Just for You

Chapter 8 - How to Fix the Fence

When your Dad brings home pie for dessert, apple pie which you absolutely hate, it's pretty bad. But when he announces as he presents it to you that this is in celebration of your new-found, much anticipated friendship, your right to excuse yourself, run up to you room and lock yourself in your closet to scream it off, is perfectly legit.

That's exactly what I do when Dad presents his apple pie to me, grinning from ear to ear and making me want to slap him. His face transforms pretty quickly to confusion when I leave the table and I feel the slightest bit guilty, but when I glance again at the offending apple pie, guilt disappears and I have a good scream in the closet before opening my bedroom window despite the cold and taking a deep breathe.

For the last two days, Connie has been giving me riding lessons on Simba. I can trot and canter comfortably and confidently. I have been on trail ride around the Goodley's property and watched Connie gallop up the hill on Wanya, wishing I could do the same, but I'm not ready for that yet.

Violet still hasn't recovered from her cold, which has apparently kept her in bed for the last few days. Chad hasn't shown his face either. He seems to be avoiding Connie and I when ever I'm around, but I can think what I did wrong. I never did anything to offend him.

I sit down on the window sill and dangle my feet out over the edge. The cold wind whips around my face. It's just coming out of winter and spring is about to spring. I can wait to see the farm in summer, the place is really growing on me. I haven't spoken to my friends from the city since Mr. Wright's shop and for some reason, I don't really care. I guess its having my own new friends, both human and otherwise.

I haven't seen my brumby for a while either. He seems to have vanished from sight, or maybe I'm just not looking hard enough. Anyway, I can't take him in until I've fixed the stable fence so that I can let him graze without running off again. I still haven't worked out how to do that.

I shiver a little and realise that my room is getting cold. I clamber back into the room and give that window a shove to close it, locking it behind me. Now hopefully the heat from the fire will reheat my room before I go to bed.

I glance down at a phone number scribbled on my hand. Connie might have some ideas for fixing the fence. Maybe I should call her.

I creep downstairs and into the kitchen. Everything is quiet. I pick the phone up off the charger and creep back upstairs. Just as I am scurrying back through my bedroom door, Todd's bedroom door opens and Dad walks out, rubbing his eyes. He looks up at me, the bags under his eyes standing out against his pale face. “Phoebe? What are you doing?”

“Just calling Connie. I have to talk to her about something.”

“Oh. Are you feeling ok?”

I nod, “Fine. Why?”

“You just didn't seem to well at dinner.” Dad's shoulders re sagging and his expression is defeated. The guilt floods back in and I realise just how ungrateful I have been.

Then, without even thinking about it, I do something I haven't done since Mum and Dad split up. I walk over to Dad and throw my arms around his neck, hugging him tight and whispering, “I'm so sorry Dad. I'm tired. But thanks for the pie.”

He melts into my hug and I can feel his tight muscles which must be aching from working at the shop and on the farm. I pull back and smile up at him.

“You go to bed. I'll pack up and lock up.”

Dad looks relieved, “Thanks Phoebe. I saved you a piece of pie. It's on the bench. I should probably put a log on the fire before-”

I shake my head. “To bed, I'll do the fire.”