Beckett? Are you listening?”

Well’s voice echoes through the speaker, rough and tired, and I blink myself awake. He has a thick accent and nasal intonation, always over-pronouncing every syllable when he speaks. We balance each other out because I feel like my words come out slurred half of the time.

“Sorry.” I turn the truck on again. “I was, uh, dropping my neighbor off at school.”

“Cassandra Rivera?”

“Yeah. Uhm, her brother overslept, or something.”

Well hums in understanding, “Good. She’s a kind girl.”

I might have grown a soft spot for her since we were children, but Cassandra is more than just kind.

She is the nicest neighbor one could ever ask for.

She doesn’t make any noise, and gives me my mail back when ours gets mixed up.

She even walks Pepé back to my house when he escapes to hers and asks for food, like I don’t feed him enough already.

Her parents don’t deserve her. I know firsthand what it feels like to be a child of neglect, left to sink or swim, without any help. It fucking sucks, and Cassandra has a family who doesn’t seem to give a shit about her.

Her father might be the school’s principal, but he is rarely ever around. Her mother is some kind of religious freak, always stuck at church praying for God’s second coming like she has some fucked-up shit to repent for, and her brother…

Clearly Nathaniel Rivera only ever cares about himself and his own shadow.

“Right.” I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. “I’ll be there in forty minutes, an hour in the worst-case scenario. Hopefully the rain will have stopped by then entirely, but ring me up again if I don’t show up soon.”

“Alright.” Well chuckles, his voice cutting. “See… soon…”

“The line is cutting, Well. I’m going to end the call now.”

I throw my phone towards the backseat of the car.

The screen immediately cracks.

***

“Get Maribella for me!” Well yells, awkwardly running after me and the poor chicken who refuses to let him get any closer. “Get her!”

I hide my giggle by looking at the ground, combing my hair back with my fingers when it starts getting in my eyes.

“I’m trying, sir!”

Rain is pouring down strongly now. My rubber boots are drowning in bright green grass and red mud. I don’t even want to check what’s going on with my sweatpants right now. I really need to get that haircut soon. That, and stop using all my clothes for work.

“Grab the bag.”

“Here it is, son.”

His head is almost entirely bald, but the sides are covered by a few gray chunks of hair. The strands look soft and damp as he takes his cowboy hat off and hands me the plastic bag.

Wesley Monteiro managed to hurt himself really badly a couple of years ago. His left eye was left blind after a nail accidentally fell on it while he was fixing a window.

Lucia found out about the accident through a friend of a friend and harassed me for days until I agreed to send him a gift.

Out of everything we could have purchased, she bought him red Ray-Ban sunglasses.

Well rightfully so called her out for being an entitled little brat—it’s how we all became friends.

“Don’t hold her too tight,” he warns.

“I’m not,” I promise, watching as the sky gets darker.The poor weather makes working on the farm a real nightmare. I can’t get anything done if it keeps on raining for days like this.

“Boy, watch your hands!” he yells, sounding angrier than before.

Well rushes behind me, urging me to move faster. Maribella, our New Hampshire chicken, is too agitated for something that’s supposed to be sick. We’ve been chasing her for what feels like hours, and she won’t let us catch her.

“Don’t squeeze my chicken!”

His voice is so loud that my ears feel like they’re about to explode. I wince, making a big step towards Maribella.

“I’m not going to squeeze her!” I yell back, planning to get Maribella as soon as possible.

The ideal would be to not run after her because it’s definitely stressing her out, but it’s getting late, and I need to drive back to town if I want to get her to the vet on time.

Around us the trees are bigger, and longer.

The length helps to protect the grounds from all the water that’s falling, but clearly not enough.

My old t-shirt is drenched, sticking to my back in a way that feels totally overstimulating.

I have only the smallest urge to rip it off, but I don’t like standing half naked around my boss. It feels very impolite.

Well saw how lost I felt after I got out of high school.

He hired me to help him out. I mostly look after the animals: cows, chickens, pigs, or anything else he decides to buy or adopt.

I even like the job at times, but the truth is, improving my farm skills is starting to come second now.

I’m far more interested inOld Well’s other skill: carpentry.

The man can build anything. It’s really impressive and exciting to watch him work his magic, figure out how to fix something, and know which materials to use. He is a great teacher too, the kind to make you want to be half as good as he is.

I want to be able to create something out of nothing with my hands and with my effort.

Something real, something that can be held.

Others may think of it as too simplistic or not prestigious enough, but it sure as hell makes a lot of sense to me.

Well is going to teach me how to do that, and I am going to learn.

“We need to drive this one to the vet.”

Well tells me after I catch the poor thing with my bare hands, gently trying to hand-feed her treats to get her to calm down. Maribella is not having any of it though, and when my hand gets too close, she tries to bite me.

“We should get a cage for things like this,” I suggest, knowing Well doesn’t have any lying around the farm anymore.

“You have to buy one at the shop,” Well states, now trying to get a good look at her. “She’s egg-bound.”

Maribella squeaks angrily, her little black eyes glaring at him for exposing her very private situation.

“She’s such a fussy one.” I shift her in my arms until I’m certain she’s sitting in a more comfortable position.

The chicken closes her eyes, wincing with pain as I pet her sides. I begin to frown while glancing at Well, who is now too busy massaging his back like he was the one to put in all the effort.

“Did you try soaking her in warm water first?” I kiss the top of Maribella’s head. “She’s all swollen.”

“I did last night.” He pauses, scratching his chin. “And then she escaped from the old cabin before I could check on her again.”

The old cabin is where we keep all the chickens together. It looks exactly like it sounds: like an old cabin.

I keep petting her stomach gently, massaging her muscles, and speaking to her with a reassuring tone. “It’s okay. I’ll take her with me now, then. You’re going to be okay, sweet thing.”

“Don’t forget to bring back the fruits I spared for you.” Well waves his finger at me, like I’m a kid who doesn’t want to behave. “Look at you, barely keeping one eye open. Ai, you worry me, boy. You need to eat better if you want to work around this farm.”

“I’m fine,” I try not to smile, knowing he means well. “Don’t worry about me.”

With the chicken secured inside the truck, I wave to tell Well goodbye for the day and start to drive away from the farm.

Narrow pathways are all I see ahead of me, and making sure the truck doesn’t get knocked by a tree branch or a wild animal takes time.

I don’t exactly mind it, since I have a lot on my mind to think about.

Maribella doesn’t seem to be getting better, though.Halfway there, she starts making these pained noises. It worries me that she is alone in the passenger seat, so I end up stopping to check up on her, just to see if she’s still okay.

“Stay put, alright?” Maribella gives me the nastiest glare before cocking her head down, unamused. “Alright, I get it. Scream all you want. I am not scared of you, you know that, right?”

She squeaks one last time before shutting down, clearly unimpressed by me.

The rain finally stops once we reach the city, and after a day outside under this terrible weather, it feels like such a breather that I even allow myself to relax a little.

Dropping Maribella off at the vet ends up being a very dramatic ordeal.

The chicken is very unhappy about how cold the office is, and like any sick animal, she doesn’t want to be poked and prodded.

“She’s in for a long night,” he warns me as he checks her vitals. “But I can promise to give you a call with more updates in the morning.”

“Fine by me.” I pet Maribella’s head, but end up wincing when she tries to bite me again. “Hey, fuck off!”

The vet smiles and says, “Be nice to her.”

“But she’s not very nice to me!”

“Because she’s in pain.”

Maribella glares at me like she deeply agrees with that statement. I decide to ignore her for once and leave not long after.