Hanging On

Home

Over the next week, we had more time without each other, much to my mother's disappointment. We took turns driving the cutter around the field, preparing to do the bailing, then the hard part: putting the hay in the trailer. We didn't have an automatic lifter, so one of us had to drive the tractor, while one person stood on the back and the other threw the hay up to the person in wagon. In the last two years, my mom would have to stop the tractor so she could throw the hay up to me, then move onto the next section.  

The first week was just cutting the grass, but we took turns on driving the tractor. It only took about a day and a half to actually cut the grass, but then we had to wait for it to dry and be ready to bale up. Tucker seemed to be a little friendlier towards me since the night in his room, but that basically meant he didn't snap at me so much, and held back on the cursing a little more. One night he even came into my room, and it leased me in a way that didn't seem healthy.  

He jammed his hands into his pockets and sat down in my desk chair, spinning to look at me where I was sitting cross legged on my bed with a book in front of me.

"Um, hi, Tucker." I said, curious as to why he was in my room.

"What's up?" I asked, folding the corner of my book and closing it. He shrugged. "Nothing." 

I studied him for a moment, the way his eyes roamed over every surface of my bedroom. I opened my mouth to say something, but he spoke before I had the chance.

"Do you like it here?" He asked, looking at me with those imploring black eyes. I cocked my head. "Yes, why?"  

He just shrugged again.

"I was just curious." he hesitated before continuing. "Why?" he asked, fixing his gaze on me. I squirmed under his gaze, as I tried to gather my suddenly scrambled thoughts.

"Um, because it's my home." I paused before continuing, the haze that had settled over my brain lifting. "Because of the way the hills look in the summer with our cows standing on them, and because of the way wind blows down from the hills around us. I love the quiet, and the peacefulness, and the perfect serenity." I babbled, unable to stop myself.  

Tucker lowered his gaze and nodded thoughtfully.

"I guess I can see that." I stared at him, wondering why it even mattered to him.

"Why do you want to know?" I asked again, pulling my knees up to my chest. He shrugged.

"I've never been able to stay in the same place for long." he said quietly, picking up a pig figurine on my desk. I titled my head and watched him. "Why's that?"  

He didn't answer right away He turned the pig over and over in his hands. It looked so tiny I his hands, it was almost comical. I found myself wondering what it would be like for those hands to be on my skin.  

I shook my head. I was just bored and tired. Tucker finally answered my question

. "I don't know. I move around a lot. It feels more...natural." he said, his eye brows pulling together in a confused expression that I had never seen on him. For a second, he looked so vulnerable, I couldn't help but remember that night in his room when he had wrapped his arms around me. I had never heard him say so much in one sitting.  

"Does it feel bad to be here, on my farm?" I almost whispered, suddenly wondering if he was thinking about running away. an even more confused expression crossed his face, and he shook his head, his jet black hair falling into his eyes.

"No." An almost pained expression crossed his handsome features, and I couldn't help but ask the next question. 

"Then why do you look upset?" I asked, watching him with wide eyes, anxious but nervous for the answer he would give.