Page 125 of Heartland

“Yeah. Sure.” But we both know it would be really difficult for me to stay in Vermont on my own. I can’t afford to.

“I feel terrible that I wrecked your Christmas. I was just so excited about the ranch.”

“It’s okay,” I say listlessly. “I’d rather know what you’re planning.”

“Sleep now,” Leah says. “Maeve will probably wake you up at six.”

“Okay,” I promise. “Night, Leah.”

“Night, sweetie.”

* * *

I don’t sleep, though. I lay awake for hours.

At some point I get up and root around for my phone. There’s a new text from Dylan.Would you please call me?

I’m feeling just crazy enough to do that, but now it’s one in the morning, and if his phone rings, it might wake up half his house.

Another half hour passes. I finally throw off the quilt and stand up. I’m being stupid. I spent the whole day not talking to Dylan, because I didn’t want everyone to know that I’m having sex with him, and that he’s probably going to break my heart.

But Leah had guessed anyway and now she knows the truth. And right this second IneedDylan. No matter what happens later, I just want him to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay.

So I start getting dressed. Wool socks. Jeans. A turtleneck and a thick sweater. I grab my wallet and phone and tiptoe downstairs to put on my coat. On my way through the kitchen, I stop to scribble a note for Leah.Took a midnight walk to see D.

She won’t approve, but tonight I don’t care.

With a hat, boots, and mittens on, I set out into the night. The snow has stopped, and the moon has risen. If you haven’t walked on a snowy night in the moonlight, you couldn’t possibly understand how bright everything is.

It’s only two miles, and the temperature is in the twenties. I’m not cold at all. There’s not even a breeze.

I cross Isaac’s cow pasture, which hooks around behind Griffin and Audrey’s bungalow. It’s brighter here than it would be on the road. Since the snow is new, it’s completely untracked. I reach the edge of the Shipley orchards before I see evidence of another living creature, in the form of deer tracks in the snow.

It’s funny how safe I feel right now. In theory, I could end up face to face with a bobcat or a pack of coyotes. But Isaac has only seen a bobcat twice in the ten years he’s lived here, and coyotes are noisy.

I’m not afraid of the dark, and I’m not afraid of the nighttime. People are far more frightening. In my experience, they do their worst in broad daylight. Right to your face.

I love the silence as I plod past rows of apple trees, their gnarled branches bare, reaching up toward the sky like bony fingers. I love everything about this place. And what’s more, I fought hard to be here. I got on a bus in Casper with every cent I’d saved up, and when I ran out of money in New York State, I hitchhiked the rest of the way here.

I’m not going back. It’s just that simple. I’ll tell Dylan. I’ll ask his advice. Even if he doesn’t love me, he’ll still help.

We’ll always be friends, right?he’d said.

I can’t see the farmhouse until I get past all those apple trees. Finally, I’m crossing the meadow, passing the tractor shed, and then the barn.

Getting into the house should be easy. I know there’s a key under the doormat. I also know they don’t usually bother locking the kitchen door.

There’s a motion-detecting light that comes on as I approach the back door. As I blink into its brightness, I have my first moment of hesitation. I know I’m welcome in this house, but not necessarily at two in the morning.

Welp. I’ll just have to be very quiet. I unlatch the screen door and try the doorknob.

The door swings right open.

See? It’s a sign. I quietly remove my boots, and then tiptoe through the kitchen toward the staircase.

Everyone knows that if you don’t want the stairs to squeak, you have to stay at the edges. So I pick my way up the treads, my toes on the far right side.

The hallway upstairs is dark, but not too dark to find my way. Dylan’s room is past the bathroom on the left. There’s still a sign on the door he made when he was a kid. NO SISTERS. I can’t believe it’s still there, and it makes me smile.