Leaving Time(128)

Really, what could I possibly say to him?

I watched for a few minutes as he unloaded the hay, his arms flexing as he stacked the bales into a pyramid. Finally, gathering my courage, I stepped out into the sunshine.

He paused, then set down the bale he had been holding. “Syrah’s limping again,” I said. “If you get a chance, can you take a look?”

He nodded, not meeting my gaze. “What else do you need me to do?”

“The air conditioner in the office is broken. But it’s not a priority.” I crossed my arms tightly. “I’m so sorry, Gideon.”

Gideon kicked the hay, creating a haze of dust between us. He looked at me for the first time since I’d approached. His eyes were so bloodshot that it looked as if something had burst inside him. I thought maybe it was shame.

I reached out, but he ducked so that my fingers only grazed him. Then he turned his back on me and grabbed another bale of hay.

I blinked at the sun in my eyes as I returned to the kitchen in the barn. To my shock, Nevvie stood in the spot I’d been minutes before, using a spoon to scoop peanut butter into the apples I had cored.

Neither Thomas nor I had expected Nevvie to return anytime soon. After all, she had just buried her child. “Nevvie … you’re back?”

She did not look up at me as she worked. “Where else would I be?” she said.

• • •

A few days later, I lost my own daughter.

We were in the cottage, and Jenna was crying because she did not want to lie down and rest. Lately, she had been afraid to fall asleep. Instead of a nap, Jenna called it the Leaving Time. She was certain that if she closed her eyes, I would not be here again when she opened them, and no matter what I did or said to convince her otherwise, she sobbed and fought her exhaustion until her body triumphed over her will.

I tried singing to her, rocking her. I folded dollar bills into origami elephants, which usually distracted her enough to stop the crying. She finally drifted off the only way she could these days—with my body curled around hers like a snail’s shell, a protective home. I had just extricated myself from that position when Gideon knocked at the door. He needed help erecting a hot-wire fence so that he could regrade parts of the African enclosure. The elephants liked to dig for fresh water, but the holes they created were dangerous to the elephants themselves and to us on our ATVs and on foot. You could fall into one and snap your leg or strike your head; you could break an axle on your vehicle.

Hot wire was a two-person job, particularly with the African elephants. One of us would have to string the fence while the other pushed the animals back with a vehicle. I was reluctant to go with him for two reasons: I didn’t want Jenna to wake up and have her worst fear—that I was indeed gone—realized, and I didn’t know where my relationship with Gideon stood right now. “Get Thomas,” I suggested.

“He went into town,” Gideon said. “And Nevvie’s doing a trunk wash on Syrah.”

I looked at my daughter, fast asleep on the couch. I could have awakened her and taken her with me, but it had taken so long to get her to sleep, and Thomas—if he found out—would have been furious, as usual. Or I could have given Gideon twenty minutes of my time, tops, and returned before Jenna roused.

I chose the latter, and it took only fifteen minutes—that’s how fast and how smoothly we worked in tandem. Our synchronicity made my heart hurt; I had so much I wanted to say to him.

“Gideon,” I said, as we finished. “What can I do?”

His gaze slid away. “Do you miss her?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Of course I do.”

His nostrils flared, and his jaw seemed made of stone. “That’s why we can’t do this anymore,” he muttered.

I could not breathe. “Because I’m sorry Grace is gone?”

His shook his head. “No,” he said. “Because I’m not.”

His mouth contorted, twisted around a sob, and he fell to his knees. He buried his face against my stomach.

I kissed the crown of Gideon’s head and wrapped my arms around him. I held him so tightly that he could not fall apart.


Ten minutes later, I raced back to the cottage on the ATV to find the front door was open. Maybe I had forgotten to close it, in my haste. That’s what I was thinking, anyway, when I walked inside and realized Jenna was gone.

“Thomas,” I yelled, racing outside again. “Thomas!”

He had to have her; he had to have her. This was my prayer, my litany. I thought about the moment she had awakened and found me missing. Had she cried? Panicked? Gone to find me?

I had been so sure I’d taught her about safety, that she was capable of learning, that Thomas was wrong about her getting hurt. But now I looked at the enclosures, at the gaps in the railing that a toddler could so easily crawl through. Jenna was three now. She knew her way. What if she’d wandered out the door and through the fencing?