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At Meadowgate Farm, the Queen Anne’s lace and bush honeysuckle of summer had given way to the ironweed and witch hazel of autumn. Gone were the lashing thunderstorms of August and the sultry rains that besotted highland meadows in mid-September.
In the west pasture, six head of Red Angus cattle cropped knee-high grass mingled with clover and lespedeza. A muscular fifteen-hundred-pound bull named Choo-Choo didn’t meander far from the heifers. Two of the five were scheduled to calve in March and three were due late April, a month-long gap conceded to be a welcome breather on a busy farm with a demanding vet practice.
At the Kavanagh Animal Wellness Clinic, the wall clock in Reception gave the glad news: high noon—or dinnertime, as the locals liked to say.
Dooley Kavanagh, DVM, had just completed the repair of an aural hematoma in the left ear of a bluetick coonhound. Chester was pretty much a regular at the clinic, having gotten at various times on the wrong side of a bull terrier, a lawn tractor, and a tangle of barbed wire.
He liked this hound, he had charisma. Hounds in general were great guys; he wouldn’t mind adopting one, but hounds and heifers weren’t always the best fit. Being fully ninety percent nose, the breed could hound a heifer till she gave him a jaw-breaking kick. The old farm dogs and Charley, their year-old female golden, were dogs enough for now.
He soaped his hands and washed up at the sink in the prep room. Through the open window, he heard their vintage tractor bushhogging the north strip. That would be Willie, who’d been Meadowgate’s farmhand for thirty-five years and lived in the little house out back. Tomorrow Willie and Harley would be mowing hay.
He was still in a daze, as if the life of landowner and vet was a dream. He and Lace had it all, but they’d invested nearly all to have this life. Things would be plenty tight for a year or two.
After college and vet school and the hard separations from Lace and the long process of acquiring Meadowgate from his mentor, Hal Owen, and jumping through hoops for the adoption agency... after all that, there was this: his wife of three and a half months, their four-year-old foster son, Jack Tyler, his new practice, a payroll, the cattle, their farmhouse, a hundred acres...
Unreal.
And the dream had taken shape right here. He had come out to Meadowgate nearly every summer since he was eleven years old. This is where he had read and reread everything James Herriot had written, and pored over old editions of Beef Cattle Science . It’s where he’d watched the birthing of calves and lambs, colts and piglets, pups and kittens, and given a hand to Hal in more than one crisis.
He remembered the blood on his hands from the emergency delivery of a bull calf turned crossways in the birth canal. He was fourteen, and had helped a living being come into the world. He had considered the delivery a badge of honor, and actually hated to wash up afterward. It was, after all, the crown of the veterinary profession—this giving a hand to life, to breath. Hal had trusted him to do it—a little anxious, maybe, but counting on the kid to get the thing done.
Hal, who was pretty much a hero to him, was now retired from his full-time practice and working part-time at the Kavanagh clinic. The clinic had also been able to retain Blake Eddistoe, Hal’s longtime vet tech, and their receptionist, Amanda, who was also totally competent at everything else.
It was a perfect setup. Even Joanna Rivers’s vet practice a few miles north was a benefit. Joanna didn’t have the mobility constraints or expenses of bricks and mortar; she had a truck and equipment and was good to go wherever needed. Most of Hal’s former clients had turned their large farm animals over to Joanna, which took a potential strain off the Kavanagh clinic.
Still, a few of Hal’s old clients continued to haul in the occasional donkey, goat, or llama. Just last week he’d gone out to a horse trailer in the driveway and treated a mule—a fungus infection requiring a thorough hoof swab and a shot. It was ‘a drive-by shootin’,’ according to Harley Welch, who lived with them now in the farmhouse basement room with the canopy bed.
He heard the horn blowing as the farm truck wheeled into the drive—Harley at the wheel, Jack Tyler in the middle, and Charley on the passenger side in full head-out-the-window mode. He watched Jack Tyler jump from the cab and run this way.
Their little guy had been pale and uncertain when he arrived in June. Now he was brown as a horse chestnut and wired with a confidence that was amazing to see.
Charley exploded into the room and dashed up the hall to beg a treat from Amanda.
‘Hey, Dad!’
And here was their brown-eyed kid, grabbing him around the legs.
‘Hey, yourself, buddy. How was your trip to the co-op?’
‘Charley ate their ol’ cat’s dinner an’ pooped at th’ front door where people step an’ I had to stick my hand in a plastic bag an’ pick it up an’ flush it.’
‘Life’s little dramas.’
‘Charley jumped up on everybody.’
‘What did they say about that?’
‘They didn’t like it, so we put ’er back in th’ truck.’
‘What else?’
‘Mr. Teague was there, he told me to shut up an’ sit down.’
‘Ah, Mr. Teague. A sad old fellow. Did you shut up?’
‘Nope, but I sat down.’
‘Hungry?’
‘I’m about starvin’. I got a jawbreaker in my pocket, Jake give it to me.’
‘Jake gave it to you, okay?’ He and Lace were in the throes of grammar lessons, the alphabet, numbers...
Jack Tyler ran to the ruler on the wall. ‘Hey, Dad, come see how high I am. Jake says I shot up a foot.’
He would take a full lunch hour today; he had bolted lunch for two weeks. They wanted time to talk with Jack Tyler, plant the seed—December was coming fast...
‘Hey, Dad, come see if I growed any.’
‘Grew any. We measured and weighed you yesterday. Forty-two inches. Forty-two pounds. That’s it for now.’
He was stumped about what to do with Harold Odom’s terrier, Hobie, checking in after lunch. They’d run the initial fecal test for Giardia and got a negative, but he wanted to do the ELISA. Hobie had been immunocompromised as a pup...
Harley came in with a ‘parcel,’ as he called it, and set it on the sink top.
‘There’s y’r bag balm. Our rope ain’t comin’ in till Saturday.’
‘For my swing!’ Jack Tyler jumped around in scuffed cowboy boots, flapping his arms.
‘We gon’ have you flyin’.’ Harley grinned big; he was wearing his dentures today. ‘You gon’ be seein’ th’ other side of th’ mountain from that swing.’
Their Harley—sixtysomething and a hundred and five pounds soaking wet—was family. Years ago, he had shielded Lace from her violent, no-good father, but that was only one reason they loved this guy. The downside was trying to teach Jack Tyler good grammar with Harley butchering the language.
‘Any news at the co-op?’
‘Jake says tell you y’r other vet’s sellin’ up an’ goin’ west.’
‘Joanna Rivers?’
‘Jake says ’er dad’s in a bad way, she’s leavin’ soon as she can sell up.’
He was smacked by this. Not good. No.
‘I’ll be paintin’ th’ glider porch this afternoon,’ said Harley, ‘an’ goin’ in town this evenin’.’
Dooley grinned. Roughly twice a month, Harley trekked to Mitford to visit Miss Pringle, a French piano teacher who rented the rectory from his dad. Harley had subleased Miss Pringle’s basement for several years, and how those two had made a connection beyond lessor and lessee... he didn’t get it.
‘I’m gon’ cook a mess of collards f’r Miss Pringle,’ said Harley.
‘Give her our best. And be careful. Remember the curve.’ His dad used to worry about the curve; now he worried about the curve.
‘I’m half starvin’,’ said Jack Tyler.
‘Okay, buddy. Climb up here and wash your hands.’ He pulled the step stool from under the sink. ‘We’re going to talk about something exciting after lunch today.’
‘Is it a bike?’ Jack Tyler was buzzed about a bike. ‘With sixteen-inch wheels?’
‘Way better. Use soap. And wash some more, it’s lunchtime.’
Joanna’s news was cutting into his gut like a worm.
With Joanna out of the picture, clients would be needing the services of his clinic. Dangerous work, large animals. A kick in the head, a hoof to the jaw, a foot crushed beneath the iron shoe of a horse. Farmers were mostly vetting their cattle themselves these days, so the business was running more to the equine side.
He checked his watch, his text messages.
Lace. Painted hr + half! Love u . Carving out time for her art was hard. The whole place was going at a gallop these days; thank God for Lil, who helped at the house twice a week.
His dad. Esther Bolick passed this a.m. will do funeral Monday cant look at trucks til next week. Praying for you & love to all .
When he was a kid, Miz Bolick helped him bake an Orange Marmalade Cake, which won a big prize in a flour company contest. He remembered the bedroom slippers she was wearing while they were baking the OMC in her kitchen. The slippers looked like pink rabbits, ears and all, with plastic eyes that clicked when she walked. She had sent them an OMC for their wedding present. She was cool; he had liked Miz Bolick.
Joanna Rivers. Dad’s melanoma going wild. Heading to Colorado as soon as I sell the practice. Any interest in expanding yrs? Best .
Just what he needed—to buy another practice. No way. It was tough to sell a large-animal practice like Joanna’s, even with the mobility of a truck with all supplies onboard.
He walked outside with Jack Tyler and drew in a lungful of the aromas coming from the house. Maybe their tomatoes with some spices, and somewhere deep in that smell, roast chicken.
He took the hand of his son, grateful, and they headed to the house like a couple of bulls responding to the rattle of a grain bucket.
• • •
His wife was a dynamite beautiful woman, but even more beautiful when she’d been painting. Her art opened her up in a way he couldn’t possibly understand.
‘How’s Chester?’ she said.
He liked that his family cared about his patients. ‘Great. He’ll bunk with us tonight. How’s it going over here?’
‘Hoed weeds. Painted. Paid bills. Canned four quarts of tomato sauce; we’re done with canning except for apples and pumpkins.’
She had a way of looking at him; he loved coming home for lunch.
‘Grammar lesson this morning,’ she said. ‘Seems to be working, but you know he loves to say ain’t . I told him he could say it once every day, but only once.’
‘Very generous of you.’
‘Okay, Doc, you two clean up,’ said Lily.
‘We’re cleaned up, thanks.’ He was looking for the roast chicken. ‘So where’s the chicken we smelled comin’ over?’
‘That’s for supper,’ said Lace. ‘I’ve just been invited to Irene McGraw’s, Kim is here from L.A. And I have a list for the Local and a lot of errands and won’t get home till five. So we made supper ahead.’
Kim. Irene McGraw’s Academy Award nominee sister. Kim had bought several paintings from Lace. He looked at her, inquiring, but she didn’t look back.
‘I’m takin’ my plate to th’ porch,’ said Lily. ‘We’ll not see many more days like this. Y’all set down an’ eat before it gits cold.’
‘Hey, Lil. Sandwiches, potato salad, iced tea? It’s already cold.’
‘You got fried bologna in that sandwich. Still hot.’
‘I like th’ same as my dad. Is mine bologna?’
‘Is th’ Pope Cath’lic?’ said Lily.
Jack Tyler piled two volumes of Beef Cattle Science on the bench at the table and climbed up. He held hands with his mom and dad and his dad said a blessing and they all went Amen! together. Amen was the start of getting to eat and he was really hungry from going to the co-op for salt licks and laying mash.
‘When’re we goin’ to talk about what’s exciting?’
‘After lunch,’ said his mom.
Jack Tyler did the two-thumbs-up routine learned from Amanda. ‘I have a great idea!’
‘He’s a man for the great idea,’ said Dooley.
‘You could say what’s exciting now. An’ I would eat every bite and not leave any.’
She gave him a look; he picked up his sandwich.
‘You’ll stay with Lily today when I run to town. Harley will be painting the glider porch and you can help, so put on your overalls, okay?’
‘Okay,’ said Jack Tyler. ‘An’ I’m savin’ my ain’t to say at supper.’
The new vet was hammering down on his baloney and cheese when his cell phone thrummed in his shirt pocket.
‘We need you,’ said Blake. Their tech didn’t call him at home unless it was serious. ‘Better get over here.’
He got over there.
• • •
When?’ said Jack.
‘After supper,’ she said as she kissed him on the cheek.
She speed-dialed Dooley as she walked to the car.
‘Water coming in on the floor everywhere but Reception,’ he said. ‘The plumber’s on his way. Don’t worry, go to town. There’s nothing you can do.’
‘Is there anything Hal... ?’
‘Hal and Marge are away ’til Monday. I’ll let you know.”
Water coming in on the floor? Why? Surely...
She caught her breath. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you back.’
She would do what he said and not worry. That’s also what God was constantly telling her. Take no thought for the morrow, fret not; be anxious for nothing. In hundreds of ways, God was telling her not to do what seemed like everybody’s favorite thing to do.
She was tired, really tired. Up before six and nonstop every day. But she was young, Lily said, as if that meant she was immortal or something.
She turned right onto the state road and there was the deep green swale and then the Hershell place on the hill with its herd of little heifers who looked like toys, and the ragged ribbon of blue mountains beyond.
She loved driving through the countryside in her blue Volvo wagon. Though the wedding present from her mom and dad was seven years old, it drove—and looked—mostly brand-new. Sayonara to her old Beemer that had totally croaked and was parked on blocks under the barn shed. Maybe they could get a few hundred for parts if push came to shove.
All through college and the years after, she had saved every penny and stretched every dollar. She hoped push would not come to shove, or if it ever did, that it would wait a long time.
She hated leaving Dooley and Jack even for a town trip. Though she liked a break, she felt she was driving away from part of herself. Jack Tyler was truly part of her; she couldn’t imagine loving him more if he’d been their biological son. She rarely thought now about the crushing diagnosis that meant she couldn’t have children. The pain was the only real reminder, and the pills.
She glanced at the two dozen eggs in the basket on the passenger seat. She loved giving away eggs; people’s eyes always, always lit up. Who in Mitford would like farm-fresh brown eggs today? It was a favorite guessing game. Maybe Esther Bolick, who had baked one of their two wedding cakes.
At Jake’s place next to the co-op, she turned left onto Mitford Road, hit Play, and sang along with the first tune on her country classics CD.
‘ Try as I may, I could never explain
‘What I hear when you don’t say a thing... ’
• • •
He realized this would also be a blow to Hal and Marge. They would feel pretty miserable, maybe even guilty, all unnecessary.
He was watching the kitchen clock—ten after five—and filling a bucket at the sink when she opened the screen door.
She looked pale. Shocked, somehow. He had had his own shock this afternoon, but hadn’t texted her with details.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘Where’s Jack Tyler?’
‘In the library watching a movie. He missed you. I gave him a snack. What is it?’
‘We need to talk,’ she said.
Hal had warned there could be problems down the road, and the more-than-reasonable sale terms of the entire Meadowgate property had always been forthright: As Is .
The inspector had given them his own warning about the pipes. ‘It was replumbed twenty, maybe thirty years ago. So maybe three, four years to go, no way to say.’ And now water everywhere but Reception, which was two steps above grade.
She set the grocery bag on the table, afraid to ask. Dooley didn’t look like himself. ‘What’s going on at the clinic?’
‘I’ll give you a clue if you’ll give me one.’
‘Kim wants me to paint something for her.’
‘Great.’ Tap water pounding into the bucket. ‘But that isn’t what’s bothering you.’
‘She wants me to paint a mural. At her house. In L.A.’
He sat down hard on the bench, wondering if he’d heard right.
‘For a lot of money.’ She drew in her breath. ‘Now you. I just... I can’t... Let’s do the clinic first.’
‘We need some new plumbing. And a new wall. A weight-bearing wall. We’ll have to jackhammer a section of the floor in the prep room so we can install new copper pipes.’ The wall would require a construction crew, but one of the plumbing guys had construction experience and had given him a ballpark for the combined jobs. Ten big ones easy, more likely twelve.
He gave her the low figure of ten thousand. The heaviness in his chest was oppressive. ‘Maybe more.’ This whole scenario was beyond.
He got up and turned off the water and took the overflowing bucket out of the sink and let himself feel the heaviness on his chest.
‘There are things in the car,’ she said, barely audible.
‘I’ll help,’ he said. ‘I’ll get Jack Tyler, he can help, too.’ L.A.? A mural? ‘We’ll all help. Help is good.’ He set the bucket back in the sink. ‘Really good.’ He was babbling.
• • •
The shop vacs were getting the water up. Willie was standing by and Harley offered to stick close, but they sent him on, with a bag of fresh mint for Helene Pringle’s tea.
He and Lace visited the patients and distributed fresh water and Jack Tyler let Pete the bulldog into the run.
He went alone to check again on Chester, who was sitting up in his e-collar and looking perplexed.
They were getting dunked into the big stuff right out of the gate, he thought. It was a sheep dip.
• • •
She and Dooley didn’t talk as they washed up the dishes.
She was glad they didn’t have a dishwasher; a sink full of hot water and soap gave her time to think.
She wouldn’t leave Dooley and Jack. Not ever. But she would allow herself the thrill of being asked to do the mural. Just to be asked! Her wedding present to Dooley—the painting of him driving the red truck with the dogs in the truck bed—was the largest work she had ever done; she had liked working big.
‘Jack Tyler could come with me,’ she said. It was a terrible idea, but she had to say it and mark it off the list.
‘But he just got here. The little guy is still figuring out the place.’
Don’t go, don’t do this, he wanted to say. The disruption at the clinic would be huge. Alarming to their patients, not to mention staff and clients. Hammering, sawing, drilling, tearing up a floor, trucks in the driveway.
‘My parents...’ she said.
‘We can’t do that. We promised ourselves we wouldn’t do that. Hoppy and Olivia have helped so much already.’ He wasn’t running to his parents, either. They had been more than generous. The whole parent scheme was out.
‘And we did the right thing about Miss Sadie’s money,’ he said. ‘I’m glad we can’t get to it.’
What was left of his inheritance from Miss Sadie was untouchable. They had told the trust officer, Bartlett, ‘Don’t let us withdraw anything more for five years, no matter how hard we beg.’ Bartlett was tough; it was done.
‘If I do the mural, it would solve everything,’ she said. She felt the enormous conflict of it, her breath short.
Was this the way he was going to handle life with the only woman he could ever love? My God. He hung the drying cloth on the rack. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘Sorry that work has pretty much taken me over, that I can’t think of anything else. Sorry that I seemed to blow the mural commission in the weeds. This is huge. I’m so proud of you.’ He put his arms around her, comforting her, comforting himself. ‘I’ll do better, I promise.’
She didn’t want to cry, she was always bawling, but the relief of this moment was manna, and she let the tears flow.
‘Do whatever you need to do,’ he said. ‘We’ll make it happen.’
At eight o’clock, he went to the clinic, checked the floors, made a call to a contractor he’d gone to school with in Mitford, and walked home, scraping his brain for some overlooked solution. There would always be revenue coming from Choo-Choo’s on-site services, but nothing close to what they needed now.
The plumbers’ trucks were backing out of the drive. The meter had been running since two in the afternoon at sixty-five bucks per hour per man.
The mural job would solve everything, but...
He said what his dad said when he couldn’t pray, when his thoughts were too jumbled, when he couldn’t think straight. ‘Jesus.’
A rock and a hard place, he thought. As a married couple, it was their first rock and a hard place.
• • •
She raced up to Heaven, the attic studio where her head could be in the clouds. She wrote swiftly in her Dooley book; it had been weeks since she opened it.
THURS OCT 1 ~ A calamity~ that is the perfect word. I can’t write about it now as I want to write only positive things tonight.
Three things.
Kim has offered me a commission to paint a mural! In her house in Malibu! Dooley says we can make it work but I don’t know how. I don’t want to leave D and Jack~ I don’t. But it would completely solve the awful thing which I don’t want to talk about right now. I am crazy happy to be asked but really sad to think of leaving. I can’t imagine leaving them. This is so good, but so hard.
Two! Dooley has not been late for anything in months. I am so grateful he is working to break this old habit. Trait? Can we break a trait? Can we inherit characteristics like being late? Or on my side crying without good reason? Did we have ancestors who went around being late and weeping?
Last but so not least~ our Jack Tyler is the light of our lives~ of everybody’s life. We would go through all the waiting and testing and paperwork a million times to have our wonderful son.
Thank you God for so many dreams coming true. Thank you for everything. Even confusion and hard decisions.
• • •
When, when, when?’ Jack Tyler opened his arms in supplication. ‘When are we goin’ to talk about somethin’ ex-cit-ing ?’
Suddenly there was too much to talk about. But they had to start somewhere.
‘How about now?’ said Dooley. He and Lace were sitting on the old sofa in Jack Tyler’s bedroom.
‘Now is always a good time,’ said Lace.
Jack Tyler climbed up between them, smelling of soap and clean pajamas. ‘I didn’t say my ain’t at supper.’
‘Good.’
He held up two fingers to his mom. ‘I can say it this many times tomorrow, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Dooley put his arm around Jack. ‘Just before Christmas, you will be our son. Legally. We’ve talked about it a couple of times, remember? And we will be your mom and dad. Legally. But things will stay just like they are now.’
They looked at the boy who insisted on being called by both his first and last names. Jack Tyler had been a mouthful, but they had gotten used to it. They wanted to avoid saying Jack Kavanagh a hundred times a day; they had even knocked a syllable off Lily’s name.
‘Only one thing will change,’ said Dooley. ‘Your name will be Jack Kavanagh.’
Jack Tyler blinked. ‘What will happen to my Tyler name?’
‘You and your mom and I will all have the same last name. We’ll all be a Kavanagh. Forever.’
‘When he was your age,’ said Lace, ‘your dad had another last name. It was Barlowe. Like Uncle Kenny and Uncle Sammy.’
‘But I gave it up,’ said Dooley. ‘Because Granpa Tim was good to me and wanted to be my new dad.’
‘What happened to your old dad?’
‘He was never around.’
‘Like my old dad?’
‘Yes.’
‘I was adopted, too,’ said Lace. ‘I was Lace Turner. But when Granny O and Granpa Hoppy adopted me, I was proud to be given their name.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they loved me and took care of me.’
Jack Tyler looked at his dad. ‘Will I get red hair like you if I’m Jack Kavanagh?’
Dooley laughed. It felt good to laugh. ‘You get to keep your own hair. And if you’d like to keep your Tyler name, it could be another middle name. You would be Jack Brady Tyler Kavanagh.’
Jack Tyler looked at his mom. ‘You would say Jack Kavanagh if you called me to come in the house?’
‘If I called you to come in the house, I would say...’ She put her hands on either side of her mouth and called. ‘ Ja-a-ck! But if I baked a pie and you and Charley gobbled it all up when I wasn’t looking...’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘I would say, Jack Kavanagh !’
Dooley laughed. ‘See there, buddy, you an’ Charley don’t want to go gobblin’ up her whole pie.’
‘But if I kissed you and told you I love you,’ said Lace, ‘I would say...’ She kissed his cheek and looked into his brown eyes. ‘ Jack. Just Jack.’
Jack Tyler’s eyes were big.
‘When December eleventh comes,’ she said, ‘we’ll sign papers that say Kavanagh is your new last name. Forever.’ They said forever a lot in this house. So much in their boy’s life had been maybe, maybe not, whatever, we’ll see, who knows, who cares.
‘We’ll be a true family,’ said Dooley.
‘Ain’t we a family now?’
Jack looked at them, surprised, then threw his head back and laughed big. He had used up his ain’t but would get another one tomorrow. They all had a laugh.
‘In our hearts,’ said Lace, ‘we’re a family now. When we sign the papers, we’ll be a family all the way. Legally. And the next day, everybody will come and celebrate your new name. Officially.’
Legally. All the way. Officially. She wanted better words; this was hard. ‘You don’t have to decide now. And whatever you decide will be good. We love you with all our hearts.’
‘The big day will be here in ten weeks,’ said his dad. ‘Think about a present you’d like to have. Just one special thing. Maybe it’s a bike, maybe something else. And if we all agree, you’ll get it the day you become Jack Kavanagh.
‘We’ll have a party and there’ll be music by Uncle Tommy and his band, and great food and maybe, just maybe, the cousins will come and we’ll all dance again. Like at the wedding.’
‘Man!’ Jack Tyler spread all his fingers and knew that was how long it would be. A present, a party, maybe even the cousins. ‘The cousins!’ he said. And dancing! He liked to dance.
He jumped down from the sofa and bolted to the middle of the room. ‘Look at me!’ he said, and did his boogie dance that everybody laughed about at the wedding—wiggled his hips, flapped his arms. Charley barked.
He liked better than anything to make his mom and dad go laughing.
Dooley watched Lace watching Jack Tyler. If his wife was happy and his boy was happy, he was happy. End of discussion.
• • •
They were doing the tuck-in.
‘Because I would be Jack Kavanagh, we would do everything like at th’ wedding?’
‘Pretty much,’ said his dad. ‘But without the tent.’
‘Could we let Choo-Choo out of th’ gate again?’
‘No way,’ said his dad. ‘That was a one-off, trust me.’
‘How about this?’ said his mom. ‘Starting tonight we’ll call you Jack. Just Jack.’ She watched his face. ‘We’ll practice for the big day!’ They had said everything there was to say. ‘Okay?’
He blinked again, solemn. Then nodded. ‘Okay.’
His mom hugged him and maybe cried and his dad gave him a high five.
‘ Jack! ’ they all said together, loud as anything.
He felt a smile coming on his face. When he got up in the morning, he would look in the mirror to see if he was still himself, because it seemed like he kept changing into another boy.
• • •
He pushed open the screen door to the glider porch and the odor of new paint on the railings. He was twenty-six—gaining on twenty-seven, as Uncle Henry would say. But he felt old tonight. Beat. The plumbers had reminded him that toilets as well as sinks would be shut down for ‘a good while.’ He had thought the rigor of vet school was grown-up, but no—this was grown-up.
‘Any sign of Harley?’ he said.
‘We’re not his parents, you know.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Maybe nine-fifteen?’
‘That’s midnight by Mitford standards.’
He liked to know where everybody was; he was a worrywart.
He sat next to her in the glider and kicked off his tennis shoes. They had sat in this old glider during a lot of visits from school, but they’d never thrashed out anything with three zeros behind it.
He wanted her to know he was proud, but bottom line, he couldn’t make it without her.
It occurred to him that the mural money was probably close to what the practice would net this year. On the other hand, it was no small matter that she was a super hand at the clinic. He could always call her to come help and she loved helping—she had a sixth sense with animals. But no matter what, the plumbing work had to start immediately. They could not run a hygienic operation, any operation, without water.
‘Listen,’ she said.
A heifer bawling in the west pasture, katydids in the grass. His heart rate slowed a little.
Don’t go, he said without saying it.
‘There’s my savings,’ she said.
‘We said we wouldn’t touch it, we would only add to it, it would be for his education. We made a promise.’
‘It’s just sitting there, not earning anything. We’d do better to bury it in a jar.’
She didn’t want to give up her savings for plumbing. All the scrimping like crazy and cutting corners... In college, she could have bought clothes and shoes like other girls, she had loved shoes; she could have done things that a lot of other girls did, but she had worked hard to build the savings account.
She remembered her mom giving her three cotton sweaters; she had felt like royalty. She had never asked for anything, even when her mom wanted to be asked.
Just before the wedding, the most amazing thing—she sold five paintings to Kim Dorsay for more money than she could have imagined. She remembered the huge thrill of having a head start on Jack’s future. She and Dooley had agreed that the money wouldn’t be used for anything but college—no matter what.
That said, she would withdraw the money. But to do it for water pipes...
‘Are you saying you don’t want to go?’
‘I’m saying I’m not going.’
He leaned back, closed his eyes, breathed out. They heard Harley’s truck pull in and the sound of the basement door closing.
She didn’t say that Kim would have flown her home on weekends—all the way across the country on Thursday night and back again on Sunday—or that the mural could possibly take up to three months. Kim wanted farm animals in a pasture, with clover, and mountains in the background, a whole farm scene. It would be done on a large loft wall, for her many grandnieces and -nephews. Kim had lived most of her life not knowing she had a twin sister, Irene, with all those lovely children and grandchildren. The children and grans lived in cities, one family as far away as Munich. They all loved meeting now at Aunt Kim’s, and for reasons not explained, they were crazy about everything to do with farms.
Both Irene and Kim were true fans of her work, and had seen a photo of a painting she did of Choo-Choo and the girls. Lace Kavanagh was ‘the very one’ to paint the mural, said Kim. ‘The only one!’ said Irene, who hardly ever made extreme statements.
She would love to paint a mural, it would stretch her skills and teach her something important. But no.
For years she had been dry as stone and now, tears at the drop of a hat. Glad, sad, whatever, there they came. ‘We’ll use the savings.’
She leaned into the curve of his arm. A quarter moon gleaming out there in the grass with the katydids, the glider a cradle rocking. They held each other in what seemed a dream.
She had worked hard for that money, and he admired her for being smart enough to put it away. He would help replace whatever the plumbing tab would be. They would build Jack’s future together this time.
‘Hey,’ he whispered.
She looked up at him. ‘Hey, yourself.’
They went inside and closed the kitchen door and turned out the lights and went up the stairs.
• • •
He toweled off from the shower and came into their lamplit room.
‘You asleep?’ he said.
‘Wide awake.’
The bed creaked as he got in. He appreciated that about a bed. It was kind of like hello, I’m your bed, great to see you again, how did it go today?
‘You know what we forgot to do?’ she said. ‘We forgot to pray.’
Her hair smelled of cut orchard grass and Jack Tyler and apples.
He turned off the lamp and pulled the cover up and drew her close. ‘How about now?’ he said. Now was always a good time.