Page 52 of Broken Cedar

Chapter Fourteen

Iwake up and the first thing I think is: Tomorrow. Not Colt’s arm across my waist or any of the thousand small things that usually pull me from sleep. Just tomorrow, sitting in my chest like a stone.

I lie there, staring at the ceiling that hasn’t changed. But everything has, because tomorrow exists now in a way it didn’t yesterday. Yesterday it was theoretical. A date on a calendar. Something that would happen to some future version of myself who’d handle it better than I ever could. Current me handles it by not moving. By staring at the ceiling and counting my breaths and wondering if I’ve made a mistake.

I throw back the covers and dress slowly. Jeans. T-shirt. Socks that I actually match for once in my life. Then head downstairs to the kitchen.

Mom is at the stove, humming something under her breath. Colt sits at the table, one hand wrapped around his mug, staring into space. He looks up when I come in. His mouth does that not quite a smile thing, and then his eyes drop back to his coffee.

“Morning,” Mom says when she notices me.

“Morning,” I say.

“Eggs are almost up.”

I pour coffee and sit across from Colt as Mom slides a plate in front of me. Eggs, toast, bacon arranged in a pattern that suggests she’s been thinking about presentation. Mom only arranges food when she’s feeling sentimental.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

She nods and turns back to the stove. I push my eggs around my plate.

“The new fence is holding up pretty good.” Colt says, his voice carefully neutral. “No breaks overnight.”

“That’s good,” I say.

“Hay delivery’s coming Monday.” He takes a sip of coffee. “Eighty bales. Might need help stacking.”

I look at him but he doesn’t look back. Monday. The day after I leave. He’s talking about a Monday I won’t be here for, and we both know it, and neither of us is mentioning it, and the not-mentioning is the loudest thing in the room.

Mom sets a jar of blackberry preserves on the table between us. The preserves Colt made from the blackberry bushes by the creek. I stare at the jar, at the homemade label in Mom’s handwriting. Something about the jar makes my throat tight.

“I need to check the north paddock today,” Colt says. He’s looking at me now. Asking without asking. Come with me. One more day. Please.

I shake my head. “I think I’m going to spend some time with Copper today.”

Colt’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth. For a second—just a second—there’s a tightening around his eyes. A stillness. Then he nods. “Sure.”

Mom is washing a pan at the sink, her back is to us. I can’t see her face but I can read the set of her shoulders. She heard. She knows what that means.

I finish my eggs but I barely taste them. Colt stands, carries both our plates to the sink for Mom to wash, and then he’s grabbing his hat from the hook by the door.

“See you later,” he says, not looking at me.

“See you,” I call after him as the screen door swings shut behind him.

I take a deep, heavy breath, then grab an apple from the bowl on the counter and head for the door.

“Have a good morning, honey,” Mom calls after me.

“You too. I’ll be back for lunch.”

Outside, the air is already warm. The kind of warm that means noon will be punishing. I cut across the east paddock to find Copper. I find him under the cottonwood, head lowered, dozing in the shade. He lifts his head when he sees me and his ears flick forward.

“Hey, buddy,” I say. My voice comes out smaller than I meant it to.

He nickers and tries to reach for the apple in my hand. I let him take it. Watch him crunch through it, core and all, the way he’s always done. His muzzle is frosted white. His eyes are clouding at the edges. He’s old. So much older than the horse I left behind.

I climb through the fence rails and drop to the dirt on the other side. Copper presses his nose against my chest, exactly where he used to, and I wrap my arms around his neck and breathe. Copper nickers. His breath is warm against my neck. I close my eyes and let myself, for one impossible morning, belong exactly where I am.