The Bequest
Chapter 60—Abigail

We all sit down, and Izzy insists on pouring everyone lemonade. I suspect Steve might not really have wanted any, but he didn't formally protest, so I let it go. He'll have to learn to speak up if he's not interested in something. The conversation meanders quite a lot, as it usually does, from Pokémon to the fireworks we missed, to the cutting of hay, and then to horses.

"Mom needs to pick a horse," Izzy says. "Because now Maren's riding Snoopy, and no one else can handle her pulling and kicking at the same time."

Not without bucking her off, it seems.

"Smarty isn't a bad option," Whitney says. "Remember? He's older, but I rode him once, and I liked him."

"I'll take Snoopy tomorrow when we go to check the cows, and he'll be fine for Maren's lesson on Wednesday." "Still." Izzy huffs. "I'm kinda mad she took him."

"Yeah, it's nice to have your own things," Gabe says. "I really like my Pokémon cards, and I don't like to share.”

"What other things do you have that you like?" Steve asks.

Gabe's the world's slowest eater, and even he has finished his food. That's my cue to get dessert. I stand up and walk to the counter in the kitchen.

"At home, I have a really cool train table. And I have shoes with air pockets that make me run super fast. I left them there so they wouldn't get muddy, but I think that was dumb. I'm so much slower without them." "You still look pretty fast to me," Steve says.

"You're really nice and I like you," Gabe says. "Are you going to be our new dad?"

I drop the plate with the cake on it, but luckily it only falls to the counter. The plate breaks, but the cake doesn't splatter.

"Here." Ethan grabs a spatula. "I'll get that on a new plate."

"I need to go out to the car and grab something from the glove box," I say. "I think there are" What can I say I need? What excuse can I give? "Wipes. We need wipes."

Whitney stands up. "Can't we just use paper towels-"

Izzy grabs her arm and yanks her back down, watching me carefully. "Not for the frosting. It's not water based-it has oil in it."

"I can go get them," Whitney says.

"Let Mom go." Izzy's eyes are worried. When did she get so big that she knows to cover for me?

I jog to the door. "Be right back." I'm breathing too fast, and my heart's pumping a mile a minute. I don't feel much better by the time I reach the door to my minivan. I realize that I left the key inside the house, anyway. Which doesn't matter. It was just an excuse all along.

Calm down, Abigail. It was a simple question.

But is Steve going to be their new dad? Doesn't ensuring that their new father figure is wonderful, if they end up with one, matter more than whom I like? Isn't it more important than whom I want to kiss or talk to? If I ever remarry, that person will be in their lives forever. They don't have a 'real' dad to go visit or someone else they can call if they're scared or sad. This guy would be it.

"Abby."

Steve followed me. Great. Read the room, dude.

He keeps walking until he's right next to me, but I don't want to see him right now. "It's probably awkward for you to be in there," I say. "I'm sorry. It's just too soon."

"Abby."

I finally meet his gaze. To my surprise, he's smiling like this is a huge joke. "What's funny about this?"

"You're freaking out because a seven-year-old asked a question-a very natural question."

"How am I supposed to answer him?" I drop a hand over my eyes. "I don't know if you will or not. It's way too soon to even think about that, but I can't say no, because what if that's a lie?" I exhale. "I can't really date without them knowing, but I don't want them involved until something's serious. We have this all backward, and I'm "

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His arms wrap around me then, and I curl my face against his chest. "Shhhh," he says.

I bawl against his shoulder like an absolute lunatic. "I'm so sorry," I whisper.

"Let me preface this by saying that you're not a horse, and I know you're not a horse."

This is going somewhere very strange.

"But I know very little about women, and quite a lot about horses."

I close my eyes and relax against his chest, his hand still patting my back gently.

"I've found a lot of horses over the years that were in bad situations. They were being given sugary feed and stuffed into tiny stalls, and they had shoes put on them when they should have been given time off, and they were stressed and tired and abused. I find neglected animals whose feet haven't been trimmed in a year. I find animals that have been lost or abandoned. They're starving, they're wormy, and every single one of them is scared."

His voice, however odd the content, is still comforting. Rumbly and soft and he doesn't require a thing from me. No work, no thought, no analysis.

"When I find these horses, they don't look too great. Some are shaggy, some are patchy, almost all of them have exposed ribs or skinny fat bellies. They're often terrified of humans. It takes time for them to trust me in each circumstance. But some of these horses have become the very best animals I've ever found. All of them have either stayed with me or gone to very good homes. In order to make that happen, I take things one step at a time, understanding that their reaction has more to do with their past than with me or anything I've done."

Their past. The horses'? Or mine?

"You aren't a nag. You're not starving. You haven't been neglected. But you have been dealt a huge trauma recently, and it impacts how you feel, how you hope, and how you plan. It has changed you, probably fundamentally. From what I've seen, I think you're possibly one of the best people I've ever met."

I open my eyes.

"You're embarrassed right now more than anything else, I imagine, but you're also hurting and unsure how to proceed. You know your children better than anyone else. If Gabe just needs to be told, 'don't be silly,' then tell him that. If he needs to be told that 'there's no way this guy will ever replace your father,' then tell him that. One thing you should never do is worry what I may think or feel about how you handle anything with your kids. I'm just happy to be along for the ride, and I understand that you're going through something I can't really comprehend."

Like sunlight coming out from behind the clouds, like taking off my boots at the end of a long day, like clicking save and shutting off the computer after finishing a miserable memo, a weight lifts from me. I hadn't realized how much of my stress had to do with trying to say the right thing for both Gabe, the other kids, and Steve. "Thank you. For being compassionate, and for being insightful, and for being willing to wait out my past."

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"I may not be a spring chicken," Steve says, "but nothing good comes from rushing things, and I don't intend to rush this."

He walks me back inside, and I explain to Gabe that Mr. Steve is a friend of mine, and that I like him a lot. I explain we may be seeing him more, but that no one would ever be a replacement for his father. I also tell him that it's possible that one day I'll remarry. He can choose what he wants to call that new person, if that ever happens.

"If I want to call him Dad, do you think Dad will care?"

"I don't," Ethan says. "The one thing Dad always wanted more than anything else was for us to be happy."

That night, after Steve leaves, I feel more peaceful than I have in a while. I'm not sure if that means anything, but it's a good feeling. I'm about to plug my phone in for the night when I refresh my email-a compulsion, sadly. I filter through the new ones, deleting the junk, and my finger freezes over one-the sender is Gustav Hopkins.

Abigail,

I'm pleased to be writing with great news. Technically, it's actually terrible news for a lot of people. There was a horrible perpetration of fraud discovered at one of the high schools in Houston-a few hundred kids were caught cheating on the SAT. We've decided that our admission to each of the students who planned to matriculate here should be revoked.

The upshot for you, of course, is that our waitlist has just been updated to reflect an offer of admission to over two dozen new students, including your son, Ethan Brooks. You can expect an admission letter to arrive at your house at any time, but I understand from our earlier communications that you may not be home right now.

I'm attaching a copy of the formal letter via electronic communication in case your travel is ongoing. Please sign and return, with the tuition payment, at your earliest convenience.

Yours truly,

Gus I should be dancing around the house, shouting and hollering. Singing should be happening. Instead, I decide to wait to share the good news until tomorrow.

Because I know that for him, it probably won't feel like very good news at all.