A Walk in the Sun

  “I think I feel sick,” Rose said as they made their way to the big open field to watch fireworks.

  Bodhi laughed. “You did it to yourself.”

  “Hey!” She punched him playfully on the arm. “You ate as much as me!”

  “Yeah, but I’m not complaining about it.” He surveyed the field, dotted with blankets and picnic baskets as people settled in for the fireworks. “Any idea where you want to sit?”

  “I usually sit over there.” She pointed to the right, far enough outside a bank of trees that they could still see the fireworks, but at the edge of the crowd.

  “Looks good.” He headed that way, carrying the bag Rose had packed even though she must have told him a hundred times that she could carry it.

  Rose knew just about everybody in Milford, and they all wanted to see how she was doing as she and Bodhi picked their way through the crowd. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t bother her. It felt good to be part of something, to know there were people out there who wanted her to be okay. She introduced Bodhi to Marie and her daughter, Clementine, and was surprised to realize Bodhi already knew Mrs. Rand, the town librarian. They stopped to talk to Allison, the woman who owned the flower shop in town, and again to speak to Maggie Ryland.

  When they finally got to the spot near the trees, Bodhi reached into the bag and took out the blanket Rose had packed, then spread it out on the ground so they could sit. Rose removed two water bottles and handed one to Bodhi.

  “This is a nice spot,” he said, looking around. “Will the fireworks be over there?” He pointed to the clearing left of the trees.

  “Yep. You’ll get a perfect view, I promise.”

  “Well, good. Because you do not want to see me when I haven’t had my Fourth of July fireworks.”

  He said it with such a straight face that it took her a few seconds to realize he was kidding.

  “No wonder you and Marty get along,” Rose said. “To hear her tell it, she just couldn’t go on if she missed the fireworks. And now she’s not even here.”

  “Am I wrong to smell a setup?” Bodhi asked.

  “Not wrong at all.”

  He sighed, and she thought she heard a smile in it. “I see.”

  She turned her head to look at him. “Sorry.”

  He met her gaze. “It’s not so bad.”

  Time seemed to stretch and thin, almost to stop as she looked into his eyes. Then the lights in the field went out and the music started, followed by the first of the fireworks. She kept her head tilted to the sky, but her mind was on Bodhi. On the way he looked and the way it felt to have his long legs stretched out next to hers, their shoulders only inches apart as light exploded in the sky over their heads.

  Twenty-Six

  “Isn’t it weird to think we don’t have to go back to school?” Will spoke from beside her on the bank of the pond.

  It had been two days since Bodhi had showed Rose how to restrain and feed Buttercup. Two days during which she’d thought about Bodhi almost every waking minute, remembering the feel of him behind her on the calf, his arms wrapped around her, the only two minutes in the last ten months that she’d felt really safe. She forced herself to focus on the feel of the sun on her body, the sound of Will breathing next to her.

  “Speak for yourself,” she finally said.

  “I’ll go to community college eventually, too,” he said. “There’s no rush. It’s not like it’s going anywhere.”

  “True.” She said it, but she couldn’t imagine it. Bad enough to stay in Milford doing the same thing day after day, seeing the same people (not that she didn’t love them). At least going to school meant there would be something more to her life. Something to learn. New people to meet.

  “When does Bodhi leave?” Will asked.

  Rose laughed, her eyes still closed. “He just got here.” She sat up, shading her eyes from the sun as she looked at Will, stretched out on the bank of the pond in his swim trunks. “You don’t like him very much, do you?”

  He plucked at the wild grass near his leg. “Don’t know him.”

  “It doesn’t seem like you want to either,” she said.

  He shrugged. “He just seems a little . . . comfortable, that’s all.”

  “Is he supposed to be uncomfortable?” Rose asked. “I mean, this is his home for the summer. I want him to be comfortable.”

  Will’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting hers. “Do you like him?”

  She looked away, busied herself with lip balm to avoid Will’s eyes. “I don’t know him either. Not really. But I like him well enough.”

  “Do you guys . . . you know, spend time together?” he asked. “Like, hanging out when you’re not working the farm?”

  She heard the too-casual note in his voice and knew he was fishing. She looked at her phone, hunting for an excuse to leave. She didn’t want to talk about Bodhi with Will.

  “I have to get back,” she said. “It’s almost time to bring in the herd.”

  “Isn’t that what Bodhi’s here for?” Will asked.

  The challenge in his voice annoyed her. Why was he suddenly questioning her about Bodhi? Being friends didn’t give him a right to stick his nose in her business.

  “I don’t just sit around watching Oprah all day because we have one person helping out on the farm.” Rose caught the annoyance in her voice and tried to soften her tone. Will was more than a friend. He was like a brother. “You know how it is, Will. It’s not like you don’t have to work just because you have hired help.”

  He stood, sighing. “I’m sorry.” He looked into her eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She bent to pick up her towel.

  When she stood, he placed a hand on her arm. “He’s going to leave, Rose.”

  She smiled. She was going for carefree, but it didn’t feel that way on her face. “I know that.”

  “Just . . . don’t get attached, okay? You’ve had a rough few months.”

  She was suddenly angry at him. Angry for reminding her of a loss she could never forget anyway. Of making it seem like she wasn’t even entitled to this one moment of possibility. Even if he was right—and she knew he was—it felt crappy.

  “Nothing’s going on, Will. He’s hired help. Period.” She looped the towel around her neck. “I have to get back. See you later.”

  “Text me,” he said to her back.

  She didn’t answer, just kept walking, a mixture of anger and loss winding itself through her body like a summer storm. She hurried through the orchard, anxious to get back and change so she could saddle Raven in time to herd with Bodhi. She’d come to enjoy it, the moments they rode side by side on horseback. Sometime in the last couple of weeks, their silences had become comfortable, the tension between them mellowing into something that felt almost like familiarity.

  It was nice to have his company. Nicer than she wanted to admit.

  She caught sight of her dad in the garage on the way to the house and raised an arm in greeting. He raised one back, and for a split second, she felt like everything was okay. That’s how her grief had started to feel; if she looked at it from a distance, it was a little out of focus, almost manageable. It was only when she came too close to it that she remembered how bad it was.

  Pulling open the screen door, she dropped her stuff on the bench in the foyer and clattered up the stairs to her room. She took off her damp suit so she wouldn’t have wet marks under her T-shirt, then pulled on her cutoffs and ran back down the stairs.

  She’d made good time, and she decided to take a quick look at Buttercup before saddling Raven. They were rotating the herd to keep the fields fertile, and today the cattle were in the small field between the two barns. She stood at the fence, scanning the animals for Buttercup. She saw the other babies playing in one corner of the pasture while the adults looked on, but she didn’t see Buttercup, not at first.

  Finally, she spotted the calf against the fence at the far
side of the field. Why was she lying there? It was true that she hadn’t fed as well since the day in the barn with Bodhi, but Rose was sure she was getting some milk into the animal.

  She hopped the fence and strode toward Buttercup. The other animals started bawling at her, moving in closer, thinking she was going to feed them. She fake lunged at them and said, “Get!” to make them go away. Then she turned her attention back to Buttercup.

  The calf was lying with her back up against the fence, kicking at her belly. Rose could tell even from where she stood that Buttercup’s stomach was round and hard. It only took her a second to turn and start running.

  She raced across the field, scrabbled over the fence, then ran full speed into the barn.

  “Bodhi!” she called out. “Are you in here?”

  His head appeared at the top of the hayloft.

  “Rose! What’s wrong?” He was already on his way down the ladder. “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s Buttercup,” Rose panted. “I think she has bloat.”

  Twenty-Seven

  They used a small motorized cart to bring Buttercup into the barn. Fear rang through Rose’s body when she got up close to the animal. She was listless, her eyes glassy. Bloat was no joke. It was deadly, particularly to calves, and Buttercup’s condition was bad.

  Bodhi steered the golf cart to the horse barn while Rose sat in the back with Buttercup, trying to brace the calf against the bumps and ruts in the field. She knew why Bodhi wasn’t heading for the cattle barn; the galleys, long and open, offered little private space to nurse an injured animal.

  When they got to the barn, Bodhi stopped just outside the doors and hurried inside. He returned a minute later with one of the wheeled trolleys they used to move dirt and small amounts of hay.

  “Let’s get her in here,” Bodhi said, parking the trolley right up against the back of the motorized cart. He grabbed the calf’s hind legs while Rose took the front, and they half slid, half lifted Buttercup into the trolley. “Nice and easy.”

  The fact that she made it easy for them only made Rose worry more. A healthy calf would fight them.

  “Let’s get her inside.” Bodhi grabbed ahold of the trolley’s handle and started pulling while Rose spoke softly to Buttercup, trying to soothe her in case she was scared.

  They passed the stall holding Coco, and Rose thought she saw something sad and knowing in the animal’s eyes. She heard her mother’s voice, murmuring softly to the horse as she stroked its nose.

  Beautiful, strong girl . . . Such a beautiful, strong girl.

  “Rose!” Bodhi saying her name shook loose her mother’s voice, and Rose looked up to see that Bodhi had stopped in front of the empty stall next to Mason. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Let’s get her inside so I can take a look at her.”

  Rose stepped into the stall. When she was sure there was fresh hay on the floor, she helped Bodhi move Buttercup inside. He knelt next to the calf and felt along her abdomen while Rose stroked the animal’s face.

  “How bad is it?” She was asking even though she knew. What she really wanted was for Bodhi to tell her she was wrong. It wasn’t so bad. It was no big deal. They’d have her back to normal in no time.

  “Bad,” he said, his face tight with concern. He looked up at her. “Should we get your father?”

  She thought about it, imagined her dad shuffling out to the barn, looking at Buttercup with sadness, but also with apathy. She wasn’t sure she could take his helplessness. Not now.

  “I don’t think he’s going to help us here.”

  Bodhi nodded his understanding. She was grateful when she realized he wasn’t going to challenge her decision.

  “Is there a vet you can call?”

  Rose bit her lip. “There is. . . .”

  “What?” he asked when she hesitated.

  “It’s just that if I call Doc Russell, I’ll have to tell my dad, and probably Marty, too.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “They won’t want to save her like I do. They won’t . . .” She hesitated, looking for the right word. “They won’t understand.”

  He nodded, and for a minute, neither of them spoke.

  “Is there something you can do?” Rose was surprised to hear the words come out of her mouth. Did she trust Bodhi? Did she trust him with Buttercup?

  He took a deep breath and rubbed at his chin, like he was thinking about the question. She was about to repeat it when he answered.

  “I can try. But you have to know there are no guarantees. Not with a vet and not with me.” He met her eyes in the shadowed light of the barn.

  She nodded. “I know.”

  He stood. “Keep her calm. I’ll be right back.”

  She rubbed Buttercup’s face while she waited, remembering when the calf had first been born, wet and angry, but fighting.

  “Don’t stop fighting now, girl,” Rose said softly.

  Bodhi returned a few minutes later, loaded down with supplies. He knelt next to the calf and quickly went to work, unraveling a feeding tube and measuring the length from Buttercup’s nose to the bottom of her stomach. He added an extra foot and snipped the tube with surgical scissors.

  “You have to keep her still,” he said, glancing up at Rose. “She’ll thrash, even sick like she is, but I need time to move the tube around, to try and find the pockets in her stomach. Okay?”

  Rose nodded, wrapping her arms around the calf and bracing herself for what was next. She’d never had to help with this kind of crisis. Her dad had always been there, and when he’d needed help, he’d called one of the Breiners over, or Doc Russell if it was bad. Rose had sometimes watched from outside the stall, but she usually had to leave when things got tense. She didn’t like to see the animals in pain, and although it felt cowardly, she hadn’t wanted to be there in a life-or-death moment.

  But now she didn’t have a choice, and she tightened her arms around Buttercup, trying to fortify her resolve. “Do it,” she said to Bodhi.

  He forced Buttercup’s mouth open and stuck the tube inside. Rose knew right when it hit the animal’s esophagus, because Buttercup started thrashing, landing one quick blow to Rose’s thigh before Rose tightened her grip until the calf couldn’t do much more than squirm.

  When all but the last foot of tubing had disappeared inside Buttercup’s mouth, Bodhi paused.

  “I’m going to move it around a bit, see if we can clear some of the gas in her stomach. Just keep holding her still.”

  Rose nodded, her arms aching, sweat dripping down her back.

  He put one hand on Buttercup’s belly and moved the tube slowly, gently, from side to side, waiting to see if any of the positions seemed to take down the bloat in Buttercup’s belly.

  “Nice and easy, girl,” he said softly. “We got you.”

  Finally, he must have landed on a good spot, because he held it there for a minute before moving the tube again.

  Rose didn’t know how long they stayed that way, her body draped over Buttercup’s, arms tight around the little calf’s torso, hands holding its legs while Bodhi knelt in the hay next to her. It seemed like forever before Bodhi was finally retracting the tube, pulling it up bit by bit until the last of it emerged from the animal’s mouth.

  “Keep her still a minute so she doesn’t get up and move around too fast,” Bodhi said. Rose nodded, and a couple of minutes later, Bodhi spoke again. “Let her go nice and slow. Let’s see if she stays calm.”

  Rose slowly released her grip on the animal. Buttercup stayed down, her chest rising and falling.

  “Good,” Bodhi said.

  Rose scooted back against the wall of the barn and tried to catch her breath. “Now what?”

  “Now we wait,” Bodhi said. “If she makes it through the night, I think we can say she’s over the worst of it. Although we still have the feeding problem to deal with.”

  “I can’t even think about that right now,” Rose said, resting her fore
head on her bent knees.

  He nodded. “One step at a time.”

  Twenty-Eight

  “It’s because she was your mom’s, isn’t it?” Bodhi asked from the other side of the stall. “That’s why you’re so attached to this particular calf.”

  Rose didn’t know how long they’d been there, but the sun had been down for hours. Bodhi left briefly to bring the other animals in, but other than that, they’d kept the vigil together.

  “Yeah,” Rose said. “Buttercup was the last one she really bred.”

  She felt rather than saw Bodhi’s slow nod. Did she know him that well already?

  “She’s a pretty calf.”

  “She is,” Rose agreed. “I birthed her myself.”

  Bodhi looked up with renewed interest. “Have any trouble?”

  “A little,” Rose admitted. “I had to use the calving chains.”

  “By yourself?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I didn’t have a choice. By the time Will and Marty got here it was done.”

  “Did she seem sick when she was born?”

  “Not really. She had a traumatic birth, but she fed right away and everything.”

  “Well, we have that going for us, at least,” he said.

  “That’s what I don’t understand,” Rose said. “It’s like she fed that one time and it was never easy again. But she shouldn’t be sick. Not with bloat. It’s like . . .”

  “Like what?”

  Rose ran her hand gently along Buttercup’s back, the coarse fur tickling her palm. “It’s like she just decided she doesn’t want to be here or something. Like she doesn’t care.”

  “Well, failure to thrive is a thing,” Bodhi said. “Some animals just never get on their feet.”

  “But why this one?” Rose asked. “I did everything right.”

  He didn’t answer right away, and she thought maybe he hadn’t heard her.

  “Doing everything right is no guarantee,” he finally said.

  Rose threw a handful of hay back onto the floor. “It’s not fair.”

  “No. No, it’s not.”

  The silence settled between them again. Rose thought about her dad, wading through a depression as thick as spring mud. She thought about Marty, who wasn’t really happy in Milford, whatever she might say. And then there was her and Bodhi, out here with Buttercup, hoping the calf would live, and in Rose’s case, trying to figure out how to live herself. It exhausted her just thinking about it, all those people fighting their battles alone in the dead of night.