"Can I ask you something?" she says.
"Yep."
"How long have you been here?"
"Seven years."
"And before that?"
I pull a support stake that's come loose in the tomatoes, reset it, press the soil firm around the base. "Vancouver. Finance."
A beat. Then: "Huh."
"What."
"Nothing. Just." She tilts her head. "You don't seem like someone who was infinance."
"No." I move down the row. "That's the point. What about you?" I say. "Before this mountain adventure."
"Marketing director." Flat, no affect, the way you say something you've decided doesn't own you anymore. "I was good at it."
"I believe it."
She glances at me. "Why?"
"The way you look at things. You're building a picture of everything. Have been since you got here."
She scoffs, and then giggles. She’s not really offended. "That's annoying."
"It's accurate."
"Both things can be true…. I quit. Or — I was about to be pushed out and I quit first. Same week the relationship ended."
I don't fill that space with any sort of words. She doesn't need me to.
"I booked Silver Ridge because I read about it once and I needed a name to drive toward," she says. "That's it. That's the whole plan."
"It’s enough. You're here," I say. I move to the next stake. "Just living day to day is usually enough."
She's quiet for a moment. Then: "That's either very zen or you have very low standards."
"Bit of both."
She stays until dark without either of us verbally agreeing to it. When she finally says she should go she checks on the rabbit one more time first. Then, she goes. I watch the dust from the gravel road until it settles.
Then I pick up Burl with both hands under his hips, the way I've done it every night for two years since his back legs started going, and carry him up the porch steps. He leans his whole weight into my chest. Heavy and warm and certain of me.
I sit down with him and look at where her car was.
The last time a woman stood in this yard was Claire, my ex. She'd tried. I believe she meant to. But the farm asks something specific of you and she wanted the idea of it more than thereality, and by February she was already gone in the ways that matter and March just made it official.
I don't blame her. I saw it coming before she said anything. You can tell when a person stops being curious. When someone stops asking questions about your life, they've already started leaving. They just haven't said so yet.
Sloane had asked questions all afternoon.
That's just how she is. That's just the kind of mind she has. It doesn't mean anything.
Burl sighs. Puts his head on my knee.
