Page 125 of We Drank the Dawn

I was just like my mother.

Because Peter had always been my rising sun.

FORTY-ONE

Peter

Ilaid on my bunk with my air pods nestled deep into my ears. All the cowboys were fast asleep, but I couldn’t quiet my thoughts. Sarah’s voicemail greeting ran around my brain like catchy lyrics. The beat and lift in her voice. The rise and carry of her vowels. The smile in her tone.

“Hey, you’ve reached Sarah Thompson with Align Massage. If you’re calling about an appointment, please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Have a wonderful day!”

I’d left my nightly message hours ago, but her voice persisted like an eternal echo in my head. Try as I might to roll over and sleep, I heard her, whispering in my ear.

I didn’t know what the future looked like for Sarah and I. Everything in me wanted to hear her voice and beg her to forgive me. I wanted to wipe the slate clean and take our best shot at a new start. But, what if she never gave me that opportunity? What if she never called me back?

No. I dug in my heels. I could not start the what ifs.

They always wrecked me, and I was sick of being derailed by my fear. Somehow, someway I would orchestrate an opportunity to talk to her. I had to. When was the tricky part. How much time should I give her before taking a more aggressive approach in my communications? I had been helping with the riding schedule for almost a week. And the days were blurring by—I’d lost count. Our separation dragged on, ticking closer to a month.

I could send her an email. But that seemed so impersonal.

I liked the idea of a handwritten letter.

Maybe I’d start working on one and just ask her to call me. We could take it from there.

No matter how I reached out, one thing was certain: I couldn’t keep being passive. I didn’t want to lose Sarah forever. When this whole separation started, I thought splitting up would be best for both of us. But, Dad was right. I was growing here at the ranch. I’d accomplished so much.

I was riding horses, mucking stalls, stacking hay bales, helping my sisters at the bed and breakfast. I’d even gone on a trail ride a couple times with the guests. I’d bonded with Wren, mended my family relationships, and gotten to know my nieces and nephew a little bit. What Bea had said was true, too: everything I believed about myself was based on perceptions that were not real.

I could give Sarah a lot. Maybe not everything I could before.

But I could still give her all of me.

I wished I knew where her head was—what she was thinking, planning. Or if she wanted another chance for us. But there was no way of knowing until I talked to her. So, until then, I’d keep loving and engaging with the people around me, like my dad said. And keep working on me.

And when I got the chance, I’d give everything and hope it was enough.

Man, I missed her though.

A deep sigh slipped from my lips as I opened my pictures app and filtered to just videos. Because I’d had almost no opportunity or use for the camera app, I figured I hit videos of just Sarah and I within a few seconds of backward scrolling and began slowing to listen to the first few seconds of the audio on each video. It only took a few minutes to locate the video I wanted.

Sarah’s voice filtered through my AirPods and hit my chest like a knife, instantly recalling my visual memory.

“Here, Peter. Take a picture.”

Frantically, I tried to conjure up what she’d been wearing at Hollie’s wedding and how she arranged her hair. I wanted to say the dress was purple or red or something similar. And her hair was down, curly. I remembered it being over her shoulders.

She held up the little pink and blue bundle and grinned at the camera.

I said, “I’m taking a video actually.”

That made her grin stretch even bigger and she lifted her elbow to shower Wren’s tiny forehead in Auntie kisses. If I was remembering correctly, she waved me over, closer. “Get a close up view of her cheeks.”

We both laughed as I pushed the camera up to Wren’s little face and Sarah jiggled her cheeks with a quiet squeak of adoration. “I could play with these all day.”

Maybe I just imagined that I turned the phone toward Sarah’s face, or maybe the screen actually captured the way Sarah leaned up close to the phone as she whispered, “When can we have one?”

I listened to the audio on a loop—her precious voice petitioning me for a child.