Serenity Falls(81)

“What are you doin’?”

I turn my head in the direction of Bailey’s singsong voice as she skips her way over to me. “Come and see.” I nod my head in the direction of June.

“Oh my gosh!” Bailey’s squeal of excitement causes my shoulders to hunch. “She had her baby? I can’t believe it. Kenleigh, she’s so pretty. Wait, it’s a she, right?” she rushes out.

I laugh. I can’t help it. “Yeah, it’s a girl. Autumn had her Saturday night.”

“That’s so awesome,” Bailey says, staring at the beautiful filly laying on a pile of hay.

“You seem to be in a good mood.”

“I am.” Bailey’s big, blue eyes meet mine. They no longer seem vacant. They seem to have a purpose. “I had a good weekend. It’s been the first good weekend in a long time.”

“That’s great,” I say through a smile. “Come on, let’s go for a ride.” I nudge her elbow with mine as I turn to walk out of the barn.

Bailey follows behind me asking, “What, no walks today?” Her comment is meant to be sarcastic, but I think it’s funny.

I chuckle from her question. I have never really thought of it before, but she’s right. I do like to go on walks. “No, not today. Today, I feel like getting on a saddle,” I reply as Bailey catches up to me.

After Bailey and I saddle up two of the paints, I help her mount her horse before getting up on mine. We ride for a while in silence before the sounds of rushing water slapping against rocks invade our quietness. Faded from the sun, the black rubber of the tire swing sways in the gentle breeze. The same tire swing that I brought her to when she arrived at the ranch not long ago. I dismount, and tie the reins to a branch on the tree. I run toward it as I shout over my shoulder, “You wanna get on this time?”

“I guess so, but can you help me down, first?”

“Nope. I know you can dismount on your own.” I turn back around, making my way to her side. I’m not helping her off the horse; I want her to do this on her own. She needs to feel a sense of accomplishment. I am just going to stand here, in case she needs my assistance.

Successfully, she disembarks from the horse. “I did it. I can’t believe I actually did it,” she exclaims proudly. Inside, I’m doing a little happy dance for her.

We walk over to the tire swing. Bailey situates herself inside the hole of the black rubber while I check to make sure the rope won’t break under her weight. When I feel confident of the rope’s condition, I say, “Hold on up here.” I point to the section where the rope meets the tire. With her hands secure, I softly shove her forward.

“I haven’t been on one of these things in a while,” she says softly. Bailey tips her head back, letting her long, wavy, auburn locks hang free.

“When’s the last time you swung on one?” I give her another gentle shove.

“I was nine. There was this really awesome park down the road from my house.” She lets out a soft chuckle. “I remember asking my brother for weeks to take me.” This is the first time she’s mentioned her brother willingly, and my heart swells with that minute breakthrough. “Eventually, he broke under my constant pestering. That park by my house had a tire swing just like this. When I first saw this one, and you tried to talk me into getting on… I’m sorry for being so rude to you that day.”

I wave off her apology. I wasn’t exactly the nicest person to be around after my parents died either. “It’s fine. Attitude kind of comes with the territory. So, what happened when your brother took you to that park?” I know it seems like I’m pushing her to open up, but I like to think of it as encouragement. Bailey needs to remember the good times she spent with her brother, and she needs to feel good when she does.

“When we got to the park, I ran straight to the tire swing, yelling for him to come and push me. He followed behind me asking why God gave him a sister who likes tire swings, instead of a brother who would want to play football. He was always joking around like that. I knew he loved me, even if he didn’t say it all the time. My mom would always stick healthy crap in my lunchbox for school. You know, like celery or carrots.” Bailey’s lips curl up, and her nose wrinkles in disgust. “But every day when I’d go to lunch, mysteriously, there would be a candy bar of some sort. I never questioned Trent about it, but I knew it was him. ”

“It seems like he was a great big brother,” I reply shoving her forward again.

Bailey nods. “He was.”

“Is it easier to talk about him now?”