My hands at the zipper of my purse stilled, and everything else but my partner faded away. Because Ernie Jackson, equine specialist and resident grump, did not share personal stories.
“I was supposed to serve one year.” With an economy of movement, Ernie dug out a piece of gum from his pocket and popped it in his mouth. “I had to stay an extra one due to a clerical glitch. Whoever said war is hell was making it sound nicer than it really is.”
“Ernie, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your apologies. You weren’t even born.” He worked that gum over like a cow with cud. “When I got back I was expected to go from the battlefield to the carpool. I couldn’t do it. I’d lost half my platoon, including a brother and a best friend. Every day I saw atrocities. Every day I lived with the survivor’s guilt. Meanwhile, my wife and eventually the kids who came along expected me to be who I was before I’d left.” He kicked a small mound of an anthill, closing the opening with the toe of his dusty boot. “A horse saved my life. This was before we even knew the wordsequine-assisted therapy. But working at a ranch changed me. I learned how to get still and listen to my own heart and mind.”
Though I understood I was standing in the midst of a profound moment, I knew Ernie couldn’t handle my sympathy. “I’m glad you got a second chance and found healing.”
“We tell these vets, ‘Don’t push the horse.’ We ask them, ‘What do you think the horse needs right now?’” The brim of his hat shaded Ernie’s face as he stepped closer. “I’m telling you, Hattie Sutton, healer of men, women, and loud children, get still so you can listen toyourheart and mind. What doyouneed right now? What doyoufeel right now?”
I swallowed past a lump in my throat and gave a polite nod. “Okay.”
But Ernie wasn’t buying my easy acquiescence. “You’ve spent your adult life helping people heal. Helping them to stop believing the lies they’ve taken on as truth. Tell me, what lies are you still believing?”
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to answer this one, but I couldn’t speak. Not without bursting into tears.
“What do we say here?” Ernie asked. “What’s our motto?”
This one I knew for sure. “Quiet the noise. Face the fears.” I felt like a failure standing before my rugged friend, one who had sacrificed for country and family. “I’m trying, Ernie.”
“No, you’re adding to the noise. Let me talk to you as a reformed mess-up of a dad who only got it partially right. When I was in various stages of the pit, my kids couldn’t have helped me.”
I wiped my sleeve against my drippy eyes. “Couldn’t they have made things a little easier so you could focus on the harder stuff?”
“There’s a difference in making me a pot of chicken soup and filling out my job applications. Am I right?” He planted a hand back on his creaky hip. “Am I right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re to be commended for reaching out to your father, but you need to let him be responsible for his life and choices. We’ve got to allow the wounded to step into their own healing. You know what enabling is. You don’t allow it in our practice, so why is it okay in your own life?”
“Because I want just one man to not leave me!” I blurted, clapping my hands over my lips.
Oh, gosh. Oh, no. There it was. The truth of it. The ridiculous, awful truth.
“And I guess I’ve been trying to make this happen for years,” I added pitifully.
“Uh-huh,” Ernie said. “And how’s that working for you?”
I cleared my throat. “Could be better.”
“Well. I’m not going anywhere. And neither was Miller.”
Now that’s where Ernie was wrong. “He’s moving to California in December.”
Ernie gave an eye roll worthy of Ava. “We got these cool things called airplanes. Not as comfortable as a horse, but the drink service is significantly better.”
“Miller is the anomaly in my world of patterns. I don’t know what to do with it—with him.”
“You quiet the noise,” he demanded. “You do that, Hattie Sutton. Then you see what your heart says. And proceed bravely. Those are your marching orders.”
Ernie’s kindness wrecked me, undoing the chains around my old wounds until I was scared to see what was left. “Ernie, I’m a failure as a therapist.”
“No, you’re not.” His head tilted in reflection. “I mean, you’re a little annoying sometimes, but overall not bad.”
I laughed through a haze of tears. “I’m a total mess and don’t have my own stuff worked out.”
“I’ve yet to meet a therapist who does. Nor do I—not totally. Life’s a process. Healing’s a process. You commit to it one step, one moment at a time. Then you look at what you’ve done, give yourself a pat on the back, and drudge up the faith for that next step. So I’m asking you, Hattie, what’s your next step? When you shut out all the noise and envision the bravest version of yourself…what’s your next step gonna be?”
