Wander and Roam (Wander #1) (4 page)

But my feelings pour out through my pen, and despite Robbie’s absence, it feels like he’s listening when I seal my thoughts into his purple envelopes.

I tuck the envelope with all the others and pick up the basket of carrots. I can’t delay delivering them any longer.

As I hike to Susan’s house, I try to think of a plan. If I can avoid Sage, the issue will resolve itself. There have to be enough tasks on this farm that we can work separately. The bigger problem is our living situation. If only we had our own yurts.

I walk up the steps to Susan’s deck and knock at her open back door. “I brought the carrots. Where would you like them?”

“You can leave them next to the door,” Susan calls. “If you can wait a few minutes, I’ll be along soon.”

Susan’s place differs from the cookie-cutter houses back home. Rather than the identical aluminum siding that covers entire neighborhoods in the Midwest, her house has sides formed from rough-sawn wood. The deck and wrap-around porch feature a hand-carved railing.

Flowerbeds surround the house, with some of the blooms growing higher than the railing. The house blends in perfectly with the picturesque backdrop of farm and wilderness, its tin roof being only a slightly lighter shade of green than the surrounding vegetation.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Susan steps onto the deck. “My grandfather built the house himself. It was his wedding present for my mother.”

“Did he give her the land as well?”

“No, Nana and Pop lived in the city. When my mother fell in love with a farmer, they wanted her to have a comfortable life out here.” Susan runs her hand along the railing. “Mum told me that my grandfather spent every weekend for six straight months working on his gift.”

What would it be like to have such a supportive father? He couldn’t have been happy that his daughter was moving away from him, but he gave up six months of his life to help her settle. I can’t even tell my dad that I flunked out of school. He would never understand.

He didn’t understand about Robbie, after all.

“What an amazing gift. I bet your family will treasure it for generations.”

Susan’s smile disappears. “I hope so. I really hope so.”

I help Susan carry the baskets of carrots into her kitchen. She rests them on the floor then returns to the deck. Susan sits on a hanging porch swing then pats the seat next to her. “How have your first few days gone?”

“Okay. I’m still getting used to everything.” I settle onto the swaying bench. “I was going to ask…”

I don’t want to be too forward, but I need more space. I will never be able to escape my temptation if I remain in the yurt, so close to Sage.

“What is it, Abby?”

“Do you have an extra bedroom in your house?” My cheeks warm as I avoid Susan’s questioning gaze. “Could I—?”

She rests her weathered hand on my knee. “I only have the two rooms, my bedroom and Zachary’s nursery. You’re uncomfortable living in the yurt?”

“The yurt’s fine. Nicer than I expected. But…” I build up my courage and finally whisper, “I’m not used to sharing my living space with anyone.”

“Oh, you’re having a hard time living with Sage.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I—”

“No worries. It’s good feedback. Obviously, I need to make the shared accommodations clearer for future volunteers,” Susan says. “Has he done anything—”

“No!” I blurt. “He’s been friendly and welcoming. This is all about me.”

I hope she believes me. I would hate for Susan to think poorly of Sage, when I’m the one who’s so messed up. Obviously most volunteers co-reside without difficulty. Why do I have to make
everything
so hard?

“If you ever want to talk…” Susan takes my hand. “Well, I’m always here. One of the benefits of being water-bound.”

I’m so ready for this awkward conversation to be done. Maybe if the focus isn’t on me, I can slip away soon. “I was wondering about the water transportation. Since this isn’t an island, why all the water taxis?”

“It’s the cheapest and quickest transportation option.” Susan gestures to the thick forest behind the farmland. “The land beyond my property belongs to the national park. It would be a long hike to reach the nearest road.”

That gives me an idea. “Do any of the trails reach the farm?”

“My father carved his own trail so we could easily go on bushwalks.” Susan quickly explains the directions to the trailhead. “Be careful. You could lose yourself in that wilderness.”

Losing myself among the endless acres is exactly what I need.

Two hours later, I’m standing high above the farm. From my vantage point, the green hillside slopes toward the bay. When the land flattens, near the boundaries of Susan’s farm, the overgrown wilds turn into the carefully manicured rectangles of the gardens.

From up so high, I can spot the exact point where chaos transforms to neat and tidy order. I relate more to the chaos. Ever since Robbie went away, my life has been nothing but a muddled bundle of disarray.

Susan was wrong. I don’t have to worry about losing myself in the wilderness. I’m already lost.

A small part of me yearns for normality, though.

Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to Sage.

I hiked so high to escape my attraction and embrace isolation. But on top of this hilltop, I’m still thinking of Sage. The seclusion is no longer comforting, as it had been. Being by myself only highlights my loneliness.

T
HE BREAKFAST
bell’s soft chime wakes me. As I rub the sleep from my eyes, I glance over at Sage. He sits propped against the wall, reading a book about meditation. When he notices I’m awake, he quickly closes the book and places it on a small shelf, next to another text on Buddhism.

“Since I’m ready to go, why don’t I give you some space to change? Meet you at the tables?”

A loud yawn escapes. “See you in fifteen.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m still brushing my hair. When I glance at my watch, I can’t believe how much time has passed. Normally, I throw on whatever clothes are the cleanest and most convenient then quickly brush my teeth. I’m lucky if I even take the time to run a brush through my hair.

I wrinkle my nose, throw the brush on the bathroom counter, and muss up my hair a bit. I rush down the trail to the covered breakfast area. Walking so quickly leaves little time to wonder about my radical shift.
Why would I care what Sage thinks of me?

When I finally reach the tables, Sage reads his book, so engrossed he doesn’t even notice me.

“We have oatmeal this morning.” Susan points out various bowls that dot the table. “There are fresh peaches and berries, cinnamon sugar, and dried currents and raisins. Fix your bowl however you’d like.”

“Wow, this looks incredible.” I fill a bowl with oatmeal then add peaches and cinnamon sugar to the top. “I never imagined we’d be getting such delicious meals.”

“Cooking’s how I get my pleasure.” Susan gestures to the empty land around us. “I’m lucky I have the two of you to feed. It would get lonely cooking only for myself.”

Zachary peeks his head over Susan’s shoulder and shrieks from his backpack.

“Don’t worry, no one has forgotten you.” Sage leans over just enough to tickle Zachary’s toes. “You’re just too little to eat much.”

Susan turns to two metal carafes. “Sage only drinks green tea, so there’s hot water in the first, but I made another carafe of coffee in case you prefer something stronger.”

“Thanks.” I pour a steaming cup of java. “I’m not fun in the mornings without my caffeine fix.”

“Come up to the house if you need anything else.” She waves as she heads home.

I settle across from Sage, who continues to read his book. The next few minutes are an exercise in patience. Sage seems to be respecting my need to be alone, but the silence presses on me.

I haven’t wanted to talk to anybody in forever. In actuality, it’s only been six months. I could even give you the exact last date I initiated a genuine social interaction. That date is emblazoned across my mind. I’ll never forget it.

Sage takes a bite, licks his spoon, then turns the page. I watch him for ten agonizingly long minutes before I cannot take another minute of silence.

“That’s a different book than you were reading this morning.” Cinnamon and peach melt in my mouth as I take my first bite of oatmeal. I cannot believe I’m sitting here, initiating conversations. When I pictured volunteering on a far-away Australian farm, I figured I was signing up for a few months of lovely isolation.

“I usually read a few books at once.” He places his book, something about the Dalai Lama and compassion, cover down.

“Interesting reading choices. Why all the Buddhist stuff?” Guys in my college were too busy going to the next party or hitting on the cutest girl to care about religion. Especially religions from halfway across the world.

Sage reaches for the first carafe, pours steaming water over his tea bag, and studies the clear green liquid. “Australia wasn’t my first choice of destinations. If it were up to me, I would have gone to an Asian country. Thailand or Cambodia, maybe.”

“What would you have done there?” I take a drink of the rich, pungent coffee.

“They have these Buddhist monasteries that welcome visitors. You can stay for a week or a month and pray and meditate with the monks.”

He was different from the guys back home, but I didn’t realize
how
different. “You wanted to become a monk?”

He smiles but shakes his head. “Not a monk. I wouldn’t have minded studying meditation and yoga techniques with their masters, though.”

“What stopped you from going? Was it too expensive?”

Sage takes a long sip of his tea. “My mother’s a worrier. She didn’t like the idea of my traveling abroad at all, so we comprised. I needed to pick a western, first-world country within a half-hour’s reach of a major city.”

“Wow, talk about overprotective.”

Sage’s smile falters. “Yeah, well, she has reasons for worrying so much, so I tried to make her more comfortable with me leaving.”

“Ah, such a sweet son.” I gaze into his gold-speckled eyes and for a moment cannot look away.

He stares back at me. “I try. Besides, an isolated farm is another great place to practice my meditation. I rarely get interrupted.”

Those deep brown eyes are too tempting. I need to focus on why I’m here; losing myself in the hard work of the farm. “So is it digging new garden beds or gathering apples today?”

Sage slides a list in front of me. “Susan leaves a new list every few days. We’re free to choose to do the tasks in whatever order we want.”

As I finish the last of my oatmeal and coffee, I glance at the short list. Debug tomatoes, add composted manure to the empty beds, harvest melons.

“I’ll give you a tip. Whatever we harvest for the day often appears on the menu for the next day.”

“Harvesting the melons already seemed like the most appealing choice.”

Sage grins. “Glad to hear it. I always end up smelling like crap after working with the compost. It’ll be good to save that one for later in the day, after I practice.”

“It must be hard to focus on meditation when you smell like the back end of a cow.” I can’t stop the giggle that escapes.