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with silence. I spent afternoons in the barn chattering away at the cows, naming each one, making them queens and princesses pining over unrequited love. But my need to fill the airwaves would cause my father’s ears to stretch back like an annoyed cat’s. Funny, I thought as I turned into my drive, I never thought much about my father.
    I parked my car and killed the engine. I was exhausted and in need of a shower, and my brain was beginning to hurt. I climbed out of the car and started toward the house, but stopped when an eerie feeling prickled my scalp. Someone was watching me. I looked around. Dusk had settled, casting a gray pall over the house and its surroundings. I walked over to the chicken coop but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Then I looked up. I froze when my eyes met the steely, unwavering gaze of a hawk, its razor-edged talons gripped tight around a sycamore limb.

 
    E IGHT
    The next morning I cracked open the door to Annie’s room and peered in. One arm was draped over her forehead; the other clutched our cat, who gazed at me with a contented look. He winked a few times and settled his chin on Annie’s hip. My adopted cat had originally been named Sweetie Pie, but after just one day on the farm and seven dead goldfinches under his belt, Tyler renamed him Sweeney Todd. Annie and I had reluctantly agreed to the name change, but had shortened his name to Todd. An odd name for a cat, but he seemed content with whatever we called him. Just as long as we called him.
    Annie looked younger than her twenty-one years in slumber, a peaceful expression on her face, her cheeks tinted a bright pink. I was curious about her evening with Custer. But she had already completed two independent years in college; I had no business telling her who she could or couldn’t date. I squeezed the knob and left the door slightly ajar.
    After an early shower, I immediately began my tasks. I was not going to be late to the café again. Once I was properly groomed, I headed downstairs and into the kitchen, picked up a flower basket, and went out to the garden to gather herbs for the day’s menu.
    I opened the front door and almost tripped over Scheherazade, my favorite chicken. She was huddled on the coir doormat. Her black-and-white feathers were puffed out, making her look twice her normal size. I scooped her up, just as Tyler taught me, holding her close to my body like a football. She pecked at the buttons on my blouse and eventually laid her head against my chest.
    â€œSherry,” I said, “why are you trying to come into the house?” I carried her toward the coop. “You have a brand-new house of your own.”
    I found Tyler standing amid the chickens while they pecked at the grass. He held a rifle in one hand.
    â€œAre you going to shoot the hawk?” I said as I neared.
    He shook his head. “Not legal.”
    â€œAre you going to shoot the chickens then?” I gave him a small smile.
    â€œI’m just letting them free range before I put them back in the coop.” He eyed Scheherazade. “Where did you find her?”
    â€œHuddled on the stoop.” I set her down, and she lingered at my feet. “I saw the hawk last night when I got home. I think the chickens are scared.”
    â€œAffirmative.” Tyler scanned the clump of sycamores.
    His jeans were snug around his slender frame and he was wearing his new Barclay Meadow T-shirt. “You look nice today.”
    Tyler didn’t respond. When he finally looked at me, he said, “We’re down a few eggs. This hawk situation is having some consequences.”
    â€œIs there anything we can do?”
    â€œI’m new at this.” He gripped the barrel of the rifle with both hands. “I’m realizing something, now that you’ve got the café. I never thought I’d say this, but I need some help around here.”
    Our eyes met. “Of course,” I said.