Page 22 of Not Until I Found You

“Excuse mess,” Dad mutters, though it’s not messy to me, only lived in.

The kitchen to the left is cramped, its laminate counters scarred from years of use. We move down the narrow hall, past the bedrooms with their matching chipped wooden doors, when something makes me pause. A shelf runs along the wall, crowded with wooden whittlings of tiny animals, birds mid-flight, faces smoothed into the wood by a knife. They stand in careful rows, some polished, others half-finished.

“You still make these?” I ask softly.

Dad nods once, his lips pressed in a straight line. My gaze lingers on a little fox perched near the end of the shelf, and suddenly, I’m six years old again, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor while Dad shaves curls of cedar into his lap. He carved me a small owl that afternoon, insisting its crooked wings gave it ’character.’

The owl is sitting on my nightstand back at Ashton’s cabin. I packed it without really thinking about it. Somehow, through every move I’ve had, that little owl has always found its place beside my bed. The thought squeezes my heart, a reminder that he’d left us—left me—for this life. I want to ask him why, to try to understand, but I decide to not press him today.

Instead, I clear my throat and allow my eyes to skim the cluttered counters, the faded rug, and the layer of dust in the corners. There’s a weight here, not just between me and him, but in the workload needed to take care of this place. There’s too much for one man to manage, let alone a man still learning how to use his hands and voice again.

“I’m here to help,” I announce, squaring my shoulders in determination. “With the chores. With anything needed. Ashton gave me a list, so I guess I’ll start with that.”

Dad’s mouth pulls tight. I know he must hate having this weakness brought upon him, but he needs some help, and that’s what I’m here to do. For Ashton, and for him too. His eyes shift, a mix of relief and shame within them, before he looks away.

“Why don’t you take care of the things you can,” I offer, forcing a small smile, “and I’ll handle what needs done outside. If I run into trouble, I’ll…figure it out.” The words wobble as I catch myself before saying ask you.

He gives the smallest nod, his jaw working, but says nothing more. I hesitate, wanting to bridge the gap, then settle for a nod of my own. Before I lose my nerve, I push out the door and into the weight of everything waiting for me.

“You have got to be kidding me!” My shout startles the cows in the field next to me, who all blink at me as if I’ve offended them.

“Sorry,” I apologize, right as the mud I’m standing in makes a loud schlurp and steals a sandal. My foot jerks free, but momentum carries me forward, sending me face first toward the ground.

Cold, wet grit coats my tongue, and I want to scream, but my mouth is full of earth, so instead I lie still. Maybe if I don’t move, the farm will stop punishing me. My lungs disagree, though, so I push myself up, spitting brown sludge onto the ground.

Behind me, the cows moo in unison, and I swear it sounds like laughter. This place has been trying to get me all day. I fed and watered the animals. Shoveled what can only be described as Mount Poopmore from the chicken coop.

I tried to move the goat fence so they could reach new grass, which led to a stampede. I spent forty-five minutes chasing those bleating maniacs, dragging the last one inside, only for him to pee on me. Who knew goats smell like Satan’s armpit?

After gathering the beautifully colored eggs, I tripped over the water hose, dropped the entire basket, and watched in horror as the chickens swarmed me, pecking yolk and shell like it’s not their babies they’re eating.

So, I retreated to the garden, hoping soil and plants would treat me kindly. Instead, I found a busted hose that turned the ground into a mud pit, which is where I’m currently sitting. I glance down at my foot and groan. My sandal dangles in two pieces, the strap snapped clean through.

“Just perfect,” I sigh.

“Okay?”

I spin around at the sound of my dad’s voice. He’s hobbling across the yard, favoring his bad leg, and I wonder how long he’s been watching. I haven’t seen him since this morning. He’s been busy cleaning the house the best he can.

I stand, swiping uselessly at my clothes. Mud smears instead of disappearing, and I probably look like I belong with the hogs, even though Dad doesn’t own any.

“Yeah.” I force a bright smile. “You know what they say about grounding and its healing effects. I was giving it a try.”

He blinks at me, clearly not sure how to respond to that, and I don’t blame him. My nose twitches, and I sneeze, sending flecks of mud flying. Since I’m already a disaster, I go ahead and wipe my nose with the back of my arm before trudging toward the cabin steps.

“Done?” he asks, following at a slow pace.

“Yeah. I mean, I got the chores done. Sort of. But I don’t think you’d want me inside your house like this.” I plop down on the porch, sure that I’m going to leave a muddy outline behind me.

He digs a rag from his pocket and offers it to me without a word. Gratefully, I scrub my hands until they’re only slightly less disgusting. I check the time on my phone and realize Ashton should be off work soon. He can take care of whatever’s left on the list he handed me this morning. Most of it is simple enough.

I wipe the back of my wrist across my forehead, leaving behind a streak of dirt that probably isn’t helping my case. When Ashton explained everything I’d be helping with out here, I nodded along like I could handle it. In my defense, it sounded manageable at the time.

Turns out, reading about farm chores and actually doing them are two very different things. At this point, I’m convinced my brother is going to have to walk me through half of this list himself.

“Here,” I say, turning the camera on and passing my phone to Dad. “Would you take a picture of me for proof? Ashton needs to see why his to-do list broke me.”

Dad fumbles with the phone, squinting at the screen before finally pressing the shutter. The click makes him grin, and he hands it back.