A Walk in the Sun

  “What was she like?” Bodhi’s voice broke into her thoughts. For a minute, Rose wanted to pretend she didn’t know who he was talking about. Then he said, “Never mind. You don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to.”

  “I do,” Rose said quickly. She sighed. “I actually really do.” He waited, and she brought forward a mental image of her mother, wanting to do her justice. “She was beautiful, for starters. She had red hair—”

  “Like you and Marty,” Bodhi said.

  Rose smiled. “Like me and Marty. She had our same green eyes, too. But she was smaller than Marty, even a little bit shorter than me. My dad was at least six inches taller. He towered over her, could scoop her up in one arm when he felt like teasing her.”

  “Did he do that often?” Bodhi asked.

  Rose laughed a little. “All the time. Hard to imagine now, huh?”

  “Not so hard,” Bodhi said. “Loss changes people. Any kind of loss.”

  She swallowed around the lump that had risen in her throat, blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes.

  “What about you?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “What about me?” He’d shifted a little, and his face had moved into shadow, though she could still see his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  “Have you ever lost anything?”

  “You didn’t finish telling me about your mom,” he said. “You only told me what she looked like. If I’m going to answer your questions, you have to really answer mine.”

  She smiled a little. “She was . . . light.”

  “Light?”

  “Yeah, she just had this light inside her, you know? You felt it when she was around, felt warmer and safer. And I don’t think I ever saw her self-conscious. She would twirl in the fields until she fell down like a little kid, get a triple scoop of ice cream and let it drip onto her fingers, laugh so loud people turned to stare, and not always approvingly.” Rose laughed at the memory.

  “That’s nice,” Bodhi said softly. “The story about your mom, and that laugh of yours. Haven’t heard it much.”

  “There’s not much reason to laugh these days,” she said, wondering why her cheeks felt warm. “Your turn.” She hoped he remembered the question. It suddenly seemed too intimate to ask outright. What had she been thinking?

  “I’ve lost stuff,” he said quietly. “My mom, my dad in a different way . . .”

  “I’m sorry.” She meant it. She suddenly felt sorry that he’d ever lost anything, that he’d ever felt sad or alone. “You seem to be doing okay, though.”

  She regretted it as soon as she said it. It was something someone would say to her, and she wasn’t exactly doing okay.

  She sighed. “That was a dumb thing to say.”

  He laughed a little. “I was just getting ready to agree. I’ve done okay with what I was given.”

  “Yeah, but what is okay?” She continued without waiting for an answer. “Getting up in the morning? Going through the motions. Letting everyone else think you’re okay to make things easier for them?”

  “That what you’re doing?”

  She twisted a piece of hay around her fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  It took him a minute to answer. “Well, for the record, it’s okay to not be okay. I wouldn’t be okay if I’d lost what you lost.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “Hell, no. And I know you have work to do, and Marty and your dad . . . I know you want them to think you’re all right, but . . .” He hesitated.

  “What?”

  “I guess I’d like you to know that you don’t have to be okay around me.”

  She let the words sit between them, not sure at first how to answer. What do you say when a guy—a guy like Bodhi Lowell—gives you permission to not be okay with him? To be yourself, even if it’s messy and sad?

  “Thanks,” she said softly.

  “Welcome.” She thought she heard a smile in his voice. “How’s that calf?”

  “Sleeping. You should go to bed,” Rose said. “I’ll let you know if anything happens either way.”

  “I’m good,” he said.

  “At least let me get you a drink of water or lemonade or something. I think this might go beyond your job description.”

  “It’s exactly my job description. But I’d love some lemonade.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Rose said, standing.

  He surprised her by standing and crossing to her side of the stall. She suddenly felt the raw physicality of him, like a magnetic force threatening to pull her in.

  “I’ll sit with Buttercup,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

  She nodded, then turned to leave before he could step even closer.

  She took her time going to the house, her heart beating a mile a minute, Bodhi’s words echoing in her head.

  I guess I’d like you to know that you don’t have to be okay around me.

  She poured them both some lemonade, then found the carton of chocolate-covered cherries she’d hidden on the pantry shelf. If anyone deserved to share in her secret stash, it was Bodhi. She grabbed one of her mother’s old cardigans on her way out the door, breathing in the scent of lavender and vanilla as she stuffed the carton of cherries in one of the big pockets.

  Loss changes people.

  She opened the screen door with her hip and made her way back to the barn with the two glasses of lemonade in her hands. She passed Coco, Raven, and Mason on her way to Buttercup’s stall, then stopped cold before opening the door.

  Bodhi was sitting next to Buttercup, one hand on the animal’s neck. His head was tipped to one side, his chest steadily rising and falling. He was asleep.

  She opened the stall door as quietly as she could and stepped inside, then set one of the glasses in the hay next to him. Walking quietly around Buttercup, she lowered herself carefully next to the animal’s hind legs so the calf was between her and Bodhi. She leaned back against the wall and tipped her head, taking the time to really look at him now that he was asleep.

  He could have been of the earth, with his brown hair, threaded with amber, his chestnut eyes. She could smell the sweaty musk of him, breathed it in like she’d breathed in the scent of her mother. He looked so young, and for a minute, she could see the little boy he’d been in the sweep of his impossibly long eyelashes, the rise of his cheekbones, his slightly crooked nose.

  She looked at his hand on Buttercup’s neck, then placed one of hers on the animal’s torso. She leaned back against the barn and sighed as she closed her eyes.

  Twenty-Nine

  Bodhi bent over the irrigation pipe, inspecting it for damage. Winter was tough on irrigation systems. They almost always required some level of repair come spring. It needed to be done, and he was glad to be out in the field where he could be alone with his thoughts.

  Buttercup had made it through the night, and the animal’s stomach was back to normal. Bodhi wouldn’t feel like the calf was really out of the woods until she started feeding regularly and putting on weight, but the fight she’d shown so far was encouraging.

  Bodhi and Rose had parted ways before the sun came up, and Bodhi had immediately headed to the fields, the irrigation system as good an excuse as any to replay the previous night and his conversation with Rose in the barn.

  Now he was in a world of his own, long grass and alfalfa swaying against his legs as he followed the irrigation lines across the field, and he thought back to the intimate moments in the barn, nothing but silence and shadows between him and Rose.

  It was the nearest he’d come to feeling close to her, the closest she’d come to really opening up to him. His heart had ached when she’d talked about her mother, both because he could hear the sorrow, dark and bottomless, in her voice, and because he’d never felt that way about anybody. For the first time, he wasn’t relieved by the thought. Instead it suddenly seemed like a crying shame.

  That she was strong didn’t surprise him. He’d seen that in her e
yes from the beginning. But he hadn’t fully realized the depth of her strength until she’d let him in on the extent of her sorrow. Now he had a sense of what it had cost her, getting up every day, taking care of the farm and her dad, putting a good face on things for Marty and Will.

  The thought of Will made his stomach tighten. Had she put a good face on things with Will? Or were they closer than that? Had she told Will how sad she still was? He was torn between hoping she had, just so she wouldn’t be alone in it, and hoping she hadn’t, because he suddenly didn’t want any other guy to feel as close to Rose as he had last night.

  He shook his head. That was selfish. He didn’t want Rose to be sad. He wanted her to find comfort with whoever she could. He was just surprised to realize he wanted it to be with him.

  He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. When he looked up from the field, he saw Rose standing near the fence. Was she watching him? A few seconds passed before she raised a hand in the air and waved. He thought she was smiling, and he raised his hand tentatively, not wanting to jump the gun in case she was waving to someone driving past on the road that ran adjacent to the Darrow property.

  But when he dared a glance to his right, there was no one there, the road an empty stretch of gray in the distance.

  Huh.

  He looked back and she was gone. But she’d been there. That was the point. She’d been there and she’d waved.

  He smiled to himself and continued down the line, working his way back toward the house. When he got near the fence where Rose had been standing, he saw something sitting on one of the posts. He walked over, wondering if she’d forgotten something.

  A glass of lemonade, so cold condensation ran down its side, was sitting on top of a plate next to a sandwich and a peach. He looked around again, still wondering if Rose’s generosity was meant for someone else. But then he saw the small piece of paper sticking out from underneath the sandwich.

  He pulled it out and lowered his head to read the words.

  Thank you.

  Thirty

  Rose left the plate for Bodhi on the fence post and hurried inside. It had taken twenty minutes to get up the courage to do it, and she’d been secretly relieved that he hadn’t come in when he saw her. She was being stupid, but something had changed between them when they woke side by side in the barn this morning. She felt exposed, like he’d seen her naked. But that wasn’t the weirdest thing; the weirdest thing was that it made her nervous and excited and scared, and somehow she didn’t even mind.

  Still, she was going to have to ease into this whole friendship-or-whatever-it-was-with-Bodhi thing, and she’d been happy to leave the plate and come inside, even though she paced in front of the living room window, watching as he worked his way across the field and strode toward the fence post.

  He read the note, then lifted his head and glanced toward the house. She jumped back from the window, feeling like an idiot.

  “Enough,” she said out loud. She went to the foyer and looked up the staircase. “Dad?”

  His shuffling footsteps sounded from above. A moment later, he appeared at the top of the stairs. “Everything all right, honey?”

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m taking some stuff to Marty’s. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

  He hesitated then shook his head. Whatever he needed, Rose couldn’t give it to him.

  “See you in a few then,” she said.

  “Drive safe,” he called after her as she headed to the kitchen.

  She consolidated the tomatoes and blueberries she’d picked that morning into two boxes and grabbed the keys to the truck, then left through the kitchen door. Still feeling shy about leaving Bodhi lunch, she made her way to the truck through the garden, hoping to avoid him.

  The coast was clear, and she set the box in the bed of the truck and got inside. A few minutes later, she was heading up the mountain, the warm summer wind blowing loose strands of hair around her face.

  She thought about Bodhi and their conversation the night before. What had he meant about losing his parents? Were they both dead? He was a big guy, solid, sure. But there was something a little sad about him, too. She saw that now, and it made her regret ever being rude or unwelcoming. She’d been too wrapped up in her own loss to consider that maybe Bodhi had lost something, too.

  She pulled into Marty’s driveway ten minutes later, grabbed the box from the back of the truck, and headed inside.

  “It’s me,” she said, opening the door.

  “Out back!” Marty’s voice drifted to her from beyond the screen door in the kitchen. “Get some iced tea and come out.”

  Rose set the box down on the counter and poured herself some tea from the fridge.

  “Hey,” she said, stepping onto the gravel pathway that led to the river at the back of the house.

  Marty twisted around in the Adirondack chair to look at her. “Hey, yourself. What brings you here?”

  “I brought you some blueberries and a few tomatoes,” Rose said, sitting in the chair next to Marty.

  “Terrific.” Marty smiled. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Rose studied the river, its current markedly slower than usual. “River’s running slow.”

  Marty nodded. “We need rain. How’s the farm?”

  “Fine. Dry.”

  “Is it going to be a problem?” Marty asked.

  “It’s hard to say. We’re already feeding the animals some of our reserve. It hasn’t put a serious dent in our supply yet, but it will if this continues.”

  The Darrows supplemented the sale of their cattle by selling the hay cultivated from their grounds. But when it was dry, they had to use some of the hay to feed their own herd, which meant less revenue in the farm’s coffers.

  Marty sighed. “Well, keep me posted, will you?”

  Rose heard the resignation in Marty’s voice and felt a twinge of guilt. Farming wasn’t the life for Marty, and Milford wasn’t the town for her either. She was staying because of the farm, because of Rose.

  “I will,” Rose said, “but you should get out more if you’ve started worrying about the farm.”

  Marty laughed. “Just because I don’t like farming doesn’t mean I don’t care about the farm.”

  Rose smiled. “I know that. But seriously, you’re like a shut-in up here.”

  Marty’s gaze scanned the river. “I don’t think there’s anything in Milford I haven’t seen a thousand times, Rose.”

  “Yeah, but there are other places. You could go to the city, even take a trip to California or New Orleans. You always said you loved New Orleans.”

  It took a minute for Marty to answer. “We’ll see.” She leaned her head back against the chair and looked at Rose. “How’s everything else on the farm?”

  “Fine.”

  “And Bodhi? How’s he working out?”

  “Fine.” Rose looked away. Her aunt Marty had always known her a little too well.

  “Is something wrong?” Marty asked. “Is he doing his job?”

  “He’s fine,” Rose said, then felt bad when she realized she wasn’t doing him justice. “He’s great actually. It’s really nice to have him there, to have someone else around who knows what he’s doing.”

  “And you two get along okay?”

  Rose turned to look at her aunt. “Really?”

  “What?” Marty asked innocently.

  “You’re not seriously trying to set me up with the farmhand you hired for the summer, are you?”

  “Well, you can’t deny that he’s good-looking,” she said. “And he seems nice. Smart, too.”

  “Maybe you should go out with him,” Rose suggested.

  Marty laughed. “He’s a little young for me. But you . . .”

  Rose looked out over the water, watched it meander over rocks, making its way out to a bigger river, then the Hudson, and eventually the Atlantic. “What’s the point?” she finally said.

  “What do you mean?”

&n
bsp; “He’s only here for the summer. Then he’ll be gone just like everyone else.”

  “You don’t know that,” Marty said. “Besides, that’s not a good reason to avoid getting to know him better.”

  “It’s good enough for me.”

  “Is that how you want to live, Rose?” Her aunt asked the question quietly. “Hiding from all the beauty in life because you’re afraid of the hard stuff?”

  “I’m just not up for another goodbye, okay?” Rose stood. “I have to go.”

  “Rose . . . wait . . . ,” Marty protested as Rose made her way inside.

  “It’s okay,” Rose said, still heading for the kitchen door. “I have to get back. Your stuff’s on the counter.”

  She hurried into the house, letting the screen door slam behind her. What was the point in beauty when it was so temporary? You just got used to it, started to need it, and then it was gone.

  Thirty-One

  Rose’s dad was standing in front of the microwave when she came in carrying two bags of groceries.

  “What are you doing?” she asked him.

  He looked confused, and for one terrifying minute she thought he’d really lost it.

  “Heating up dinner,” he said a moment later.

  She set the bags on the counter. “I was going to cook.”

  “You were?”

  “Yeah, for you and Bodhi. He’s been working on irrigation all day. I figured he could use more than a warmed-up casserole. And you, too.”

  “Oh, I’m just fine with this, honey. Don’t go to any trouble on my account,” he said, opening the door of the microwave after it dinged.

  “It’s not any trouble.” She said it softly.

  He set the plate on the counter and stared down at his hands. “I know you have a lot of responsibility these days, Rosie.” She blinked back the tears that rose to her eyes at the sound of the old nickname. “I’m . . .” He looked up to meet her eyes. Until lately, her dad hadn’t been the kind of man to avoid anyone’s gaze, but she realized now that he hadn’t really looked at her in a long time. “I’m sorry. I haven’t taken care of things like I should. I’ve been . . . your mother . . .”