Page 45 of The Sun and the Moon

Sydney

They’ve wrapped Pam in one of those silver foil blankets you always see people wearing after traumatic situations in movies.

She’s sitting on a bench by a row of hanging saddles, sipping a glass of tepid water.

The horse, a usually docile paint mare, is a few stalls over, eating some hay.

Dad and Greg are talking to the ferrier and the owner, trying to smooth things over considering Pam adamantly protested the fault of the horse, taking the blame squarely on her own shoulders.

“It’s big of you,” I say, dropping down next to her on the bench. She snorts. Her eyes still have this wild look in them. More like exhilaration than pure fear. “Taking responsibility like that.”

“I have to confess, sometimes I want to just go bananas and throw caution to the wind.” She takes a sip of her water, turning her warm brown eyes on me.

“I was sitting there on that saddle, trying to gently coax the horse toward the trail. The instructor was nearby calling out orders I should follow to ease the horse back into the direction we were meant to go, and I just snapped.” She releases her grip on the blanket to snap her fingers.

“I pressed my legs around the horse and said, Let’s go!

” She guffaws. “And she listened!” She shakes her head, grabbing me by the wrist. “Oh, it felt so good, so liberating.”

Her laugh is contagious, not just to me but to the horses in stalls nearby. Her horse whinnies, and Pam cackles.

“Sometimes you just gotta say screw it and let go,” she adds.

The screw it is so Pam, but the words land on me in a very personal way.

I wouldn’t usually consider myself the kind of person to read into every little thing happening around me as a sign from the universe.

But this week has somehow shifted my awareness, broadening the possibility in my imagination that I am not alone in creating the life I want.

There could be some force presenting me with guidance, not simply offering me choices.

These feelings about my work, Dad’s apology for dropping the ball, putting forth the idea that his losses eclipsed my own desires and forced me onto a path I didn’t actually choose, which I might not have taken had things happened differently.

Had he just told me that leaving his beloved career had been a choice, not a requirement, I might not have felt so bound to the path of pilot.

To following in his footsteps as a way to carry on his legacy.

Would I have tried to explore one of those other wild ambitions I had on my list through the years?

Would I have felt more grounded in my own life rather than rooted in the life we didn’t get to have as a family?

Us against the world. Could I have let others in? Could I have tried to fall in love? Could I have stopped carrying him long enough to heal me?

“I will say, the adrenaline rush made me hungry,” Pam says, glancing down at her water with new disdain. I grin.

“I’ll see if they’re ready to head back.” All these questions aren’t going to get answered in my own brain, and even if I do find some way to express them, they probably can’t all get sorted this weekend. But at least I have to try to bring this out in the open, not brush it under the rug.

I can do hard things. I’ve been doing them most of my life.

Why should this be any different?

I leave Pam on the bench and walk through the stable toward the office, which is on the other side of this row of stalls.

As I near the corner, amid the sounds of horses’ whinnies and hooves shifting in hay, I hear Dad’s and Greg’s low tones.

Alerted by the tension in their voices, I slow to peek around the corner before barreling into the mix.

They’re alone, no longer talking to the owner or ferrier as they stand outside the office doors together.

Dad is taller than Greg, but to me Greg has always felt more intimidating.

Not unlikable or mean-spirited, just more authoritative.

In charge, where Dad is happy to be a team player.

Greg has his hand on Dad’s shoulder in a way that reminds me of a coach talking to a player at a critical point in a championship game.

His face is stern; Dad’s expression is focused.

“I get that you’ve been digging out of this hole for a while now, and you’re trying to make all these big changes—”

“These changes are why I’m finally digging out of the hole, bud, you know that,” Dad cuts in, his tone friendly even with Greg’s intensity.

“And I’m glad to see it,” Greg concedes. “But you do have to understand how this whole weekend looks to Pam and me.”

I lean in as Greg’s voice drops in volume. My hand grips the curve of a saddle for support.

“I do, I do,” Dad says, nodding. He raises his arm to pat Greg on the opposite shoulder. “But the plan is in motion.”

“You’re sure of that?” Greg sounds skeptical.

“When have I ever lied to you?” Dad asks. It’s a loaded question, even if his tone is light. Greg releases his shoulder and barks a laugh.

“Ha!” he says. “We’ve been friends for over thirty years.” And I’m not sure if that means he’s never lied in those thirty years or he’s lied plenty but never so harmfully as to alienate his friend.

“Here’s to thirty more,” Dad says, clapping his palm across Greg’s back with a loud smack. The sound startles me, and my hand jolts from the saddle.

“Fuck!” I exhale the word in a loud burst as I lose my balance, falling forward and almost right onto the ground in front of them. I manage to course correct, whipping around and stumbling a few feet back from my current position.

“Birdie?” Dad raises his voice. Worry edges into the sound.

“Yeah, just tripped on my own feet,” I say, regaining my footing just as they come around the corner. When my eyes meet Dad’s, his look nervous.

Startled. Caught.

He’s afraid I heard them talking.

Whatever they were discussing, it’s connected to the speedy-fast engagement and the conversation he and Greg were having over text when Cadence was with him at Universal.

It’s not something big enough that Greg and Pam wouldn’t attend their engagement weekend, but it is putting a damper on the experience and does seem to have a time crunch.

“I was just coming to see if you were ready to head back,” I say, thumbing in the general direction where Pam still sits. “Pam said the adrenaline has her famished.”

Dad’s shoulders slightly relax. “I can relate.”

“I’ll go pull around the Denali,” Greg says, referring to his vehicle. He tosses Dad another look before walking away toward the barn doors that lead out to the parking lot.

For a second I just stand there, thoughts whirring.

This week has shown me just how little I really know my father, the man I’ve always thought of as my closest friend.

Trust is something I just granted him, happily, without really questioning.

I was glad to consider Moira a villain in my dad’s life, but I never thought maybe Dad was working his own angle and Moira could be the one who’s getting the wool pulled over her eyes.

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something. I’m saved by the sound of Pam rustling up behind me.

?Dad was noticeably quiet on the ride back, a rarefied event, and one that made me feel increasingly like I was in trouble even though I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I didn’t mean to overhear their conversation, and even if I did, Dad is keeping something from me that could be related to his decision to get engaged to a practical stranger and a definite con woman.

It’s not normal behavior for him, someone who is such an open book.

It’s calling into question that open book status.

Greg pulls up to the valet, and I mumble, “Thanks for the ride” as I shoot out the side door.

I don’t want to pounce on Dad without at least getting Cadence’s take on this news. We pinky promised we were in this together, and while this situation could well be something I need to handle myself—or talk to Dad about on my own—that doesn’t mean I don’t want her help.

I want her in this with me. Whatever this is.