“I don’t know,” she says. “Learning to drive would be a nice start. Maybe think about taking some classes, learning a trade.”
I spot the red barn up ahead and flip the turn signal. Kenzie shifts in her seat as I pull into the dirt driveway.
“You didn’t tell me you have friends who are farmers.”
“Can’t a man have some secrets?”
She makes a face. I chuckle and climb out of my truck.
“Sit tight,” I say. “This’ll only take a sec.”
I jog around back to the farmhouse where the farmer’s wife is waiting for me with a nondescript carboard box with holes punched in the sides. I can already hear the tiny inhabitants making a fuss.
“Thanks for the late pick-up.” I pass the woman a folded fifty note and carefully grasp the box.
Kenzie regards me suspiciously as I make my way back to the truck.
“Why do tractor parts need air holes?” she asks through the open window.
“Even crankshafts need to breathe.” I nod to the box. “Can I get you to hold onto this?”
She opens the door, and her sea-green eyes widen as soon as she hears the cheeping.
“Oh my God,” she says. “Are those...”
I set the box on her lap. “Look inside and see.”
She pries back one of the flaps, revealing a beady-eyed bundle of yellow fluff. Her hand flies to her mouth.
“You got chickens?”
“I gotyouchickens, baby girl.”
A high-pitched whine leaks out of her like air from a bike tire as she carefully peers inside the box. Yellow, brown, and gray fluffballs huddle together, seeking warmth.
“Hello, babies,” she coos. “Aren’t you the most precious little things. How many are there?”
“Should be a dozen.”
She slides her finger into the box to pet the nearest chick. “Where are we going to keep them? We don’t have a coop.”
“Not yet, but we’ll have one by the time they’re big enough to need one. I already set up a brooder tub in the garage with a heat lamp and everything else they’ll need.”
“When did you do all that?” She gapes at me.
“Little by little last week.”
“I had no idea.” Her bottom lip trembles. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“Hey.” I brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “Don’t cry. This was supposed to make you happy.”
“I am happy!” she cries.
I lean into the cab to kiss her sweetly and then shut the door.
Once we’re back on the road, she asks, “What made you decide to get them?”
“I remembered you telling me how much you loved your grandpa’s chickens. We’ve got the room, so I figured, why not? Plus, I wanted you to know how proud I am of what you’re doing. Digging up traumatic shit is hard work.”