Cattle Stop by Kit Oliver

Chapter Three

When Cooper wakes up,the sun is cutting into the room in a harsh glare, shining on Whit’s empty bed. The bathroom door sits ajar, the door to the hall closed, and Whit’s book is on top of the stack on the nightstand.

Cooper would think he’d been entirely alone, except that he’d dropped his backpack next to Whit’s dresser last night, and now it’s sitting by the foot of his bed.

Whit’s bed, rather. Or Whit’s extra bed. Whit who’s twenty-seven years old and sleeps in a twin bed because he’s just that cool.

Well, fucking noted about where Cooper can and can’t set his obviously inconvenient backpack.

Downstairs, the coffeepot is already half-empty, and Drew’s favorite mug sits in the sink, so he’s probably elbow-deep in cheese curds. And wherever Whit goes first thing in the morning, it’s thankfully not loitering around the kitchen.

Running, probably. That’d be like Whit, to jump out of bed at the first sign of dawn and pound out a couple miles before he starts work. Cooper grimaces as he pours himself a cup of coffee. Classic Whit, filling his day with every ounce of misery possible.

Cooper pushes his feet into Drew’s tall muck boots, not bothering with socks and letting his sweatpants bunch up around the top. Bleary-eyed and still yawning, he hunches into his sweatshirt as he makes his way across the barnyard. Only Socks is out there, tail lashing side to side as he studies a tall tuft of grass, some hapless critter likely burrowed inside.

“Is it a squirrel?” Cooper asks.

Socks flicks his tail, his butt wiggling as he shifts his feet under him.

Cooper nudges the cat with his toe. “Scram. Let it live another day. I doubt it’s the guilty party.”

Cooper sips at his coffee and scratches cows’ noses as they sniff at him. Whit must’ve already fed them, because instead of the clamor of a hungry herd wanting their breakfast, they root into fresh, fluffy flakes of hay. He probably did it while Cooper was still asleep, just to avoid him.

Good, Cooper thinks and tickles the soft fur under a cow’s chin. “Between you and me, let’s not tell Whit he’s so damn slow that chores take him two hours longer each day than they actually need to.”

Cooper fiddles with the spigot, the metal cold in the morning chill. Probably the only way it’ll ever get fixed is if it breaks completely. If the temperature drops too low in here some winter night and the spigot freezes solid, or if a wayward cow uses it as a scratching post and knocks it clean off the wall. Maybe that’s the best present Cooper could give Drew while visiting: take the end of a shovel and give the spigot a few whacks so there’ll be no choice but to replace it.

Though probably, if he stands here and messes with it long enough, the thing’s so old that just touching it will accomplish the same through sheer accident. Cooper sets his mug on an overturned bucket and spins the handle back and forth. There has to be some plumber’s tape kicking around so he can fix whatever part of it is leaking. And if not that, he can make his way to the hardware store and just pick up a new spigot, install it, and then be on his way down to Brooklyn.

Especially ’cause there’s apparently no need to hurry, if his mom can’t seem to make the time for him anyway. He blows out a breath. How annoyingly typical.

“Cooper.”

He jumps and snatches his hand from the spigot.

“Where’re the cows?” Whit asks, silhouetted in the barn door, his hands on his hips.

Cooper slowly points at the cow closest to him. “Um?”

“Not these cows, the other cows. Did you try to move them?”

“What other cows? I didn’t move anything. I got a cup of coffee and came over here and—”

“The cows that were in the back pen.”

“Oh, of course, the back pen.” Cooper stands and grabs his mug. “What back pen?”

“The—we put it up the other—never mind.” Whit holds up a finger. “Do not tell Drew.”

“That you lost his herd? Or that you’re setting up secret pens? Did you ask the squirrels where they went? I’ll give you a hand with the interrogations. Can we put up a corkboard that has thumbtacks and red yarn connecting the suspects?”

Whit rakes his eyes over Cooper. “You’re not even dressed.”

Cooper looks down at himself. Already there’s hay clinging to the knee of his sweatpants. “I’m dressed, it’s not like I’m naked. I mean, I am, under all my clothes, but—hey, where’re you going?”

Cooper jogs around to the passenger seat of Whit’s truck. Whit’s sure to just take off without him, leaving him in a squeal of slush, and Cooper hops into the cab quick enough coffee splashes over the cuff of his sweatshirt. He wipes it on his sweatpants before Whit can see.

“What—” Whit shifts onto his hip and feels around beneath himself.

The wrenches, Cooper remembers. He grins. “Morning, roomie. Aren’t you glad we get to spend this quality time together?”

Whit sets the wrenches neatly in the cupholder. “What a delight.”

“Well look at that. We finally found something to agree on.”

Whit doesn’t return his smile. Doesn’t even glance over, just shifts the truck into gear. Ah, same old Whit, same old farm, same old everything. It’s as comforting as it is hilarious, that Cooper can swing back through here and slip right into how things always were.

Cooper sips at his coffee as Whit pulls out of the barnyard. “How do you know the cows even went this way?”

“Don’t spill that.”

“Don’t drive so damn fast.” Cooper takes a loud slurp. “Do they always head down the road? Say hi to the neighbors? Pick up the morning newspaper on the way?”

“Can’t you just pour that out and get another cup when we get back?”

“I’m almost finished.”

“You’ve nearly spilled half of it all over my truck.”

“Don’t worry. One happy day of working with you, and I’ll be out of here. You be careful, you might just miss me.”

“Right, because you have that job.”

“Hey, consider this our big chance to catch up. What’s new, how’s life, anything exciting happening these days?” Cooper means it as a joke, but curiosity wells up in his chest. Don’t, he tells himself. Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t—“Seeing anyone?”

Whit’s eyes cut toward him. “Why?”

“Why would you be seeing someone? See, Whit, when two people love each other, or, you know, just want to get it on, they—”

“Why do you ask?”

“Wait, are you?”

“There they are.” Whit jerks the wheel to the side so hard Cooper’s coffee really does spill.

Cooper wipes his hands on his sweatpants as Whit jumps out of the cab, like the cows are really going anywhere, not just idly exploring the poor neighbor’s lawn. Because, sure enough, there they are, a dozen of them, sleepy-eyed in the morning mist and making a mess of things, oblivious to the trouble they’ve caused.

“Caroline?” Whit calls, a hand cupped around his mouth.

From her porch, Caroline waves, her long gray hair tied up on top of her head and the hem of her nightgown wet with dew.

“They came over to say hello!” she calls back.

Whit claps his hands together, trying to shoo a heifer as she sticks her head into Caroline’s flowerbed. “I’m so sorry,” he says.

Three more cows round the corner of the house, where they must’ve been investigating the backyard, and jogging behind them, his arms outstretched—

“Brad?” Cooper asks.

He has to stare for a long moment to be sure, because that doesn’t look like Brad. And what the hell is he doing over here instead of at his own farm, clear across town? Though it has to be Brad, just without the mess of his usual scraggly beard. And, apparently, he’s been hitting the gym this past winter. He looks…different. More put together, with jeans that aren’t covered in cow manure and a plaid shirt that doesn’t have tractor grease all over it. Even his brown hair is combed, not the messy mop Cooper’s used to seeing. Probably still just as irritating, though.

“Coop?”

Brad smacks a cow on the flank to urge it toward the road and then comes over to give Cooper a handshake that turns into a back-clapping hug, as if they haven’t seen each other in ages. A year it’s been, maybe. Though, Cooper can’t remember going down to Brad’s farm last season, since that would have involved actually seeing Brad. So maybe it was the year before he last saw him, or even two years? Pity to break the record.

Cooper squirms free of Brad’s grip, but Brad just slaps his shoulder again and snaps a piece of gum in his mouth, loud enough Cooper can hear it. “Good to see you, man.”

“What’re you doing here, Brad?” Whit asks.

“Came by to chat with Travis. Wanted to catch him first thing this morning. He just took off back to Manhattan, and the next minute,” Brad tips his head toward the cows. “These ladies showed up.”

“Travis? He’s in town?” Cooper steps away from Brad under the excuse of ushering another cow away from a stand of hydrangeas. Travis, Caroline’s son, who back in the day used to tag along behind Drew and Cooper, though he was still a couple years too young to be of any real use. Travis and Brad: damn. They sure do round out the list of folks besides Whit who Cooper didn’t want to deal with during this quick visit to Drew.

“He was just here for the day,” Brad says. “I swung by to set up an appointment with him, but I didn’t know you were here too.”

“Doesn’t Travis sell real estate down in the city these days?” Cooper asks.

“Yep.” Brad snaps his gum again.

“Yep?” Cooper echoes. Next to him, a cow sniffs over the lawn and huffs a breath, dissatisfied with the brown grass of early spring. “Are you—an appointment? What’d you come all the way over here to see him about?”

“Sold the herd.” Brad grins and shrugs, holding his hands out wide. “Yeah, I know, right? Sent ’em on over to Ohio.”

“You sold them?” Brad’s family had been milking cows since—well, since before Drew’s uncle and probably before Drew’s grandfather too. “All of them?”

“All of them.” Brad laughs. It’s an annoying sound, Cooper remembers all over again. There’s a reason he hasn’t seen Brad in a good long while. “Drew’s gonna have to hold down the dairy tradition in these parts, ’cause I’m out.”

“You’re selling your land, too?”

“Thinking about it.”

With Travis’s help, apparently. Travis, who’s all grown up and selling off dairy farms. Fuck. Maybe Penny and Drew are right that only stopping by every six months instead of spending entire summers here is leaving him in the dust when it comes to the neighborhood news.

Brad claps his hands to usher another cow toward the road. “I was just telling Drew the other day, we’ve got some equipment we’re getting rid of. Come by if you want to take a look.”

“You sold your herd,” Cooper echoes softly, and Whit looks over at him as he tries to coax a cow away from a stand of lilacs. He probably heard Cooper muttering to himself like that. “Really?”

“The equipment? Yeah, really. I’ll give you a good deal. I just want it gone at this point.” Brad catches Cooper’s eye and snaps his gum again. “It’d be good to catch up too, you know?”

Cooper doesn’t know, but Brad’s still looking at him, so he nods.

“The cows, Cooper,” Whit says. “Let’s get them back to the barn. Thanks for your help, Brad. We’re all set, though.”

“Well, we could use a hand—”

But Whit steps between Cooper and Brad, his shoulder knocking Cooper’s to steer him toward the road. “We’re good,” Whit says, shooing Cooper across the lawn like he’s another damn cow.

With Whit calling for them and Cooper following behind, the herd shuffles back up the road, past Whit’s truck, where he leaves it parked in Caroline’s driveway, and toward home. The cows would’ve probably made their way back anyway, after giving the neighborhood a good sniff and finding no grass growing. But Whit hurries them along all the same, chasing down a straggling heifer and urging them faster when they’d rather loiter on their morning stroll. When the farm finally comes into view, Cooper can dimly hear the whine of the saw, so Drew must be back at work on the house again.

“What the hell?” Cooper glances toward the sound and lowers his voice, as if Drew could possibly hear him clear across the barnyard. “Brad really went belly-up?”

“Milk prices are down.”

“So he just called it quits?”

“Either that, or eventually have the bank take the entire business and the land too.”

“That sucks. To have worked all those years and watch your farm go under.”

“Brad seems relieved.”

“I think Brad’s got a screw loose.” It’s probably telling that Whit doesn’t argue the point. Cooper chews at the corner of his mouth. All those cows just…gone. Living their lives out on some other farm. “Well, at least Drew’s still here.”

Cooper pushes at the haunch of a cow that stops to sniff at the tip of a daffodil bulb poking through the crust of snow with all the greenness of spring hope. Brad’s farm would be completely empty of the busyness of spring right now.

He pulls in a deep breath, looking around. Drew’s farm is so pretty with the hill cresting behind the barn and the fields spreading out from the house. Tired and old and in need of some work, but far more gorgeous a setting than Brad’s farm. Stunning, Cooper used to think, shaking off the grayness of the city, the subway, and the cracked sidewalks outside his apartment, and jumping out of Grandpa’s car and racing toward the barn and a summer afternoon of adventures with Drew.

“For now.”

Cooper drops his hand from the cow. “What?”

“That farmers’ market closed, and like I said, milk prices haven’t been good.”

Cooper waits for more, but Whit just urges the herd toward the back of the barn. Sure enough, there’s a new pen back there, strung together from mismatched fence panels and a gate lying in the crusty, snowy mud, where the cows must’ve pushed past it to begin their morning escape.

“There are other farmers’ markets around,” Cooper says slowly as he bends over to pick up the gate.

“If it’ll even make a difference.”

Cooper stops with the gate halfway off the ground, the metal cold and gritty against his hands. “What does that mean?”

“Drew didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” He wants to shake his head to clear it, sure he’s not hearing Whit right. “Yeah, that the market’s not running? I know, I was here yesterday too.”

“Drew’s thinking about selling the farm.”

Cooper drops the gate and it lands with a metal clang. “What the hell?”

“After this season, depending on how everything goes.”

“No, he’s not.”

“That’s why he’s so bent on getting the house fixed.”

“Well, there’s a hole in the roof.” The words sound stupid falling out of his mouth like that, weak and uncertain. “He didn’t say anything.”

“It’s not like you’re ever around.”

Cooper grabs Whit’s arm. “Bullshit, we talk all the time. He would’ve told me.”

Whit looks down at Cooper’s hand, where he’s gripping tight enough his knuckles whiten. “Apparently not.”

Something this big, this important? Cooper tightens his hold on Whit’s arm. “He would have.”

“Well, seems like he didn’t.”

Whit pulls away and shoos the last of the cows into the pen. Cooper lets his hand drop and watches Whit walk into the barn. He comes back with the hose and sets it into the cows’ trough, where it dribbles its slow, feeble stream of water.

“You gonna shut that?” Whit asks.

Cooper looks down at his feet, where the gate’s still lying in the mud. Right. He bends down and picks it up again, fitting it against the fence post. The only thing to secure the gate is a twist of wire. No wonder the herd got out, if that’s what Whit’s using to keep them in.

No need to invest in improvements if Drew’s selling the place off, he can nearly hear in Whit’s voice. With numb, wet fingers, Cooper wraps the wire over the rail of the gate.

“I’m going to go get started on the fencing,” Whit says and he walks away, leaving Cooper there, cold mud pressing against his boots, and his sweatpants doing little against the morning’s chill.