Fractured from the Fall

A Man of Few Words

"Not sure what you have planned for today, perhaps a spa day?" Her father laid on the sarcasm. "But if you're not too busy, I sure could use your help in the stables."

Lily couldn't remember the last time she rode a horse. When she was growing up she loved to spend hours in the stables taking care of the horses. She would brush them, feed them, even clean up the manure. It didn't matter what it was as long as it kept her mind busy. The horses helped her managed the anxiety and sadness she experienced after her mother was gone. Without those four-legged friends, she didn't know if she would have made it through. Her father taught her how to ride and from the moment she first put her foot in a stirrup, she was in love. She felt so free on top of that massive regal beast, galloping through the fields at speeds she was pretty sure her father wasn't' 100% comfortable with, but he never stopped her. He knew she needed it. Maybe that's why he suggested it now. He knew she'd find more comfort and solace with a horse than with him. He never knew quite what to say in difficult situations so he often said nothing at all. But when he finally did speak, it made what he said much more profound and impactful.

"Sure dad, I can help," Lily said, draining the last of the coffee from her mug. She was thankful that her father wasn't going to try and talk to her about her awkward encounter with Violet.

"That a girl," he said, patting her on the back with such gusto that she spit some of her coffee out and had to quickly lean forward to avoid spilling it on her blouse.

"Finish your breakfast first," he said more as a statement than a request. "You can't eat like a bird if you're gonna be workin with the horses."

Lily shoveled large spoonfuls of eggs and hash browns in her mouth, not because her father requested it of her, but because she was starving. Maybe it was the traveling, or the stress or being back at home or possibly just the need to get the taste of stale nicotine off her lips, but for the first time in what seemed like forever, she didn't give a crap about what she was putting in her body. The lard dripped off each slice of bacon and Lily didn't bother to blot it with a paper towel, eating every last fat drenched piece on her plate. She licked her fingers clean of grease and followed her father out the kitchen door and down the lawn to the stables. The property had seen better days, that was for sure. Her father tried his best with the upkeep, but a property this size needed help, which she knew he couldn't afford. Her mother tried often to convince him to sell the property, but he wouldn't budge. He had grown up in that house and he wanted his girls to do the same. He was a family man through and through who found joy in the simple pleasures like a hard day's work or sitting on the back porch with a glass of good whiskey while watching the sun go down. He never understood why anyone would leave a place as beautiful as this, which is why he never did.

Lily's father opened the large red barn doors. They creaked loudly as he pulled them open to reveal the stables, which had remained exactly the same as Lily remembered them. She ran her hand across the old wood until she came to a stable filled with nothing but hay.

"Where's Peaches?" she asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

"Had to put her down several years ago. Cancer. I sent you a letter telling you about it. I know she was your favorite."

"Oh, that's right," Lily said, remembering the letter that her father sent. She had skimmed through it on her way out the door to a gala with Richard. She felt guilty now that she hadn't mourned the horse's death or that she hadn't written her father back, thanking him for letting her know. What was wrong with her? Had she been so wrapped up in her hoity-toity life that she didn't even care about her favorite horse dying? She knew the answer to that, and it wasn't something she wanted to admit. She leaned against the worn wood and watched as her father shoveled hay into the stall next to her.