Boone is sitting a few feet away, watching him. When he sees me, his tail wags, but he doesn’t bark again.
Seth turns and sees me. He pauses, his hand on the iron handle.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I reply. My voice is scratchy.
“You’re up early.”
“Thirsty,” I manage. “The tap is dry.”
He nods, gesturing to the barrel. “I’m filling the stock tanks. The water heater is busted. This is the only pump that works until the power stabilizes.”
I walk over to him. The barrel is half full with water that looks clear and cold. I eye the ladle hanging on the side.
“Can I help?” I ask.
Seth raises an eyebrow. “You should be resting. Maggie said the treatment would knock you out for twelve hours.”
“I’ve done nothing but rest for three days,” I say. “I feel useless. Let me help.”
He looks at me for a moment. He scans my face, checking for signs of fever or collapse. He must be satisfied with what he sees because he shrugs.
“Okay. There are buckets by the door. We need to fill them and carry them to the stalls.”
I nod. I grab two buckets, heavy plastic, scratched from use. I dip them into the barrel, filling them halfway. Cold water sloshes against my wrists.
We work in tandem, carrying the buckets into the barn. The smell of hay and horse is strong. It’s a comforting smell. It smells like home.
We set the buckets inside the first stall. The horses nicker, nudging us for treats.
“How are you feeling?” Seth asks. He wipes his hands on his jeans.
“Better,” I say. “The fever broke. I just feel… groggy. And thirsty.”
“Here.” He dips a clean tin cup into the barrel and hands it to me.
I drink deeply. The water is freezing. It slides down my throat, cooling me from the inside out. I drink until the cup is empty, then hand it back.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
We go back for more water, falling into a rhythm. Pump, carry, dump.
The work is physical, repetitive. It grounds me. It makes me feel like a person again, instead of a patient.
“Grant called this morning,” Seth says as we walk back to the pump.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He’s thrilled that the quarantine is lifting. He’s already on the phone with the committee.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the fair is back on,” Seth says. He gives a small, tired smile. “The one that was on the verge of being canceled. Rodeo, craft stalls, pie contests. The whole thing. Reinstated.”
“That’s good news,” I say. “For the town.”
