Picturesque

Chapter 25: Willow

I hadn't driven a car in so long, but my muscle memory took over. I found the Pontiac in the garage and hopped in, feeling a little nervous about driving such a nice car an hour away to a place I barely remembered how to get to.

Again, my muscle memory kicked in. It was a little rocky at first, with this car's gas and brakes being more sensitive, but I made it down the highway Jo had driven us on before. I made a few of the turns I remembered, not thinking anything about how impulsive this was or how easily Marty had just let me take his car to go see Jo in the middle of the night.

I was shocked at how much Marty trusted me. He had liked me from the very start of my internment and had goaded Jo and I to be friends from the get-go. Of course, Katie hated it for whatever reason, but Marty seemed to really like me. It made me feel warm inside, having that fatherly approval. It also made me feel guilty knowing what was between Jo and I, whatever it was between us. I didn't even know yet.

After a while, I started to think I was lost. It was so dark I could barely see anything even with the headlights, and it was coming upon an hour of driving, which went by incredibly fast. Finally, with a huge sigh of relief, I saw the sign that read Manor Farm and turned towards it, barreling up the dirt driveway where I saw the little cottage with its lights gleaming into the night darkness through the windows.

Richard heard the car coming and came out onto the porch right as I stopped in front of it. I nearly fell out of the car, looking up at him with wild breaths and wide eyes. He recognized me from the last couple of times I had came with Jo and the kids.

"Jo?" I asked, and his once worried face went solemn. He raised his hand and pointed to a barn across the field, tucked in a clove of trees. I could see one glimmering light coming from a window in the barn. "Thank you," I said as politely as I could as I started to run.

I ran so fast that my sandals rubbed blisters on my feet. It was a humid night, sweat forming on my forehead as I sprinted, dust kicking up behind my heels. The barn came closer into view, then closer, and I came through the parted barn doors.

I stopped. There were horses all around in their stalls inside the barn, munching on hay, some looking up at me. It was dark besides a golden lamplight glowing from one of the stalls down the row. Hay kicked around my feet as I jogged towards the light until I was standing in front of the stall.

Willow, the great big horse with a long black mane, was lying on her side on a thick bed of hay. Then there was Jo, on her knees, bent over the horse's stomach, her head laying on the horse's fur as her back tremored from silent cries.

"Jo," I breathed, covering my mouth with my hand.

This very image is still burned clearly in my mind to this day. Willow, the majestic big racing horse, greyed with age, laying down on her side, clearly given up on life. It was wrong, to see such a beautiful creature, so strong and powerful and alive, whom I had rode on the back of not long ago, lying dead in a stable. It was wrong to see Jo bent over her, head placed on Willow's motionless stomach. An unsettling sickness filled me as I stared at the sight. The horse's leg was bandaged, though that wasn't the main cause of her death. She was just old and tired.

I didn't want to intrude—I couldn't hear it, but I knew Jo was crying. Carefully, I stepped into the stable, kneeling down beside Jo and looking at Willow. She was such a beautiful horse, even in this state. Her legs were bent, and her mane was strewn behind her. Her eyes were still open, and so was her mouth, and I felt the urge to reach forward and close both of them.

It was obvious that Willow was already gone, but I gently asked, "Is she...?"

"An hour ago," Jo whispered, her voice cracking so delicately. I still could not see her face; she had turned it when I sat down and buried it in the horse's fur.