Page 18 of Touch the Sky

She looks at me again, and when our eyes lock, it’s like a raging river of questions bursts through a dam in my head, all of them churning and swirling as they surge together to form a single voice that asks:

Who is this woman?

“Uh, no,” I tell her. “No, I don’t mind.”

Chapter 5

Tess

Ishade my eyes with my hand and squint across the farmyard at where Shel and Jacinthe are leaning up against a fence. Shel is clutching a plastic bag stuffed with chunky carrots. I watch as Jacinthe mimes throwing something football-style over her head. Shel fishes out a carrot and copies the gesture, sending the vegetable arcing through the air to land straight in a plastic bucket in the middle of the pasture, where it’s quickly snapped up by Joaquin the donkey.

The two of them whoop and clap. Jacinthe offers her hand for a high-five, and Shel gives her palm an enthusiastic smack.

I find myself grinning even as I shake my head in disbelief. Shel doesn’t usually warm up to people this fast. It was one of my biggest worries about moving her to a new school. She’s only ever had a handful of friends, and they’re all kids she’s known since kindergarten.

I wish she felt safe showing more people this side of her: the silly, rambunctious, animal-loving adventurer with more questions about the world than I could even begin to answer. Somehow, Jacinthe doesn’t seem to have had any trouble coaxing that version of Shel to the surface.

“They look like they’re having fun.”

Gabrielle steps up beside me after pulling the house’s front door shut.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “Shel is loving this.”

We watch Shel launch another carrot missile into the field. This one misses the bucket by several feet, but Joaquin trots over to gobble it up anyway.

It’s late enough that the sun has started sloping towards the horizon. The light streaking the pastures is shifting from pale yellow to burnished gold. I can smell wood smoke from a distant bonfire in the air.

I’m hit with a rush of that same sensation I got driving through the mountains today: like every problem in my life has been stretched out wide across the sky, pulled into strands so taut I could reach up and pick apart every crooked seam to sew something new for myself, something solid and strong.

“Does she ride horses?”

Gabrielle’s question jerks me back to the present. We’ve moved to stand on the edge of the farmhouse’s covered front porch, which is scattered with mismatched rain boots, old soccer balls, and a couple cozy wooden rocking chairs with gingham cushions that look perfect for enjoying a crisp fall evening with some hot chocolate in hand.

“Oh, yeah, a little,” I answer. “Horses have always been more my thing than hers, but she loves a trail ride every now and then. She’s crazy about animals in general, though. Especially cats. God, every Christmas, Santa gets a very long letter with bullet point lists of all the reasons she’d be an excellent mom to a kitten.”

We both chuckle.

“Ben là, I can’t guarantee kittens,” Gabrielle says, “but we do have a few barn cats she is welcome to play with, and she can go along on any trail ride she wants if there’s a spare horse. You too. If you want the place, you can both ride as much as you want.”

“Oh, that’s way too generous.” I drop my hand to my side and turn to face her. “Of course we’d pay you if we ever want to go out for a ride.”

She clucks her tongue and waves off my protest. “Pas du tout. Just call it a perk.”

She’s already offered me plenty of those. She’s willing to give me a six month lease to start off with, so I can figure out if the location is going to be compatible with my job and Shel’s school schedule, and she’s fine with me taking up half the driveway with the farrier rig even though the lease only includes one parking spot.

It’s a lot to consider from someone I only met a few days ago, and it’s not like I haven’t considered stranger danger, but on paper at least, the whole arrangement sounds perfect.

I’m half-expecting to walk into the back of the house and find a raging cockroach infestation. There’s got to besomethingwrong with this place.

Before I have a chance to call Shel over, Gabrielle lifts two fingers to her lips and lets out the most impressive whistle I’ve ever heard. I can’t keep from gawking at her as the sound echoes through the property, making Shel, Jacinthe, and every grazing horse within sight turn their heads.

“My special talent,” she says with a laugh.

We trudge up the well-worn path running along the side of the house and meet Shel and Jacinthe at the entrance to ‘the back,’ as it seems to be known.

There’s a simple platform made of graying deck boards that leads to a plain white door set in the house’s dark brown siding. Gabrielle fishes a key out of her pocket and leads the way inside.

“Sorry it’s a little stale in here. I keep forgetting to crack some of the windows open. It’s clean, though. We gave it a good scrub when Yvon left.”