in Nova Scotia, for numerous reasons—I shake my head and try to wrap my brain around everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Maybe this is all just a bad dream. Maybe I’m not in one of my uncle’s spare bedrooms and instead I’m back in my New York condo, having the worst nightmare of my life. Yeah, that’s it. Maybe I’m…
STOP.
I force my wayward thoughts to come to a resounding halt.
I’m not in New York, and no amount of wishful thinking can convince me otherwise. This is rural Nova Scotia, and I have a damn cow to milk. This, my friends, has become my life, and I’m damn well going to make the best of it.
With renewed determination, I plant my feet on the cool wood floor and catch my reflection in the small brown-tinged mirror over the bureau. Clearly the summer humidity does not agree with me. I smooth down my mess of hair and note the dark circles under my eyes. My makeup is lost, along with my luggage, but I have no one to impress here and nothing to prove—other than to myself. The neighbor next door has already seen me at my worst, a couple times, and expects the worst from me. Typical.
I push to my feet, grab my phone from the nightstand, and walk to the window. I sure hope Jay keeps his word and sends his brother. I’m guessing he will. He cares about the animals and never expects me to rise and shine to the occasion. I do a quick Google search on the proper way to milk a cow. But before I do anything, coffee first. Is it too much to wish for an espresso machine?
In the kitchen, I fix myself a cup of coffee, using grounds from another century. My eyes water as I take a sniff of the strong brew and step out back.
I nearly jump out of my shoes when I come face to face with a huge beaver up on its webbed hind feet, its big orange teeth ready to attack and eat me alive. I turn to rush back inside but stop when I notice it’s not moving. What the hell? I take a tentative step closer and peer into its beady eyes. Is it stuffed? Good God, my uncle has a stuffed beaver on his back deck. Just one more thing to remind me I’m in Canada.
I cross the wide expanse of covered deck to look out over the orchard and gasp as the sun rises on the horizon. Long fingers of yellow light rake across the clouds and push back the dark of the night. The sun peeks over the distant hills, and the warmth creeps along my face, pushing the early morning chill from my bones. In the distance, birds awaken and chirp as they forage for food. Something scurries in the underbrush, and I can make out the shape of two llamas in the distance. Hello, Barack and Freddy.
“Wow,” I whisper. Who knew sunrises could be so amazing?
“Nice, huh?”
I startle at the sound of Jay’s voice and nearly spill my coffee when I turn to him. He has two mugs in his hands, ribbons of steam stretching toward the brightening sky.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry,” he says and inhales. “Wasn’t even sure if you’d still be here.”
“I’m still here,” I say and lift my chin. “There must have been a small part of you that thought I would be. You do have two cups of coffee. I take it one is for me.”
He hands me the cup, and I dump the one I just made, setting the mug down on the deck.
“I see you met Mr. Beaver.”
“Mr. Beaver. Not very clever,” I joke. “What’s up with it, anyway?”
“He built a dam not too far from here.” He points with his chin. “There’s a stream on your property. Great for cooling off when it’s hot out.”
I examine the poor beaver. “What did he ever do to Jack to deserve this?”
“Nothing. Jack loved all animals. Especially this guy.” Jay comes closer and examines the beaver’s head. “A coyote got him, and Jack was too late to save him, so he stuffed him instead.”
“Eww,” I say and glance around. “Am I going to run into a stuffed coyote next?”
“No, but speaking of coyotes, I thought I heard one the other night.”
My pulse picks up pace, and I grip my mug tighter. “What…what do I do if I hear or see one?”