Sometimes I remember that I’m just along for the ride.

It was still early. They had been driving since two. The plan had been to get up at three, load them up and leave, but she couldn’t sleep. And he couldn’t either.
By the time they turned the corner onto Route 106, the sun had finally risen up above the mountains. It seemed extraordinarily large this morning.
When they came upon the house, she smiled. It looked pink. I guess the sun is a painter this morning, she thought. He didn’t notice. Even though the truck was doing most of the work, the trailer was always exhausting to pull.
They had decided on the way up to unload first. She wanted to tell him to pull up into the driveway and then come back around, but she knew enough by now to stay quiet.
She rolled down her window. Warmth, a breeze. The truck jerked. She could hear them in the back. They knew.
He had managed to back the trailer up to the gate without swearing. She was too wound up to even notice. He put the truck into park. They sat there, in the front of the truck, looking at the house. They both let out a deep breath.
They hopped out. This spot had never failed to amaze her. The fields, the mountains. She had been driving through for years and every time she would imagine what it might be like to wake up here every day. And now she would.
He had already opened the gates and was dealing with the tricky latch on the back of the trailer. How did he get the trailer so perfectly between the fence posts?
She looked at the fence. It was mostly the old white boards. They had been coming up on weekends to replace the broken parts. No one was looking at the fence in this spot.
They had put Grace in the trailer last, knowing she would come out first. He led her out into the field, took off the bridle, and stepped back.
Grace never disappoints.

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