Meant To Be

Chapter thirty-seven

Jacob folded over the desk as 'assignment submitted' appeared on the portal website. A dullness invaded the relief. He thought about Josh and Pete and Tim, how they'd be heading into town about now. First stop, Bar Moxy. But before envious hands took hold, Jacob remembered she was here with him, not bathing in Austin's eccentricness. He picked up his phone and sent her a text.

Out in the yard, a trailer load of bales was parked by the barn. "I timed that well," said Jacob. Zac made no remark. His skin was glistened with sweat. There wasn't a single sweep of wind to break up the day's humidity.

Zac climbed up on top of the trailer and started pushing bales down. Jacob caught the shadow growing on the ground. He leapt out of the way, but the bale caught his lower calf. "Watch where you're throwing them!" he yelled.

Zac peered over the edge to see where he was. "Get out of the way to I get a row off. You're going to slow the whole thing down working one at a time." He started shoving bales over the side again. Jacob counted six before he reached for the rope necklaced around the straw, lifting two bales into the barn at a time.

"I'd need a shower after that," said Jacob, smelling the body odour underneath his pits. Zac pushed the last bale up on top of the row, tidying it out of the way in the barn. "Zac?" Zac never spoke as he pulled the bale this way and that, being overly precious about getting it into line. "Zac."

"What Jacob?!"

Jacob was going to ask about the young mare he was breaking. When he got up this morning, Zac was already working her in the arena to get ahead of the blistering forecast. "Is everything ok?"

"I'm fine."

"It's very clear you're not fine."

"Not every day can be a good one Jacob."

"Believe me, I'm well aware."

Zac stepped back, checking his work. Somewhat contented, he began pulling the strands of straw of his shirt like it was the last part of the job.

"Why won't you just talk to me?!"

"What do you want to hear Jacob? About Dena still being dead. Me being an almost widow. An almost father?"

Jacob worked hard to keep his expression steady. Zac wished he would let it unravel, thinking it might do him some good too. But Jacob held on tight. It was all he knew.

"Maybe it'll be easier to hear next time," said Zac, as he flicked the last bit of grain of his shirt and made Jacob watch him leave.

*

Hearing Casey inside, Zac opened the front door and went in. She was walking upstairs in a cream robe, her hair wrapped up in a towel. He noticed her red nails, one hand sitting on the oak railing. "I'll be down in a minute," she said.

Zac went into the kitchen. It smelled of tomatoes and herbs. The saucepans were piled in the sink. The drip of the tap became instantly agitating. Zac went to the sink and tightened it, wiping the hanging droplet with his finger as he eyed the gold gift bag sitting on the worktop. He lifted the tag. Casey's writing the same as it was in high school - lopsided and squiggly.

Can't say I never get you anything Parker ; ) xxx.

Zac stared at Casey's writing like he expected the words to do something more. He stayed like that as he listened to her move on the stairs, in the hallway. He let go of the tag and turned around. Casey's half-dried hair dangled above her shoulders. She was dressed in a white vest top and slack green shorts designed for hot holidays.

"You've been lying to me," said Zac.

Casey's eyes shifted from Zac. The tag was turned out, her writing on display. "That depends. What do you think I've been lying about."