Page 2 of Touch the Sky

“You must be…Jacinthe?”

She stumbles over the pronunciation of my name in that annoying way all the tourists do, and then she lifts the corner of her mouth in an apologetic grin.

It’s a cute grin, a little goofy even, and it seems to take a few years off her face. She can’t be much older than me, but she’s got slight crow’s feet fanning out in dainty little creases from the corners of her eyes. Now that she’s standing closer, I can see the purple half moons of someone who hasn’t been sleeping well for a long time.

I blink and then clear my throat.

“Ouais,” I say, planting my hands on my hips. “J’chusJacinthe.”

I put an extra strong Québécois twang on it, and I can feelMamangiving me some side-eye.

“I’m Tess,” she says, lifting her free hand in a wave.

“Tess is taking over for Léon.”

I turn toMamanwith my mouth hanging open. “Taking over?”

“Tess says Léon is retiring before he gets his next back surgery. Isn’t it nice that she’s helping him out?”

Mamanlooks straight past me to beam at Tess like she’s as angelic a sight as Nana.

“Sorry for the lack of heads up,” Tess says, scuffing at a bit of gravel with the tip of her heavy work boot. “I was supposed to come along to all Léon’s appointments today so he could start introducing me to his clients, but his back was acting up real bad, so I offered to go out alone so he wouldn’t have to cancel everything.”

I can’t keep myself from squinting at her. That doesn’t explain how Léon plucked an Anglophone lesbian farrier out of the mountains of rural Québec.

“I’ve shown your mother all my qualifications and some photos of my work,” she says, mistaking my gawking for doubt. “I’m happy to show you the same, and I completely understand if you’d rather wait for a day Léon can come oversee things himself.”

“Pas du tout!” Maman protests, stepping over to grab Nana’s lead. “Your work looks wonderful, Tess. We’re lucky to have you here.”

Tess gives her that same goofy little smile from before. “Merci, Madame Gauthier.”

She sounds like one of those Ontario politicians on TV with their strained, prim classroom French, butMamanjust laughs and then asks where she’d like Nana to stand.

“Maman, non,” I protest. “I can do it. You’re supposed to be up at the house.”

She tries to wave me off, but I can see the way she flinches with every step, her jaw clenched behind her smile. She’s putting on a brave face for company, but she’s in just as much pain as this morning.

I ball my hands into fists as my pulse raises like I’m about to fight something, but just like always, there’s nothing to fight. There’s nothing to scare off and chase away. The pain isinher, and no matter how much I try to help from the outside, she has to fight it alone.

Multiple sclerosis is a real bitch like that.

“Va t’en,” she teases, telling me to get lost as she flicks the end of the lead rope at me. “I’m okay. The sunshine feels good, and I want to hear more about the lovely Tess. Besides,ton bêtehas escaped again. You need to go catch him.”

“What?” I bark, whipping my head around to try and catch a glimpse of ‘my beast,’ which isMaman’s name for the donkey I made the mistake of rescuing from an animal shelter a few years ago.

I thought he could be a fun addition to the farm. People love donkeys. I was going to let our trail riding customers feed him carrots while we get the horses ready.

That was before I realized Satan lurks in his cold, evil heart.

“He’s behind the barn,” Maman says. “I tried to get him myself, but he’s too fast for my legs. You go. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

I hover for a few seconds, but when she snaps the lead at me again, I sigh and turn to face the ‘lovely’ Tess. She’s standingwith her hands in her pockets like she’s waiting for someone to give her the go-ahead.

“I have to go catch an ass,” I announce. “I’ll be right back.”

She presses her lips together to smother a laugh that makes her cheeks balloon out like a chipmunk.

“Uh, good luck?” she says.