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I step inside Dancer’s stall again, patting the front of her leg so I can inspect her hoof for rocks. I take a second to check all four and then Rege’s before I decide they’re all set for the night.
The other horses are waiting with their heads over the stalls for dinner. I take my time, lingering as I fill their troughs. Training Day watches with big brown eyes as I scrub my hand down his neck. No one rides him anymore, but I’ll take him through the paces tomorrow.
Several minutes have passed, and I realize Reanna hasn’t returned. I wonder if she got lost in Hugh's big house or if she thought I might meet her there. I could text her, but I figure I’ll go and find her instead, say hello to Norris if he’s around.
The sun is on the horizon, a full, red-orange sphere outlining the landscape in glowing yellow. I imagine Hana could turn this into a photographic work of art if she were here, if she hasn't already, as I slowly stroll up the breezeway towards the house.
The back door is unlocked as always, and I step into the large, empty kitchen. Only the small lights under the cabinets are illuminated, and I scan the area looking for any signs of Reanna.
Finding none, I make my way down to the small bathroom on the short hall separating the kitchen from the open living room. The half-bath is dark, and I continue, wondering where she might be.
I realize she could be waiting for me at the Jeep, and I place my hand on my phone to text her when my eyes catch a shaft of light coming from an open door on the next hall between the living room and Hugh’s large conservatory-greenhouse.
I’m sure it’s Norris cleaning or straightening Hugh’s office, and I figure I’ll say hello and be sure he knows I’m checking on the horses this weekend. I pull up short when I round the corner and see it’s Reanna, sliding her fingers over the spines behind Hugh’s desk, pulling a thin book out and reading the cover.
“What are you doing here?” At the sound of my voice she lets out a little yip and throws the book in the air.
It makes me laugh, and I walk over to pick it up off the floor. “If that’s not a guilty response…”
“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” She places a hand on her chest.
Straightening, I notice papers spread across the oversized, carved-oak desk. “That’s what you get for snooping.”
“I wasn’t snooping.” Her laugh is wobbly, I assume from getting caught. “I was just looking at this beautiful old house, and I wandered down the hall and saw all these gorgeous books and I guess…”
“It’s okay.” I walk up to put my hand on her waist, sliding the slim volume of the poems of T.S. Eliot back on the shelf. “I didn’t know where you were.”
She pushes her hair behind her ears with trembling hands, and her eyes fall to the desk. “I’m not sure where I am.”
“Well, be glad Norris didn’t catch you. He’s the one who protects all of Hugh’s things, and he is not very forgiving about books going missing. At least he wasn’t when I was a kid.”
“I noticed he has this.” She walks over to the opposite side of the room and slides a hardcover edition ofThe Sorcerer’s Stoneoff the shelf.
Joining her, I take it from her hands, inspecting the pristine sheets of the unread book. “He has all of them, I think.”
She reaches up to cup my cheek before kissing me again. She’s been doing that a lot since our ride, and I like it. I like it so much, I shove the book back in its place and catch her around the waist.
“I have my own copies now, too.”
Her eyes light with her smile. “I know, and they’re well-read, unlike these museum pieces.”
“How would you know?” I give her a squint.
“I mean… I imagine them that way.” She drops her chin, circling her finger around the button on my shirt.
“Come on, crazy.” I take her hand, leading her out of the office and back to the kitchen, ready to show her my place.
“Numbingthe pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.” We’re propped up on pillows in the center of my bed, boxes of grilled bologna sandwiches and mac and cheese from Slim Harold’s in Hamiltown on our bedside tables.
I’m reading Dumbledore’s famous lines fromThe Goblet of Firealoud while Reanna leans against my chest listening intently.
“That’s so true.” Her voice is soft, musing, and I lower the book.
“What are you thinking about?” My fingers are threaded in her long, silky hair, and I’ve been running them down her back as I read the story.
We came back here after a brief pit stop in town for dinner. Slim Harold’s is a knock-off of a popular dance bar in Myrtle Beach called Fat Harold’s. The menu is the same, including their signature grilled bologna sandwiches, and the old-timers go there to shag dance on the weekends.
We got an order to go and came back to my place after dark. “It’s better to see it from the inside out the first time,” I assured her.
