One Little Thing

One Little Thing

“Sometimes, when all else is lost, we grab onto something, just one thing—one little thing, perhaps—and it becomes everything. Do you know what I mean, Ethan?”

I could see the uncertainty in his eyes as he struggled to find the right words—words that would encourage my confidence without betraying his own doubt.

I shook my head and saved him the trouble. “Of course, you don’t. How could you understand? Oh, it’s not your fault. You can’t help that you were raised by loving parents who gave you everything.” My flippant shoulder shrug said it all, but I added, “Just like I can’t help that my parents were taken from me all those years ago, leaving me with nothing. Well, almost nothing.” The sweep of my arm encompassed the dark, polished wood, the solid yet empty stalls, the inviting loft, and, most of all, my own true light, the barnyard owl, sitting sentry on the rafter.

As two familiar creases marred his forehead, his gaze perused the barn. “We haven’t really talked about it since we were teenagers, but I still remember what you told me. The pain of being taken away from your parents so viciously . . . the abuse you suffered in the children’s home—”

“Stop it! Shut up!” My hands beat against my ears, forcing his words away. “I told you never to talk about it!” No matter how tightly I squeezed my eyes, I couldn’t erase the images. My beautiful mother, reaching for me, a river of mascara running down her cheeks. And then, other hands, other faces . . .

“No!” Mind over matter, Becky. Find the little things. Or, just one. Just one little thing. I dropped my hands and forced my eyes open, and there she was, my unflappable barnyard friend, still sitting on the rafter, gazing placidly down at me. It wasn’t just compassion emanating from those dark eyes. It was strength. I nodded to her.

“Forget about that, Ethan.”

I started to pace, kicking up the fresh hay, inhaling nature’s aroma.

“Watch your step!” He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. “I can’t forget it,” he whispered into my hair. “I haven’t forgotten, after all these years. Why do you stay at that children’s home? I have begged you to leave, so many times. Why do you insist on working there, even now?”

“I did it for Clementine.” A rueful smile tugged at my lips. “And I did it for me. For my peace of mind, I suppose.” I took a deep breath and stepped gently away from him. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, but I want you to understand me, completely, before we get married. And now, with this nonsense about tearing down this barn, it’s more important than ever.”

“What is it with you and this—”

My raised palm silenced him. One glance up at my erstwhile friend, one deep breath, and then . . .

“Clementine brought us together, Ethan. The first time I ran away from the children’s home, I saw her in the woods and followed her here. And that was the day I met you.”

He grinned. “Long braids, torn jeans, and a swagger, even at fourteen years old.”

I cast him a sultry look, but the sound of Clementine’s feathers ruffling reminded me to stay focused. “You didn’t know this, but I kept coming here, to the barn—to escape. I never told anyone, and I never told anyone about Clementine, either. It was the only thing I had that was all mine. My own peace. It was . . . a safety net, I guess.” The air whooshed out of me. Ten years of secrets, of dark, black-box thoughts and actions and feelings held captive. The release left me trembling.

Those two grooves appeared again. My fingers absently smoothed them from his forehead. “You could have told me, Becky. You can tell me anything.”

I offered a slight shake of my head as I tried to swallow past sandpaper. “It wasn’t about you. I just . . . I couldn’t chance anyone taking this one thing away from me. It was all I had. It was my only comfort.”

“You had me!”

One sharp look from beneath my raised brows was all that was needed.

“Okay, we were young. And I wasn’t perfect,” he admitted.

“And she is. Clementine has always been here. Always. I needed that. Maybe I still do.” My chin rose; my shoulders drew back. The die was cast. “So, now you know. You may think it’s crazy, but I stayed at the children’s home because I needed to be close, to come here. If I worked and lived somewhere else, I could drive here, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same. Not as often, not as routinely. Clementine might not understand.”

His gaze narrowed. “Clementine—"

“And now,” I interrupted him, “we’re going to get married and live here, at the house. I thought everything would be perfect. I wouldn’t have to work at the children’s home anymore because I would be right here, all the time. But now, you’re threatening to tear it down, to take it all away from me.”

“Becky, I have to tear it down.” He stepped toward me, his hand raised, beseeching. “It’s an eyesore! And it’s dangerous!”

I did a double-take. “Is that a joke? I don’t know who comes in to take care of this place, but they definitely deserve a raise.”

Silence met my comment. After a moment: “And who is Clementine? I’ll admit that I haven’t come in here in years—why would I, since it’s falling apart?—but I think I would have noticed the signs of someone living here. If your friend needed a place to stay, why didn’t you say something? And for ten years? No offense, but who would live in a barn for ten years?”

What was wrong with him? My eyes darted back and forth from my fiancé to my owl. “Ethan, do you need glasses? She’s right there!” I pointed to the rafters, where Clementine continued to patiently wait to be noticed.

He angled his head forward and up, like a gooseneck lamp, and squinted his eyes. “Not a person, then. What am I looking for, exactly?”

“Seriously? How can you miss the gorgeous white owl sitting right there on the rafter?”

“Rafter?” he echoed. I could almost feel his blood freeze. Or was it my own?

Slowly, he turned toward me with a look that I’d never seen before. “There is no rafter; the roof is caving in. And there is no owl.”

My feet slid backward, away from him, of their own accord.

“Careful,” he whispered, reaching for me.

“Why would you lie to me?”

“Take it easy, now. Let’s think this through. Why would I lie? Why would I tear down a barn unless it were already falling apart?” He glanced up again, as if searching for my friend. “And owls usually only live for a handful of years. I’ve known you for ten years—eleven on our wedding day.”

“Wedding? I—I can’t think about that now.” My hands pressed against my temples. My eyes slammed shut. Every gleaming inch of wood and every beautiful feather that Clementine wore whirled in my mind, while Ethan’s words thundered in my head like a gavel.

“No!” Find one little thing, and you will have everything. The images shattered, so many shards sundered by a bright white light. I dared to open my eyes. One incremental movement at a time, my gaze lifted to the rafter—yes, the rafter, which was right there, just like Clementine, my beautiful feathered friend who always brought me relief and never hurt me. “I see her, Ethan. I see her right there.”

“Oh, God, Becky. There is nothing there. Trust me. Let me help you. We’ll get through this together.”

I felt his hand on my arm. I felt nothing. “But . . . if she isn’t here,” I slowly turned, “are you?”