Eventually, she falls asleep with her head in my lap. I stroke her hair and watch the sky above the pines grow brighter with each passing minute. A fox crosses the driveway, and I consider waking Kenzie up to show him to her, but she looks so peaceful, asleep on my lap.
A rush of emotion hits me like a battering ram as I gaze down at my little girl. Love mixed with admiration and protectiveness, wrapped up inside the drive to do better. Be better. The best I can be, for McKenzie.
I brush a lock of hair out of her face so it won’t tickle her nose. Unfortunately, in doing so, I manage to tickle her cheek.
She opens her eyes and smiles at me.
“What time is it?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep.
“Early. Sun’s not quite up yet.”
“How long was I out for?”
“A couple hours.”
She nods and rights herself, stretching her arms overhead. She seems lighter after a little bit of sleep, less burdened.
“Want some breakfast?” I ask.
“Depends. What’re we having?”
“Whatever you want.”
She closes one eye, scrunching up her face.
“Pancakes?”
I chuckle. “We can do pancakes.”
“Yay.” She kisses me softly. “I’ll go make sure the chicks have food and water. I forgot to check on them last night after...everything.”
I pull her in for a kiss before her smile can turn into a full frown.
“Meet you inside,” I say.
She hops off of the porch and heads for the back door to the garage. Even her stride appears more buoyant; I don’t want to speak too soon, but if she can manage to stay this resilient in the face of everything she’s dealing with, there’s nothing we can’t get through.
A mournful wail slices through the birdsong.
“Kenzie,” I shout.
I leap up from the glider, vault the porch steps, and sprint toward the garage. I find her on the floor, cradling a ball of brown-and-yellow fluff between her palms.
“She’s dead,” Kenzie says. “She drowned in the waterer.”
My heart aches for her. “Oh, Kenzie...”
Tears rain down her cheeks and drip off the tip of her nose. I glance inside the brooder. Sure enough, one of the stones we tossed into the water supply to prevent this exact thing from occurring has been pushed out, leaving a small gap of open water, just wide enough for a chick to drown.
I kneel next to Kenzie with my hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, baby. But these things happen."
“I should’ve checked on them last night. I could have put the stone back.”
“Or you might’ve found the body sooner. For all we know, it happened an hour ago.”
“You don’t know that!” She struggles to her feet without the use of her hands and stalks out of the garage.