Serenity Falls(48)

Bailey’s movements are slow with trepidation as she approaches the horse. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. I’m going to be with you the whole time. I promise.”

With a slight smile, she nods. She does exactly as I instructed. She places her left foot in the stirrup and her hand grips the horn. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

I grab onto her waist and hoist her up, she pushes with her left foot, and at the same time, she swings her leg over the saddle. “Good. Now, scoot up a little to where you fit in the saddle as comfortable as possible.”

“This is really high up,” she says as she adjusts in her seat.

“It is. But you’ve already done the hard part. Now, I’m going to hand you the reigns. Do you remember what we talked about yesterday? Just let them hang loose, not too much tension, and she’ll hold steady for you.”

As soon as I hand her the reigns, I walk over to my own horse and successfully make it onto my own saddle. “All right, go ahead and hand me the reigns, and we’ll get going. Just hold onto the horn and enjoy the ride.” I turn to her with a smile and see that she’s completely enamored with her horse as she leans forward to pet her horse’s neck.

I squeeze my thighs and click my tongue to get my horse going. She sets off into a slow and steady pace. As we walk out into the pasture, my eyes slide over to see Bailey looking all around us. I know she’s nervous. Her back sits up straight, and her arms are stiff and locked, but the white-knuckled grip she has on the horn of the saddle is a dead giveaway. Yesterday, she made it a point to reiterate over and over again that she’s never ridden a horse before. “See. This isn’t so bad, is it?”

Bailey shrugs her shoulders. “I guess not.”

“Then why are you gripping the horn of the saddle so hard?” I flick my eyes between her and her hands, and a little laugh bubbles up from inside me.

She chuckles at my response. I guess she didn’t think that I’d catch how nervous she seems. “I’m still a little nervous.”

I nod, accepting her answer. We ride in comfortable silence for a little while before I see our destination up ahead. “Where are we going?” Bailey asks, breaking the silence.

“Right over there.” I nod to where a tall, oak tree stands. A tire swing hangs like a pendulum from its outstretched limbs. The dark green leaves sway in the wind and the branches move back and forth with fluidity. I know it’s the same one that Wes’ parents used to take their picture in front of. Instead, this time, it’s not a normal swing but a tire swing. As we grow closer, the black rubber looks slightly worn and faded from the hot Texas sun.

When I pull back on the reigns, the horses come to a stop next to an adjacent tree. I hop off my horse and tie both horses’ reigns to a branch. Once secured, I walk over to Bailey and help her to dismount.

“Come on.”

Her eyes go wide, and her jaw drops as I point to the tire swing. She looks at me in an ‘are-you-serious’ expression as she shakes her head adamantly. “No way. I’m not sitting on that thing. It looks like it’s about to give at any time.”

“I promise you. It’s fine. There aren’t any tears in it, and the rope still looks to be in good condition,” I reply as I inspect the condition of the tire and rope for good measure. I give the tire a little shove to show her just how safe it is. “I know you wanna have a little fun.” I goad her with a smile as I try to tempt her to get on the tire swing.

I walk away from the tire swing and over to Bailey when I realize she is not going to budge. Without thinking, I reach for her hand and grab it in mine. I pull her over to the creek’s edge. “Sit.” My tone is stern as I point to the grass before I release her hand. She stands there for a minute, contemplating whether to sit, before she does so grudgingly. I take a seat next to her and draw my knees up to my chest. I wrap my arms around legs and rest my head on my knees as I stare out at the creek below. “I thought I saw you having fun with John earlier?”

Minutes tick by as I wait for Bailey to reply to me. Her voice is soft with a slight tremble to it when she decides to answer. “I was, and now I feel bad about it.”

“You know you don’t have to feel bad.”

“You think I don’t know that. I don’t want to have fun. I only want my brother, my best friend, back. I don’t want to feel like I’m forgetting him.” Pain is evident in her tone, and I can’t help but think how I used to be the same way.

“I know you’re angry.”

“No, I’m not,” she retorts.