July 19, 1996, was, without question, the worst day of Asha Hamilton's life. That day, she learned how bitterly she'd been betrayed by the person she loved most. Her heart had broken that day, shattered like her dreams of Olympic gold. Five days before the start of the Summer Games in Atlanta, the Three-Day Eventing team, favorites for a gold in their home country, was counting on her―and her world turned upside down.
Each subsequent year, Asha scheduled appointments, took on commitments, planned activities, and accepted invitations for July 19th―anything to keep herself occupied every waking moment. Anything to keep herself from replaying that awful day in her mind, over and over. And this July 19th was no different.
Asha awakened with a familiar dull pressure behind her eyes. She heard the beat of her heart, and felt her throbbing pulse in the silent, empty room. No sliver of light peeked from beneath the hem of the heavy curtains. She lay still for a moment, too weary to push her feet into her slippers or belt her bathrobe over her nightgown, too weary and too heartsick to face the day.
A call from her hay supplier the evening before informed her that rain was expected late in the afternoon.
"I've got two fields down," he told her. "There was no rain in the forecast when I cut. I tedded it yesterday, and I'll start baling tomorrow at first light. I'll round up as many helpers as I can. Luckily, tomorrow's Saturday. I'll make some calls. With enough bodies, we should be able to get it all into your barn before the rain starts."
As expected, the overcast sky had nothing on Asha's leaden spirits, and she found the dense air as oppressive as her mood. Even without sunshine, the air in the barn felt stifling.
"Why can't grass ripen in October?" a woman's voice called from below.
Up in the hayloft, Asha pushed her hair back with a sweaty forearm. Bits of hay clung to her moist skin. The pieces that had worked their way inside her blue chambray shirt began to itch.
"Hay day" was always busy, and there were people everywhere Asha looked. She felt lonelier today than she had on any July 19th since 1996. Stacking hay, one bale at a time, was a repetitive task whose monotony permitted her too much time to think. A swell of emotion threatened to overwhelm her. She didn't normally succumb to self-pity, but today she was feeling sorrier for herself than usual. Images from the past shimmered at the edge of her consciousness.
