The Bequest
Chapter 43—Abigail

"Mom?" Gabe's standing in the doorway.

"Yeah, baby? What?"

"Mom!" Gabe yells louder.

"I'm here," I say. "I heard you."

"Mom! Can you hear me?"

I turn all the way around and wave. "Gabriel Paul Brooks." I exhale. "I am standing twenty feet from you."

"Oh, hey!" He smiles.

"Has he always had trouble hearing?" Steve's words are soft.

They shock me. "Trouble hearing?" I shake my head. "He just doesn't pay attention."

Steve straightens, his doctor face on. "That's more than distraction. He was looking for you, and he didn't hear your response."

I think back on all the times I've been talking to him and he's ignored me. Is it possible he wasn't ignoring me? Have I missed something huge? "Oh my gosh," I say. "I'm a terrible mother."

Steve's hand wraps around my upper arm. "You're one of the best mothers I've met. Maybe the best. It's probably nothing, but do you mind if I check it out?"

"Right now?"

"Did you want to wait?"

"Actually, I was thinking of rushing to the ER right now."

He smiles. "No need. The ER came to you." He opens his truck door and rummages around, and when he turns, he's holding a silver thingy.

I've seen them before, but I'm not sure what they're called. "What's that?"

"An otoscope," he says. "It'll give me a great view of the ear canal and the tympanic membrane."

"Great."

"Hey Gabe," Mr. Steve says. "I hear you'd like to learn to ride a horse soon, too."

Gabe grins. "Yes sir. Unless you think I'm too little."

He crouches down on the porch so my seven-year-old son is actually taller than he is. "Not at all. I think I even have a saddle that will fit you. Most of the horses here are on the younger side, or the older ones haven't been used for beginners much, but I have a horse back home you would love. His name is Cromey."

"Cromey?"

He nods. "He's almost thirty years old, which for us humans isn't too bad, but for a horse is pretty high up there."

"Are old horses good for little kids?"

Steve smiles at me. "They sure are. You're a bright one." "Thanks."

"Now, bright kid, did you remember that I'm a doctor?"

Gabe nods. "You fixed Whitney's arm."

"It's not quite fixed yet, but it's much better, and soon, it'll have healed itself thanks to the stabilization we provided. The human body is a really neat thing in many ways."

"Like what?"

"I think there may be something that's keeping you from hearing your mother when she's far away. Do you mind if I check your ears with this thing?" "What is it?"

Steve hands it to him, and I bounce on my toes a bit. It looks expensive, and I really don't want Gabe to drop it. "It's just a little flashlight that's attached to a weak microscope. Ears are kind of hard to see into without help, since they're a small space." "And there's no light," Gabe says.

"Exactly." Steve presses a button and a light comes on at the end of the pointy part.

"Then I guess you can take a look," Gabe says.

"It might tickle," Steve says, "but it won't hurt. Alright?"

Gabe holds really still while Steve pokes around in both ears.

Once he releases Gabe, he smiles. "I have great news. There are a few things that can cause kids to have trouble hearing, and they range from no big deal, like fluid retention, to pretty concerning things, but yours is the easiest fix of all." "What's that?" Gabe's face is still nervous when he looks at me.

My heart is already lighter. Steve doesn't seem worried in the slightest.

"Your ears are full of something called ear wax."

"Ear wax?" Gabe looks disgusted.

"Think of it like this. A car has oil in its engine, and that keeps it running well. Did you know that?"

Gabe shrugs.

Steve chuckles. "Alright, well my analogy may be a little advanced, but your ear needs something similar. Since it's an opening in your body, where sounds can go to be processed by your brain, and because it has a sensitive little area that captures sound-that's called the eardrum-your body needs to protect it. It creates earwax to keep your ear safe and infection free. But sometimes, especially in tiny ears like yours, that earwax builds up and gets shoved down instead of working its way out."

"What do you have to do?" Gabe's eyes still look very nervous. "Do you have to cut my ear off?"

"What?" Steve laughs full out this time. "No, there will be no cutting of any kind."

Gabe sits down on the step and breathes out. "Oh, good."

Steve looks back at me and mouths the words, "Cut his ear off?" He shakes his head. "Listen, Gabe. I have a little, kind of bendy, stick that will scoop it right out." "You have it with you?" he asks.

"Not with me, but I have some at my house, and it's close."

If you're loving the book, nel5s.com is where the adventure continues. Join us for the complete experience all for free. The next chapter is eagerly waiting for you! Gabe swallows. "Okay."

"Do you want to come with me? Or wait while I go grab it?"

"If I come with you, can I meet Cromey?"

Steve beams. "Yes. That's a great plan. You come with me, and I'll have your mom hold a light while I clean those ears out, and then you can meet Cromey."

Just as he said, it's not painful, and Steve is quick. He pulls out a few small scoops of earwax, and then one huge one from the left side. It only takes three scoops to clean the right side, all of them pretty big. "You're all clear," Steve says. "That's it?" Gabe asks. Then his eyes widen. "Whoa, I'm talking so loud."

"Yeah, even your own voice will be louder now, since you'll hear it from the outside and the inside."

"That's so cool." Gabe hops off the table and walks toward the door, covering his ear with his hands and then uncovering it, like it's some kind of game.

Now that it's done, and my motherly panic has somewhat subsided, I look around Steve's house. It's spare, practically Spartan, but it's got a few touches that testify that it's been lived in. A photo of Steve when he's quite young with a woman I assume is his mother. There's even a horse head hogging part of the frame behind him.

An old tattered quilt is folded carefully across the back of a new, tan sofa. His television isn't large-especially by today's standards. I would never have guessed this was the house of a doctor. It looks more like a house built by someone's grandpa back in the 50s.

The lamps are unique, and I'm not sure what they're made of some kind of bumpy, irregular wood that's thick at the base and narrows near the top. I'd ask, but I'm trying not to insert myself. "Thanks so much," I say. "We will get out of your hair."

"Wait," Gabe says. "You said I get to meet Cromey, remember?"

"Of course you do." Steve ruffles his hair. "Let's go."

"Can I give him a treat?"

Steve turns around and heads for the kitchen. I grab the back of Gabe's shirt, pulling him up short, to keep him from invading even worse. "Stay here and wait," I say. "It's rude to just wander around someone's house." "I'm not wandering. I'm following."

When he returns with a handful of carrots, Steve's smiling. "He's right. He could have followed me. My kitchen's not too embarrassing."

I feel my cheeks heat up.

"Ready to meet one of my favorite horses?"

Gabe nods.

As we walk out to the barn, Steve fills us in on his past. "I got him when I was fifteen," he says. "He's the very first horse I ever broke myself." "You still have him? That's so cool," Gabe says.

"He was four years old then, and he was a real hotrod. He raced and he bucked and he did not want someone to sit on his back."

Gabe listens, enraptured, as Steve tells him how many times Cromey tossed him off. "And then, the thing that changed it all?" "What?" Gabe asks, with bated breath.

"I stopped trying to ride him for a whole week."

If you're loving the book, nel5s.com is where the adventure continues. Join us for the complete experience-all for free. The next chapter is eagerly waiting for you! "You stopped?"

"And when I started again, I strapped a scarecrow to his back. No matter how much he bucked, that thing just kept flopping around. He finally settled down and realized that he was causing the misery for himself. After a week of trying to toss a scarecrow off without any luck, he just gave up."

"That's when you got on?"

"Exactly," Steve says. "Sometimes horses are worried about, or even scared of, something that just isn't that bad." He looks at me then, and I realize he's not just talking about Cromey.

Is he right?

He holds Gabe up so he can reach to give broken-up pieces of carrots to an old bay with white whiskers. "After I broke him, I was supposed to sell him and take the money to buy a few more green horses."

"But you still have him," Gabe says.

"I do." Steve shrugs. "I've always loved things a little too much for my own good. Especially things that require extra patience or a little more work. Those are the ones that are really worth it."

After he drives us back home, and Gabe dashes from the car to show his siblings all the wax that was in his ears-yes, Steve let him keep it, which is super duper gross, but also 100% the coolest thing ever for a seven-year-old boy-I expect him to badger me again.

I brace for it.

But he just leans across me and opens my door. "I'll see you in a few days for the next lesson? Or will you be working?"

"I should be there." I slide across the bench seat and hop out. I close the door, and he starts to drive away. My heart lurches, because I think maybe he's right. Maybe I'm bucking about nothing. Maybe I'm just scared of a scarecrow. "Wait!" I wave and jog toward the truck where he's backing out the long drive. He probably won't even see me. "Wait, Steve!"

He must hear me, because he stops and turns, his brow furrowed in confusion. He rolls his window down. "Yeah?"

I reach the side of his car and stop, not quite sure what to say.

"You don't need to pay me for Gabe, if that's what you're worried about. I'm happy to help."

He's always happy to help. With horseback lessons. With the cattle drive. With Whitney's arm, which the hospital sent us comped bills for, refusing to even charge our insurance. And now with Gabe's ear. He takes care of things, and somehow makes the experience a positive one instead of a terrifying one. For me and for my son.

"I was wrong," I say. "And you were right."

"Huh?" He looks around me, as if something will clue him in to what I'm talking about.

"I won't buck you off," I say. "If you ask again."

He leans forward then, his head coming through the window. "Abigail."

I'm worried he'll mock me. I'm worried he'll gloat. If he does, he'll make me into a liar, because I'll probably run out of habit.

"Abby." He smiles. "I'm working quite a few days over the next week, but would you do me the honor of letting me show you around and introduce you to people at the Fourth of July barbecue and dance?"

A thrill shoots up my spine. My hands shake just a little, so I jam them into my pockets. "Yes, sure."

His smile broadens, and his one dimple comes out. "Wonderful."

I think it just might be.