Feels Like Love (4 page)

She
pushed Ben’s chair into the kitchen and sat by his side, patiently feeding him small
bites of his breakfast while Trevor and Emily cleaned up and Scott unpacked his
research project.

“You’re
sure you don’t mind if I use the table?” he asked as he pulled a stack of
manila folders from his computer bag. “Once I’m set up, I’d rather not have to
move it.”

“It’s
fine,” April insisted. “We’ll eat at the counter. Besides, where else would you
go?” The only other suitable place was the cutting table in April’s old room,
now her mother’s sewing room, and she didn’t want Scott hiding away in the
basement.

April
had saved a
muffin for Ben’s nurse to help break the ice, though it was hardly necessary.
Donna was a sturdy woman of about fifty with strong arms and an outgoing
personality that made her seem right at home no matter the situation. After a
few minutes of lighthearted conversation, she took Ben to his bedroom to do his
physical therapy.

“Come
on,” April said to Scott. “I’ll show you around.”

Off
the kitchen was a mudroom, its walls hung with cold weather gear –
Carhartt coats, padded overalls, knit beanies, and flannel jackets. Gloves and
mittens were piled in a bin and the floor was a sea of black rubber boots. It
took some time, but finally they were outfitted to April’s satisfaction, though
Scott complained about the clamminess of the boots.

They
tromped through the snow and she showed him the cows, horses, sheep, and
chickens. “The goat barn is in a pasture down the main road,” she said as they
left the chicken coop. “They’re super bossy to the other animals, so they have
to be kept separate. We can visit them later.”

Scott
lifted his foot and examined the straw, mud, and chicken manure caked on the
bottom of his boot with distaste. “Messy, aren’t they?” he scraped the boot
along the side of the cement step leading into the coop.

“Well
… yeah. They’re chickens. Chickens are messy.”

He
grimaced and she waited until his boots were clean, or at least clean
enough
,
before leading him toward the hay barn. It was huge and very old, with
weathered wooden walls and a steeply pitched roof. Inside was dusty and quiet
and sunlight filtered through the cracks between the boards, painting the
interior in shadowy stripes. A haystack almost reached the ceiling, but tapered
off at both ends, forming an ever-shrinking step pyramid as the bales were removed
one by one to use for feed.

April
was several bales high before she realized Scott hadn’t followed her. “Come on,”
she urged.

He
didn’t move. “Get down from there, what if it falls?”

“It’s
not going to fall,” she scoffed. “You think my dad doesn’t know how to stack
hay?”

“It
doesn’t look safe to me.”

“You
should have seen it when we had the swing.” April pointed to a heavy wooden
support beam near the roof. A loop of tattered rope hung near one end.

“That’s
a swing?”

“Yeah,
it was awesome. We could only use it when the hay was like this. Still stacked
high enough to reach the rope but enough bales cleared out to give you room. We’d
get up here and stretch to grab the rope – that was always a little scary
– then we’d stick our feet through the loop, hold onto the knot, and
jump. The rope wore out a few years ago and dad never replaced it.” Her face
brightened. “We could try and find a new one.”

Scott
shuddered.

“Come
on, don’t be a baby,” she teased, then her smile faded. Wade had called her
that same name through the door.

“I
used to sleep out here sometimes,” she said as she clambered down the stack.
“One summer, I even tried to spend a whole week. I pretended to be a bum from
the Great Depression, you know how they would sleep in barns. I had a bunch of
food – cereal, cans of tuna, bread, a couple of apples – I was all
set. I tramped around the fields for a while and finally came in here and made my
camp.”

“Did
you stay the whole week?” Scott asked. His phone buzzed and he dug it out of
his pocket.

“No,”
April laughed. “It started raining that first night and enough rain came
through the gaps in the roof to make me miserable. I straggled into the house
around midnight, wet and crying. My poor mother.” Her eyes were distant,
remembering. “Then, when we got older, we’d – ” she stopped abruptly,
realizing the story she was about to tell included Wade. Most of her stories
included him.

Scott
didn’t notice. His attention was on the phone as he scrolled through emails.

April
gazed around the barn; this place needed some new memories. She went to the
wall where boards were nailed at intervals to form a rough ladder that reached
the roof, fifty feet high. At the top was a small window.

April
climbed to the top of the ladder and swung herself over to the windowsill. She
got situated on the narrow board and dangled her legs over the edge. “Hey you,”
she called to Scott, “there’s a great view up here. C’mon, there’s room.” She
patted the board at her side.

“April,
I’m not going to climb all the way up there.”

“I’ll
kiss you,” she trilled in a singsong voice.

Scott
shoved his phone into his pocket and sighed. “Please just come down?”

She
swallowed her disappointment. It was unfair of her to expect him to enjoy the
farm like she did. He had no history here.

Her
eyes sought the thick beam to the side of the window. Why kid herself? She knew
why she had come up here – to see if it was still there.

It
was. Scratched into the wood with the tip of a pocketknife.

A + W

They
used to come here and perch on this narrow ledge. At first it had been scary,
but with Wade’s arms around her, it soon felt safe. How many hours had they
spent, talking, laughing, and dreaming together? After their first shy kiss, he’d
carved their initials into the beam.

April
ran her fingertips over the letters in the rough wood. There was an ache in her
chest, the heavy pressure of regret and a longing for those innocent days again,
when the future looked certain and she assumed they’d be together forever. A +
W, the way it had always been.

But
some wounds were beyond repair.

She
took a shaky breath of the frigid air.

“Hey,”
Scott called. “I’m starting to get cold, you know.”

Reluctantly,
she climbed down and they walked back to the house in silence.

April
was up, dressed, and in full hair and makeup by the time Wade’s truck bounced
down the road the next morning. As he did the chores, she paced nervously through
the quiet house, stopping occasionally to peer out the window and count the
dwindling number of cows in the pen outside the milk barn. Wade was
surprisingly fast.

By
the time there were only four cows left in the pen, her palms were sweaty and
her heart was in her throat. He’d need another fifteen minutes to finish
milking and at least another fifteen to clean up. Half an hour to wait,
probably longer. She glanced at the clock and felt grateful Scott was a late
sleeper.

This
time when Wade came to the door, she’d be ready. She would be mature, polite
but aloof, and would prove she had moved on. Last night, lying awake in bed,
she realized she needed closure – a chance to say goodbye to the
Wade chapters
of her life.

After
what seemed like forever, he emerged from the barn, drove toward the house, and
stopped on the gravel. April peeked around the corner of the curtain as he
climbed out of the truck.

He
had changed. Some of the boyishness was gone from his face, leaving him looking
leaner and more rugged. His hair was longer than it used to be and had bleached
blonde in the summer, but was growing in darker at the roots. Even under the
thick coveralls and heavy coat, she could see he was bigger, broader across the
shoulders and in the chest. Her memories hiccupped, trying to square up this
new Wade with the one she carried in her head.

He
left the truck running and reached into the cab for the milk and April backed
away from the window.
Let him knock first, don’t throw open the door like an
idiot.

She
stood still, listening as his footsteps crunched through the thin layer of ice
and snow on the sidewalk.

Here
we go.

There
was a brief pause and then the footsteps began again, growing fainter. She yanked
back the curtain. He had left the milk on the step and was going back to the truck.

She
glared at him indignantly as he drove away. How could she have closure if he
wouldn’t come to the door? But when he stopped in front of the horse barn, she
brightened. Must be mucking out the stalls day.

April
did a quick check on Ben, threw on a coat and a pair of shoes, and stepped out
into the chilly morning air. Wade had already moved the horses to the corral attached
to the barn, where they stood pressed together for warmth. They nickered at her
and she winced, hoping the noise wouldn’t alert Wade. It would be easier to take
control of this meeting if she surprised him.

April
paused outside the barn door. Calm … dignified … aloof. Okay, she was ready.

She
pulled the door open, stepped inside, and slipped on a patch of ice just over
the threshold. She flailed frantically for a moment before finally managing to grab
the door frame and steady herself. Her face burned. Not exactly the most
graceful way to make an entrance.

But
Wade hadn’t noticed; he was shoveling out a stall, his back to the door. When
the gust of cold air hit him, he glanced over his shoulder and his face
darkened to a scowl.

April’s
heart hammered as she walked toward him, striving for nonchalance, but not
quite pulling it off. “Hi,” she said, stopping at the edge of the stall.

“Hey,”
he grunted and dropped the shovelful of dirty sawdust into the wheelbarrow. The
dust billowed up and she took a step back to keep from being engulfed.

“Um
… how are you?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“I
thought maybe we could talk?”

“I
don’t have anything to say to you.” Another shovel of sawdust hit the
wheelbarrow with a whump.

This
wasn’t how it should go. He was supposed to stop what he was doing and give her
that look, the one that meant she was the only thing in his world right now and
she had his full attention. But it didn’t come.

“Don’t
you think we have things to clear up?”

“Not
really.”

April
paused, unsure of where to go now. “Why are you so angry?”

“I’m
not angry.”

“Come
on,” she scoffed. “I know you; you’re obviously mad.”

The
shovel scraped across the concrete as he scooped up another load of sawdust. “Maybe
you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Her
frustration mounted. “Stop doing that and talk to me,” she said irritably.

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“I
already told you, I have nothing to say to you.”

“Really?”
she let out an exasperated sigh. “
Now
who’s the one acting like a baby?”

He
straightened up and met her eyes. There was nothing warm or open in his expression;
she could have been a complete stranger from the disinterested look on his
face. “April, I’m
busy
,” he said in a tone of dismissal. “I don’t have
time for this.”

That
did it. If he wanted to act like nothing more than the hired help, she would
treat him that way. “Fine, I’ll leave you to it,” she snapped. “Don’t forget
the ice by the door.”

Wade
glanced at the ice and jerked his head toward the corner. “Ice melt’s over
there. Knock yourself out.”

“
You’re
the one who is supposed to be doing the chores,” she said hotly.

“I’m
the one who is supposed to be taking care of the
animals
,” he shot back.
“And that’s what I’m doing.”

“What
is
with
you?”

“I
don’t know what you’re talking about.” He resumed shoveling, but now with a
scowl line between his eyebrows. He was not as calm as he pretended.

She
fought to steady her voice. “Look, we both said and did things we regret, but it
was years ago. Don’t you think it’s time for some closure?”

“I
don’t need closure, babe. I gave up on you a long time ago.”

“Well,
it’s a good thing because, I don’t know if you heard, but I’m
engaged
… to
someone else. And don’t call me babe.”

Wade
straightened up again. “Or what? Your city boy will come pick a fight?”

“I
don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me.”

“You
always were a big talker,” he snorted.

“And
you
always were a sore loser.”

He
looked at her for a long moment. “All things considered, I’d say I dodged a
bullet that day in Twin Falls,” he said coolly.

She
gave a startled gasp as the sting of those words hit and for a brief second,
something like remorse flashed in his brown eyes. Then it was gone, the look of
frigid detachment back in place.

“What
is your
problem
?”

“Right
now? You.”

“I
don’t need this. I wanted to make peace, but you’re acting like a jerk, so good
riddance.”

She
whirled toward the door, blinded by angry tears. She had forgotten the ice and
when she hit it, she slipped. Her feet shot out from under her and she sat down
hard on the concrete.