Page 51 of The Unmaking of June Farrow

Callie.

The word popped into my head like a bubble reaching the surface of water.

Callie. Was that the horse’s name? I was suddenly sure that it was. But how did I know it?

That tingle on my skin returned, but I could already feel the memory dimming, drawing away like a pinprick of light. A sense of déjà vu. I frantically tried to keep hold of it, my eyes focusing on the glint in the mare’s eye.

It came on in a rush, the barn and the paddock vanishing, replaced by the electric colors of spring.

I know where I am.

I’m standing at the back corner of the flower farm, where a small spring-fed pond is shaded by a cluster of wild dogwood trees. Before it, a chestnut mare with a mane that looks like tarnished bronze watches me.

I hold out a hand, taking a step toward her, and at first, I expect her to run. But then she’s dipping her head, coming toward me, and my fingers slide up her nose.

This isn’t a tear in the fabric. It’s more terrifying than that. This is a hidden seam, and the longer I am still and let it unwind, the clearer it becomes.

I’m remembering.

“Callie!”

A man’s voice echoes out around me before he appears in the trees ahead.

It’s Eamon. A younger, narrower version of him. His white shirt is rolled up to his elbows, his hair cut shorter and his face shaven. He stops short when his eyes land on me and I go rigid, realizing that he can see me. Actually see me.

I look down to my dress. My boots. I’m really standing here.

“I see you found my horse.” His accent makes the words sound like a song.

A smile lifts on one side of his face, and there is something both surprised and embarrassed about it. It makes my heart skip. I can feel myself smiling, too, a heat rushing to my cheeks.

“I think she found me,” I say.

The words leave my mouth without my permission. They haven’t so much as moved through my mind before they find my lips, and I suddenlyknow that this moment is happening without me, like skipping to a scene in a movie.

Eamon steps forward, a leather lead clutched in one hand. When I say nothing, he twists it nervously between his palms. “Sorry about this. I didn’t realize the fence was down.”

“That’s all right.” I hook my fingers into the mare’s bridle, walking her toward him.

When he has hold of her, he clips the lead to the buckle beneath her jaw and then wraps it around his fist once. The veins on the back of his hand are thick beneath his skin. “Thanks.”

“Her name’s Callie?” I ask. Again, the words come on their own.

“Yeah. Callie.”

“She’s beautiful.”

Something I can’t decipher passes over his face and he smiles again, eyes catching the light. They are a deep, tawny brown.

When he says nothing, I nod, letting my hand glide down the horse’s neck. He moves to lead her away, but stops when he crosses the fallen fence post, turning back to me. “I’ll get that fixed.” He gestures to it.

I don’t know what to say, I just know that I’m hoping that he doesn’t really go. So, when he speaks again, I instantly smile.

“I’m Eamon, by the way.”

“June.”

What is that flutter in my chest? That buzzing beneath my skin? I want to chase after it, to blow on its embers until it’s a fire.