Page 86 of We Drank the Dawn

I gave a reluctant nod. “Yeah.”

“That’s manure. So, now that you know you got some, reach back and dump it.” He let go of the tool and rapped the side of the wheelbarrow to help me determine its location.

I slowly turned, swinging back with the fork, hovering over where I suspected it was. “Here?”

“Yep.”

I dumped the contents of my fork.

“There. Now shut up so we can get this done.”

To my embarrassment and annoyance, Cooper’s instructions had helped and I was able to find manure using his tactic. Every couple feet or so, I stopped and shook the dry chips out of my scoop and, before I knew it, even my stiff hands had loosened and we were moving to the next stall.

Pretty soon, I had a pattern.

Step, scoop, shake, dump.

After the constant stress of navigation and learning yesterday, being able to autopilot hit my nervous system like a slushie on a summer day—instant relief. My shoulders fell a few inches and my breathing evened out. My chest didn’t feel as tight. And, finally, my mind wandered.

Today was my second day working the ranch. Time had warped in my head. Long yet short, days yet hours.

I stood by the fact that I needed some space from Sarah in order to think things through, but the way I got it? Man, I ached for a redo. Nothing was supposed to happen like that. If I could go back and do it all over again, I never would’ve picked up that first beer. I never would’ve said those terrible things. I never would’ve betrayed her.

She gave me her wedding ring and said she would leave my stuff in the garage. Did that mean she wanted a divorce? Was she serious about moving back in with my parents? Did I need to get an apartment? That would be almost impossible without a job. Or should I just stay at Meadowbrook? I grimaced at the idea of working indefinitely as a ranch hand.

But I didn’t know what to do.

The entire time I worked with Cooper, my brain replayed that awful conversation. My cheek tingled as I remembered the slap, and the hateful comment that caused it. I was an idiot.

It didn’t take Cooper and I long to muck out every stall. While he wheeled the wheelbarrow out of the barn to dump the manure, I washed my hands in the farm sink which made the open blisters on my palms burn like fire and then I stuck an airpod in my ear and used my screen reader to check my phone. Only one notification got a click.

It was an email update from Google Sheets with the subject line, “Sarah made changes to the Sarah’s Live List.”

As soon as my reader read those words aloud, my heart jumped into my throat. Sarah did a list item without me? No way. She’d never done one without me.

I knew what that list meant to her. It was her life. The life she’d put on hold while I floundered for so many months. And the life she returned to the moment she was rid of me.

See? She’s fine, I told myself. She’s doing exactly what you wanted her to do.

With a shuddering breath, I rubbed my left pec and tried to breathe through the conflicting feelings constricting my airflow. She was out there living and being happy—that was good, right? That was what I wanted for her.

A glutton for torture, I opened the email notification to figure out what she checked off.“Go 80 mph on a motorcycle.”

A motorcycle? With who?

She uploaded a picture to the pic or it didn’t happen column, and I tapped my screen reader to get some narrative about the photo. But, of course, the internet connection lagged and silence permeated the hallway where I waited for Cooper to return. Frantic, I tried again. Then again.

And when Cooper came back into the barn and urged me to the next task, I couldn’t move.

“What’s wrong now?” He snapped.

“My phone’s not working.”

“So? You don’t need it to move bags of feed.”

I shook my head, unable to communicate my worry. “Can you look at this picture for me?”

“Can it wait?”