“I’m going to take her out,” I said, nodding toward the meadow.

Nate frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good—”

“Go ahead,” Hannah said. She beamed at me and I smiled at her. I remembered these compulsive smiles we used to share, like starstruck idiots.

I urged the white mare out of the paddock and took her up to a gallop. That speed always comes with a thrill of fear. Written in Verse ran smooth and fast. I couldn’t hear anything above her hooves and the rushing wind, which was just the way I wanted it.

When I returned to the paddock, the sun was halfway behind the mountains. Nate sat waiting on the fence. I dismounted and he caught the reins.

“Just because I’m talking,” I said, “doesn’t mean I want to talk about everything.”

“I don’t need you to.” He slid off the fence and I looked sidelong at him.

“Do you need to talk?”

He shook his head.

“I’m going home soon. Tonight I think I’ll go out and buy supplies for this girl.” He patted the horse’s cheek. “I’ll walk her to the barn.”

“I don’t want you to go yet.”

“No?” Nate chuckled. “You’ve seemed ready to see me go for a while.”

“I wasn’t myself. I haven’t been…”

“That’s all right.” Now he patted my cheek. “I’ll come back. I need to see my family.”

“I am your family.”

“Matt…” He kept one hand around the reins and pulled me in with the other. He brought my face against his shoulder.

I know something about grief. I learned it the hard way, which is the only way. The thing I know is that grief is no feeling—no feeling at all. When it comes, we expect a terrible pain or drawn-out, stinging sorrow. Then we learn that grief is a vacuum. Even tears would be preferable. It is no feeling that comes and comes; it is loss itself.

After a while, Nate told me to go up to the house. He said that Hannah was my family, too, and not to be angry with her about the horse.

I thought about the horse as I walked back. An impulse buy, it seemed. With Nate leaving and Hannah ignorant of horses, I would need to care for the animal, which was no simple task. I wouldn’t sell it, though. I already loved it. Hannah must have known that the moment I saw the horse, I would love it.

And if I didn’t care for it, it would die.

Animals are that simple. They need our care and we love them for needing us. Children are the same.

I stopped midstride, and then I ran.

Chapter 33

HANNAH

That evening, Matt returned to the house alone.

I met him in the doorway.

His hair was wind-mussed and he was panting.

“Where’s Nate?” I said, looking him over.

“Taking the horse to the barn. He said he’s going to buy some things for her. He said he’s leaving soon. Did you know that?”

I gazed dumbly at Matt’s mouth as it moved. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this—an abrupt return to clarity and full sentences.

“Are you … okay?”

“I’m not angry about the horse. I like the horse. Hannah, what—Chrissy, the baby…”

“Come in, come on.” I closed the door and led him to the great room. He refused to settle on the couch. I sat while he paced. “What do you want to know?”

“Is Chrissy … all right?”

I nodded quickly. Matt’s energy was contagious. I wondered if this was phase two of a protracted breakdown—some kind of mania.

“She’s fine. I mean”—I searched my memory—“we spoke … a couple times on the phone. After, uh … she moved back home. She’s back with our parents.”

I watched the color drain from Matt’s face.

“Out of the condo? That nice condo?”

“Well, S—” I bit my tongue. Seth didn’t leave Chrissy anything. But that wasn’t Seth’s fault. He didn’t know death was right around the corner. “She can’t afford that place.”

“We can. She can stay, for God’s sake.”

“No, love…” I smiled softly. Matt was concerned for my sister? Strange, but touching. “It’s more than the money. She needs people right now, family. The condo isn’t good for her. Isolation isn’t good. It’s been … hard for her.”

“Okay.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “The baby?”

I shrugged. I did not want to be having this heavy conversation. Any one of these topics—Seth, Chrissy, children—could send Matt back into a tailspin. And God, it was heaven to have him here and communicative and engaged with the real world.

I stopped his pacing with a hug.

“Baby, are you hungry? Do you want dinner?”

“Not at all.” He squeezed me, his voice thin. “Please. Is she still pregnant?”

I stared up into his wide eyes. Was that the problem here?

“Yeah, she is. For now.”

“For now?”

“She doesn’t know what she wants anymore.” I stroked his cheek. “She’s twenty-two weeks this week, so she could still—”

“Don’t.” He pulled away from me. “Don’t say it. I get it.” His gaze panned rapidly around the room. “Right. She only wanted the kid to get to him.”

I’d had the very same thought about my sister, but when I heard it from Matt, spoken with such contempt, protectiveness reared inside me.