Page 27 of Crystal Iris #1

Twenty-Two

“The heart of man is very much like the sea; it has its storms, it has its tides, and in its depths, it has its pearls too.” – Vincent van Gogh

I wake up feeling refreshed from an early bedtime.

When we got back last night, I struggled with what to do.

I could have stayed up; Hoyt and I could’ve hung out, but I knew what I’d be risking.

So, I told him goodnight and walked to my room, making sure to lock the door.

I needed a barrier. Not from him—it was myself I didn’t trust.

As I walk downstairs, I can already smell the food.

What I find is the opposite of what I had in mind when I told Hoyt I wanted pancakes.

I thought I was asking for something simple, an easy meal.

Instead, in front of me are stacks of round cakes filling the counter, each with a different flavor.

An array of fruits, creams, and jams surrounds every plate. I couldn’t even choose one if I tried.

Hoyt is casually sipping his coffee, completely dusted in flour.

“Hoyt, did you make all these?” I wonder what time he woke up.

“I couldn’t decide, so I made them all.”

“Hoyt! You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. ”

I walk closer to a stack topped with strawberries and cream. I’ve never smelled anything so good.

“I gotta go, the vet is waiting for me. Enjoy.”

He walks away, leaving me alone with all the food. I dip my finger into the cream and taste it. A loud moan escapes me. His cooking is going to be the death of me. So much for getting in the best shape of my life. I eat until I can’t anymore.

I text him: If you lose your money, you can always open a diner. Those were the best damn pancakes I’ve ever had.

We’re still waiting for the lawyers to do their job. It’s out of my hands now, I remind myself every time I start to worry.

He sends a smiley face in reply.

I’m recovering from being extremely full when I decide to take a walk. I need to burn those calories, even though I know only a marathon could do that.

Spring has transformed the ranch since I last saw it.

The heat has brought in more wildflowers.

I recognize the bee balms, daisies, and lilies—but the rest of them, I don’t know the names of.

They’re lovely, each very different yet belonging together.

Wildflowers have a different kind of beauty; it’s like they fight to grow, to take their place in the chaos of nature.

No gardener’s hands planted or pruned them.

They came up on their own, and that’s how they’ll stay.

I sit on the grass, letting myself be surrounded by them.

There’s something about being connected to the earth that makes me feel different.

I take off my sandals and spread my toes, letting the grass fill the spaces between them.

I close my eyes, letting my body experience everything—the wind, the sounds, the smell of the earth, the distant hum of life around me.

Just like I did in meditation, I sense everything, listening to it all.

I open my eyes and notice there’s no one here—only nature. The spot I chose to sit in is far from the house, the barn, anything man-made. I feel like the butterflies around me—part of the world, nothing more, nothing less.

I lie down, but the sun becomes too bright. I roll onto my side, using my hands as a pillow. My prism pulses when it touches the dirt.

What about the earth below me awakens the necklace my mother gave me?

I want to know more. I sit up, and the prism slows its pulsing.

I lie back down, and it responds by increasing its presence.

I repeat the same motion twice, and again, the prism reacts accordingly, increasing and decreasing depending on how close it is to the earth’s soil.

I understand nothing about this occurrence, but at least I have someone to discuss it with. Perhaps his prism does the same thing.

I haven’t seen Hoyt all morning. After my walk, I took a shower and enjoyed a glorious nap. When I wake up, it’s almost three in the afternoon. I’m just now getting hungry after my morning feast. I need something light.

I open his fridge and realize I’ll be eating his food for months.

I need to help somehow—maybe with the groceries, or the bills, something.

I know he doesn’t need the money, but I can’t stay for free.

Not for that long. I see Broc outside the kitchen window, pulling something with his truck that I don’t recognize.

I walk out to meet him.

“Hey, how are you?” he asks, glancing my way.

“Hi! I’m good. Did Hoyt tell you I’m staying for the summer?”

“Yeah, yeah, he was acting like it’s Christmas morning, couldn’t stop smiling, even when the vet talked about worms.”

I smile at the thought of him smiling because of me .

“I was wondering, is there something I can do around here? Like work?”

“Do you mean teaching?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Something to help around the… ranch?”

Broc looks at me like I have two heads.

I explain, “I need to… feel useful.”

“Well… you could help with the horses,” he finally says.

“Could I?”

“I think so—brushing, washing, feeding, that kind of stuff. But I think Hoyt won’t let you.”

“He’s not my boss.” I realize he’s his.

He swallows.

“I’m sorry, I mean, he told me to do whatever I wanted, so… will you show me? What to do?”

“Sure, how about tomorrow at six?”

“Six in the morning?”

“We start early around here.”

“Six is great. See you then.”

I walk back into the house, realizing what I’ve just committed to. I need something to do around here besides reading and eating my share—or two—of Hoyt’s food. Horses — I can do that , I tell myself, grabbing an apple and heading back to my room to read about them on my computer.

I hear a knock on my door an hour later.

“Come in.”

Hoyt walks in, completely covered in mud.

“What happened?”

“Blackwater has a… sense of humor.”

I would have loved to see whatever mess he’d gotten into .

“We’re having a bonfire tonight by the lake. Want to come?” he asks.

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Broc, Sawyer, and I think Sawyer’s new girlfriend.”

“Sounds… fun.”

“Okay, see you in a couple of hours.”

He turns to leave.

“Hoyt,” I call after him.

He comes back.

“Does your prism do anything when you’re close to the grass or dirt?”

“What do you mean?”

“I swear mine responded to it.”

“Not that I’ve noticed. I’m starting to think they’re all different.”

“Maybe.”

“See you later?” he asks.

“Only if you promise to shower first. You smell like horse,” I tease him.

I can tell he wants to tease me back, but instead, he just laughs and walks away. I wonder how much he’s holding back. The tension between us is different now that we know we can touch each other. The possibility changed everything.

“Iris, look at me,” Hoyt says as we walk toward the fire. “Please, stay far enough from it, okay?”

“I will. It’s not like I have anywhere to go, though. You’re right here.”

“Seriously, will you be careful?”

“Yes, I’ll stay far away from the fire.” I raise my hand to my forehead, as if to salute his orders .

He rolls his eyes, but I know he’s right.

Broc is sitting in a fold-out chair, drinking a beer. He passes me one as I sit down next to him.

Sawyer is on the other side with his girlfriend, sitting on a blanket. He says hello and introduces Hoyt and me to April. Her long braided hair falls to one side of her shoulder. She looks shy; I barely hear her voice when she says hello.

A tall, strong fire burns within a circle of large stones, casting light between us.

Hoyt takes the seat next to me, and I take a sip of my beer. I can’t help but make a face.

“Not a beer fan?” Sawyer asks me.

“It’s so… light,” I reply.

Broc laughs while rummaging through his cooler for something.

“We’ve got stronger stuff,” he says, passing me a flask.

I take a sip. “Wow. What is this?” The liquid burns hotter than anything I’ve ever had.

“Moonshine,” Broc replies proudly, lighting up his blunt.

“I think I’ll take it back—beer is fine,” I say, passing the flask back.

I hear Hoyt laugh as he walks to his truck.

“Here.” Hoyt hands me a bottle of whiskey.

“Do you always carry alcohol in your car?” I ask, watching him take a sip of his beer.

“I brought it for you. I know what you like,” he tells me.

“You just want to get me drunk,” I tease him.

“Shit,” Broc says, laughing at Hoyt.

“Shut up!” Hoyt tells him, laughing too.

The night is perfect for a fire—just chilly enough with a clear sky. I can see more stars here than I’ve seen in my whole life. Even with the light of the fire, they shine brightly above us.

“So, do you guys do this often?” I ask them all.

“We used to, all the time, growing up. Now… not so much,” Sawyer says, smoking a cigarette. April and Hoyt take one from the pack he offers. They motion if I want one; I shake my head no. The whiskey’s enough, I tell myself, taking a sip straight from the bottle.

“So, what’s the craziest story you guys have? Growing up here, you must have so many,” I ask, glancing at the three men.

“You don’t want to know,” Hoyt says, looking at the fire.

“Broc?” I look away from Hoyt, trying to catch Broc’s eye.

“Okay, I’ve got one. It was Hoyt’s fifteenth birthday, and we decided to steal a bottle of liquor from his dad.

We were stupid enough to think we could drink and ride horses at the same time.

We rode all the way to the east mountain, over there.

” He points. “We tied the horses up by the trees and sat by the river. It was still daylight when we got there. All four of us were used to riding there all the time. No big deal.” He pauses the story to take a sip of his beer.

I realize Luke must’ve been the fourth. “We almost drank the whole bottle. Had no idea how strong it was. Up until then, we’d only had beer.

A few hours later, we realized we were stuck there. No way we could ride back.”

“When my father found us, we were still puking our guts out,” Hoyt says, crushing his can and tossing it to the ground near his truck.

“Next time we stole a bottle, we stayed local,” Broc says, winking.

There’s music playing from the truck, but it’s the crackling of the fire that takes my worries away.

“I’ve got one,” Sawyer says, sitting a little taller.

“It was Fourth of July. Broc bought a ton of fireworks—too many. We were lighting them off until we realized something had caught fire. We looked back to see Broc’s sweatshirt burning on the ground.

He freaked out and dumped his cup on it.

But Broc never drank water in his life. The alcohol just made the fire worse.

We all had to rush in to put it out while fireworks were popping overhead.

Those fireworks almost went off right there. We got lucky that night.”

“I almost lost my truck that night. Not my favorite story, Sawyer,” Broc says, throwing his can.

“You almost lost a toe,” Hoyt retorts. “You guys are making us sound pretty dumb.”

I laugh.

Hoyt takes the bottle from my hand, and our fingers barely make it without touching.

“This is very nice,” I tell him. “Being outdoors.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, and I have to take a few breaths to slow my racing heartbeat.

I watch them all sing along and joke around as the fire crackles. I realize I’m feeling happy. Or drunk. Probably both.

“Do you have any stories for me?” I ask Hoyt, taking another sip.

“One night I was outside, in the back of the house. I’d had another fight with my dad.

I was trying to figure out if I should apply for college—I was the only one not doing it.

He kept telling me I didn’t need to go. That I was needed here.

That we were rich enough I could just hire people with degrees.

He said I didn’t need one myself. I was pissed.

I wanted to go, like all my friends, even if it was only for the experience.

And then I heard a sound coming from the barn.

It sounded like a scream. I ran there. I was almost there when I heard it again.

I ran faster, realizing it was my sister screaming.

When I got closer, I saw Broc sewing Johanna’s hand.

She had cut herself on a barbed wire. She’d been out late by the river with them.

Broc was already good at patching us up.

I’m sure she could’ve waited to go to the hospital, but I’m still grateful for all the times you guys saved me and my siblings’ asses. ” He lifts his can to them.

I watch Sawyer’s gaze lock on the fire. Hoyt had mentioned the history between his friend and Johanna .

“What he’s forgetting to tell you,” Broc says, “is that there was no scream.”

I look at him, confused.

“Jo never screamed. She was in pain, but she didn’t want her dad finding out she was out late. I remember that night well—she never made a sound. It was Hoyt’s sensory thing that alerted him… that she was hurt.”

I turn to Hoyt. “Sensory thing? You mean…?”

“He knew when I got in a car crash, he knew when that guy in the bar had a gun... he even knew when his father died,” says Sawyer.

“You never told me that your… sixth sense does this,” I say, looking at Hoyt, trying to figure out why he never mentioned it.

“Because it’s not something I even understand,” he replies.

“I don’t know how to explain. It’s a freaking curse, that’s it.

” He grabs the bottle from the floor next to me and takes a long sip.

“That’s enough stories for tonight,” he says, standing up.

“You guys can put it out.” He looks at me, silently asking if I’m coming too.

“See you in the morning,” I tell Broc on my way out.

“What’s in the morning?” Hoyt asks, shutting the car door.

“Nothing.”

He looks at me.

“You should’ve told me about you knowing those things—sensing them,” I say.

“Why?” We’re both a little tipsy.

“Because I trusted you with all my stuff. All my prism’s stuff.”

“You knew about the sensing shit. I told you.”

“You didn’t say you knew things, you didn’t give me any… examples,” I say, shutting the car door a little too hard when we arrive at the house.

“Iris,” he calls after me.

I stop and look back.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I... I don’t like talking about it. ”

“I need honesty, Hoyt. If we have any chance of...” I don’t let myself finish the sentence. Instead, I turn and walk away, heading to my bedroom.

I need to be up in a few hours for my first day of work at the ranch. What the hell did I get myself into?