That's not the same kind of man Todd is.
I sit down on the porch swing with my tea and I let the angry part of me settle one degree.
Just one.
I'm still angry. I'm going to be angry for a while, but I'm not angry at the man across the yard.
* * *
Nash comes out around six-thirty in his dinosaur pajamas with Stitch under his arm and his hair sticking up in three directions.
He climbs onto the porch swing beside me without a word and notices the empty rail in about half a second.
"Where'd the picture go, Mama?"
"I don't know, baby."
"Was it pretty?"
"No. It wasn't pretty."
He thinks about that for a second. "Then I'm glad it's gone."
I kiss the top of his head and tell him to go get dressed because I’ve got to get over to make the brothers their breakfast.
He hops down off the swing and pads inside.
A minute later I hear him singing some made-up song about a dog who can drive a tractor.
I’m still angry, but I need to do something with my rage.
Once Nash is dressed, we head over to the bunkhouse kitchen. It’s the cleanest it’s been in a while.
I move through it like second-hand nature.
Biscuits in the oven. Bacon in the cast iron. Sausage gravy on a low burner. Eggs cracked into a bowl, ready to scramble when the first boots hit the porch.
I tie my apron tight enough that it pulls against my waist and I push my sleeves up to my elbows, and I work, because anger is easier to manage if you give it somewhere to go.
Banshee comes in first, sees my face and opens his mouth.
I look at him.
He closes it, sits down at the table and pours himself coffee in silence.
Spur comes in behind him smelling like a mixture of manure and sweat, takes one look at the silence and at Banshee's face, and decides today's not the day to test the waters.
He sits, reaches for the biscuit basket and doesn't say a word.
Blight slinks in last, like always.
I bring out the platter. The brothers serve themselves. The kitchen is quiet in a way the kitchen is rarely quiet, and it's quiet because I’m not being my normal, bubbly self. I don't apologize for it.
Rogue comes in with his white hat on.
He reads the room, notices my face and oddly doesn't say good morning.
He just walks to his seat at the table, hangs the hat on the back of the chair, and sits.
