Page 60 of Meant to Be

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There’s barely a hint of morning sunlight peering through my blinds when I hear the loud exhaust of a car. A door slams, and heavy footsteps climb the two steps up my porch before knuckles rasp against the glass of the front door, rattling the wall. I startle awake, my heart violently shuddering in my chest, before remembering where I am. Expelling a heavy breath, I groan and fling my arm over my head, hoping if I ignore the person, they will go away.

“Wake up.”

Squeezing my eyes tighter shut, I dig into my pillow.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up.” A loud voice calls from outside.

“Ugh!” I growl, flinging the pillow away and stomping through the room.

“What in fresh hell is this?” I snap at my grinning brother. “It’s not even six in the morning!”

“Hi, sister. I need a favour.”

“No.”

“I brought you a toasted sandwich and a coffee.” He raises his hands, and the aroma wafts towards me.

Snatching the brown paper bag from his hand, I step back into the kitchen and plop onto the seat.

“Why do you need a favour at this time of the morning?” I ask.

“It’s best to get work done before it gets too hot,” he answers.

“What kind of work?”

“I just need a second pair of hands to hold some things for me, and I thought of no one more willing or more helpful than my flesh and blood.” He slaps a hand down onto my shoulder, and I grumble, greedily reaching for the takeaway coffee cup and taking a long sip.

“Right.”

“If you could get dressed any day now, that would be great.”

I glower at him before pushing up from the bench. Rummaging through my drawers, I yank out the darkest jeans I can find. I throw on a singlet and pull my hair back into a ponytail.

“You’ll want to cover yourself up,” he says, staring at my bare arms. “It gets boiling out there.”

“I don’t really have a jacket I want to sacrifice,” I reply. “The red dirt gets everywhere.”

Sam shrugs out of the flannel shirt he’s wearing and tosses it towards me. It hits me in the chest, but I snake my arm out before it falls. When I slide my arms through, his scent washes over me, warmly giving me flashbacks to our childhood.

“I have another in the car I can use,” he says. “Ready?”

“Yep.”

I shove on my boots and we make the bumpy drive out to the farm. He pulls up at the stables and we get out, the fresh air billowing the loose bits of my hair around my cheeks.

“You can take Jamaica.” Sam waves to the stable near the back door.

I nod and walk over to the wall where two lead ropes are dangling from horseshoes my dad has tacked to the wood. I clip the lead to Jamaica’s halter and run my fingers down his nose.

“Hi there,” I greet him.

He nuzzles my hand before I swing the door open with a loud creak. I lead him to the corner of the stable where the bailing twine is, like I have a hundred times before as if I haven’t been removed from this life for years.

Sam and I unrug our horses in silence. The only sounds are metal clips clanging, Velcro unsticking, and the loud chirps from birds in neighbouring trees. Sam saddles my horse for me, and I nervously place my foot into the stirrup before swinging myself on.

“You remember how to ride?” He grins.