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“You can tell them all apart?” I ask, surprised. At dinner the other night, it’d sounded like they have lots of cattle, hundreds of them at least.
He shakes his head. “No, Mark and Brody can, but they go by numbers.” He points to the tag on the cow’s ear that says 178. “I’ve made friends with a few of them, though. There are a few different places I like to sit when I’m working on a song, and some of the cows are curious. They’ll come right up and sit down next to me, mooing for scratches like a dog.”
“The goats did that!” I say, smiling. Slowly, I raise a hand and scratch Maverick too. The cow moos loudly, and I jump, but a second later, I realize it’s the cow version of encouragement and do it again.
After a few minutes, Bobby asks, “Can you float?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve tried,” I say, trying to think back. Maybe when I was a teenager? Since then, my water activities have been more along the lines of lying beside it than in it.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me through the water.
We go deeper until the water reaches his chest and my chin before he picks me up again.
“No,” I squeal, kicking and grabbing around his neck.
He laughs. “I won’t. I’m gonna hold you so you can float. Trust me.” His face is serious, and I believe him that this isn’t a setup to throw me again. Slowly, I relax, and he guides me back, one hand low on my spine and one at my shoulders, and I float. Nervously, I don’t let my head go too far back, not liking water in my ears, but I like the feel of his hands on me a lot.
“Relax. I’ve got you, Willow. Take a deep breath and look at the sky above you. Blue infinity, white puffs that look as soft as cotton. Listen. Hear the wind and the cows. Feel the water caressing you, cooling your skin. Breathe, be heavy in the water, in my hands. Let me hold you up.”
I listen to his rough voice, almost meditative with calm, quiet, soothing tones, doing as he says . . . the sky, the wind, the water, and finally, him. I am in tune with everything around me, especially Bobby.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but I can feel stress and worry pouring from me, being washed away by the spring water. I feel reborn, renewed, like I breathe deeply for the first time in a long time.
I’ve been burning the candle at both ends for so long, I think I’ve forgotten that there once was a candle. I just work, work, work, slinging beer or taking pictures. And answering questions from blog readers, finding new subject matter that excites me and them, and doing what I can for everyone else. In this moment, I feel free. I feel like me.
Standing up, I find the soft bottom of the pond and look up to see Bobby watching my every move with focused attention. It warms me even more than the sun on my skin.
“Thank you,” I say simply. It’s not enough, but I don’t know how to thank him for helping me reset, not only from Unc’s anger and injury but from so much more.
“My pleasure, sweetheart.” It sounds like he means it, and as he leads me back to the blanket, lifting me to sit in the sun, I consider that Bobby is a caregiver like I am. He takes care of the farm, his family, and now me. But who takes care of him?
I will.
It’s who I am.
We lie in the sun, letting it dry us. I’m acutely aware of every inch where our skin touches, cradled in Bobby’s arm, his fingertips dancing along my skin in that pattern I saw him playing on the bar before.
“What brought you to Great Falls, Willow?” he asks huskily.
I should give my standard answer—that I needed a change. But Bobby deserves more than that, much more. Some of it’s not my story to tell, but I can share a little and keep promises that have been made.
“Unc.”
He’s silent, waiting for more. I sigh, knowing this will be hard to explain, especially since I don’t understand it all myself. I was just a kid, after all.
“I don’t know how much you know of Hank’s younger days. I’m not really sure how much I know either, to be honest. But apparently, he had a girlfriend once. It was serious, like a proposal kind of serious. He enlisted to give them stability, a future, I guess? But when he came home, his brother had moved in on his girl. They fought like brothers do, arguing and punching and insulting one another. But it didn’t matter, the damage had already been done. My grandfather, Harold, married the girl. She was my grandmother, really sweet. I have memories of her making Christmas cookies with me, playing dolls, and coloring on huge sheets of construction paper she’d hang up on the sliding door to let the morning light shine through.”
