of memories that she wanted to keep buried, a life from long ago. When she released my hand, I saw her wedding band glinting on her left finger. The sight of it doused me with a cold splash of reality.
She recognized my expression. “Yes,” she said, “I’m married.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I shouldn’t have come.”
Surprising me, she gave a small wave of her hand. “It’s okay,” she said, tilting her head. “How’d you find me?”
“It’s a small town.” I shrugged. “I asked someone.”
“And they just . . . told you?”
“I was persuasive.”
It was awkward, and neither of us seemed to know what to say. Part of me fully expected to continue standing there while we caught up like old friends on everything that had happened in our lives since we’d last seen each other. Another part of me expected her husband to pop out of the house any minute and either shake my hand or challenge me to fight. In the silence a horse neighed, and over her shoulder I could see four horses with their heads lowered into the trough, half in shadow, half in the circle of the barn’s light. Three other horses, including Midas, were staring at Savannah, as if wondering whether she’d forgotten them. Savannah finally motioned over her shoulder.
“I should get them going, too,” she said. “It’s their feeding time, and they’re getting antsy.”
When I nodded, Savannah took a step backward, then turned. Just as she reached the gate, she beckoned. “Do you want to give me a hand?”
I hesitated, glancing toward the house. She followed my gaze.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “He’s not here, and I could really use the help.” Her voice was surprisingly steady.
Though I wasn’t sure what to make of her response, I nodded. “I’d be glad to.”
She waited for me and shut the gate behind us. She pointed to a pile of manure. “Watch out for their droppings. They’ll stain your shoes.”
I groaned. “I’ll try.”
In the barn, she separated a chunk of hay and then two more and handed them both to me.
“Just toss those in the troughs next to the others. I’m going to get the oats.”
I did as she directed, and the horses closed in. Savannah came out holding a couple of pails.
“You might want to give them a little room. They might accidentally knock you over.”
I stepped away, and Savannah hung a couple of pails on the fence. The first group of horses trotted toward them. Savannah watched them, her pride evident.
“How many times do you have to feed them?”
“Twice a day, every day. But there’s more than just feeding. You’d be amazed at how clumsy they can be sometimes. We have the veterinarian on speed dial.”
I smiled. “Sounds like a lot of work.”
“They are. They say owning a horse is like living with an anchor. Unless you have someone else help out, it’s tough to get away, even for a weekend.”
“Do your parents pitch in?”
“Sometimes. When I really need them. But my dad’s getting older, and there’s a big difference between taking care of one horse and taking care of seven.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
In the warm embrace of the night, I listened to the steady hum of cicadas, breathing in the peace of this refuge, trying to still my racing thoughts.
“This is just the kind of place I imagined you’d live,” I finally said.
“Me too,” she said. “But it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be. There’s always something that needs to be repaired. You can’t imagine how many leaks there were in the barn, and big stretches of the fence collapsed last winter. That’s what we worked on during the spring.”
Though I heard her use of “we” and assumed she was talking about her husband, I wasn’t ready to talk about him yet. Nor, it seemed, was she.
“But it is beautiful here, even if it’s a lot of work. On nights like this, I like to sit on the porch and just listen to the world. You hardly ever hear cars driving by, and it’s just so . . . peaceful. It helps to clear the mind, especially after a long day.”
As she spoke, I felt for the measure of her words, sensing her desire to keep our conversation on safe footing.
“I’ll bet.”
“I need to clean some hooves,” she announced. “You want to help?”
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.
“It’s easy,” she said. “I’ll show you.” She vanished into the barn and walked out carrying what looked to