Well, you all have probably noticed the new title 'What About Ollie?'. I'm sure you recognize this from the first chapter when Amy was worried about her grandpa's dog, Ollie. Now I'm sure this sounds like an odd name, but if you really think about it, it's not. The question Amy kept repeating in her shocked state was 'What about Ollie?' which showed the emotion she was trying to keep in check. I'm hoping to do this story justice and give it a lot of emotion. I mean a family member dying, moving away from the one home you've ever known, counting on an old dilapidated farm to keep you above water, and going to a new school. These and so many other things cause many emotions to run rampart in someone. So 'What About Ollie' is supposed to signify the emotion going on in the story, not the actual worry of a dog.

Now, I understand the importance of giving credit where credit is due. So for the suggestion of the title, I thank Steph. I would have never though of this title, and it's the first time I've actually blanked on a title for any of my stories. So thank you.

Note: By the way I am guessing on the distance from England to Virginia. I could look it up but I am insanely lazy today. But, my friend traveled from New York to Australia and that took about 36 hours so I am GUESSING that England to Virginia is a little less. So I am rounding it to thirty hours. Also, Amy's birthday is different. It's actually in September.

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own anything that resembles the writings of Lauren Brooke. I do, though, claim to own the plot lines and characters that did not appear in the Heartland books.

Chapter Two

In my dream I was riding Callie. Her powerful strides pounded beneath me, and I felt it as each hoof hit and released the ground. But I didn't hear it. In my dream I vaguely connected this with the fact that I hadn't been able to hear my dad as he soothed me, but I didn't dwell on the fact of silence. The scene was too beautiful to be intruded upon by any manner of noise, so I only concentrated on the horse beneath me and the endless pasture in front of me.

I felt Callie's beautiful mane whipping rhythmically against my leg in the soundless universe and I smiled at the fact that although I couldn't hear, I could feel and see. Nothing was better than being able to feel and see the joys in life. I closed my eyes in the pure ecstasy of the ride and let go of the reins, knowing I was safe. I braced my hands in front of me, smiling into the wind. When suddenly Callie wasn't beneath me anymore. My eyes popped open in fright and the hands that had been bracing me whipped around in pure air. The pasture was gone and I hung in a black hole of nothing like a cartoon character realizing they were about to fall, but being held mid-air through this revelation. I knew I was going to fall, so I only waited for the tell-tale drop of the stomach. When it didn't come I was confused. I waited, mid-air, wondering why I felt as if I were flying.

In the distance I heard my name being called and I scrambled to crawl through the blackness towards the voice. I desperately clung to the voice, knowing if I didn't react right away it might leave. My hand curled onto something in the darkness and I pulled at it, hoping with all hope that it was some kind of door.

"Amy, honey wake up." my eyes popped open as my mother shook me, her eyes worriedly staring down at me. I glanced past her to see my father reaching into the overhead storage that ran along the planes length and Conner taking the bags that he handed to him. I was confused at first as to how I got on a plane when I suddenly remembered the past hours.

After my show of shock, I slept for only seven hours, if that. I had just turned over after waking up from one of multiple nightmares when my dad had come in, gently shaking me. We had all packed in a mad dash, needing to catch the first plane to Virginia, which was at 8:45am. We arrived at the airport a mere ten minutes before our plane took off. I stayed up, unable to even close my eyes for the first few hours, but soon enough fatigue overtook me and I fell into a deep sleep for about 10 hours before waking for a while then dozing off again. All together on a thirty hour trip I slept over half of that time. I was quite proud of myself, and fully rested. I yawned, though, as most people do even after sleeping well over the needed amount of time.

"We're there?" I asked, already knowing the obvious answer. My mother knew this but nodded anyways, still gazing at me with worry.

"What?" I accommodated her, knowing she wanted to ask if I was 'quite all right' in that motherly tone that implied she knew otherwise.

'Are you quite all right?" I smiled inwardly at predicting the exact question she would ask. She always added that one exaggerated 'quite' to make sure I knew she wasn't just asking about my physical all-rightness. She meant mentally and emotionally. I sighed, readying myself to play my part in the conversation.

I took the immensely annoyed tone of a teenager who wasn't 'quite all right' but refused to admit it to her mother. Although, to mothers all over, it sounded at though I was annoyed at the off-base question, because of course I'm all right.

"Of course I'm all right." I scoffed at her. It was all a game to me. My mother and I weren't high up on the mother/daughter rivalry sheet, but we weren't tuned to each other like some other mothers and daughters. She loved me and I loved her. We talked about such things as clothes and friends and upcoming events. Sometimes even the weather. To some it would look like we were the best of friends, but in reality there was so much left unsaid between us. We had fun together and I loved her dearly, but she didn't provide me with the outlet for my emotional problems that I needed. She tried, like every other mother, to understand and ask and make sure that I was okay in every aspect, but it just wasn't what I needed. Somehow I needed her to, for once, see what was wrong and confront me on it. Don't ask if I'm 'quite all right' ask how the hell I'm feeling since my grandpa just died.

I am an up-front kind of person who likes to deal with things head on and have people deal with me the same way. My mom preferred to dodge around things with sketchy questions. That was our downfall if there ever was one.

After the initial worry ceased from my mothers face she simply patted me on the leg, smiled lightly, and stood. She wrestled her carry-on from the compartment above and then handed me mine, expecting me to catch it. I didn't. My purse crashed, full-impact, into my lap and then fell limply to the ground with a light thud. I stared blankly at my legs where they had taken on the weight of my purse, then my eyes shifted to my mom.

"Nice." she smiled and held back a laugh with a thundering cough as I leaned down to pick up the few things that had scattered from my bag. I stuffed my wallet back in then stood, finally ready to get off of the plane. By now most of the passengers had filed out of the long body of the plane and only a few stood, still readying themselves. My father pushed his way through, beckoning us with a flick of his wrist. My mother rolled her eyes at his tactics before apologizing to the few people my dad had rudely bumped against.

We finally exited the airport after my father verbally beat a security guard for using the wand on me because of, as it turned out, the broken watch in my pocket. This must have seemed weird to the guard since all I carried of the broken watch was the round face of it. It was no larger than a nickel, but who carries around a broken watch? I do. About six years ago, when I was ten, I was bucked off of a horse. I had been riding at my mom and dads stables and one of their co-workers was supposed to be watching from the side, but I had told him he could talk to his 'lady-friend' while I rode, I was confident in my skills since I had been riding since I was four. Well, little did I know that the horse spooked easily. A flyaway plastic bag rattled in the wind across the paddock and my horse started to canter. When I tried to calm her down she start to buck and buck and buck. I couldn't help her and I knew it, and soon I was hitting the ground. Later on I realized that my watch had broken and the time was that of when I hit the ground. I kept it because that was the exact moment I realized I wanted to, no matter what, always help a horse in need. It was my good luck charm and my reality checker.

"Dad, get over it already. It was the guys job." I shivered as I pulled the hood of my sweater up and over my head. It was raining outside as I stepped from inside the airport.

"I know, it just..." he paused and looked at me, "pushed a button or something." I rolled my eyes at his excuse. He was worried about me for the same reasons my mom was. It wasn't that hard to figure out.

"Whatever, let's just get a cab, and soon." my teeth clacked together as the rain poured down. After only a few seconds a cab pulled up near my father on the curb. We all hurriedly stuffed our bags into the cab (which almost didn't fit) and climbed into the backseat.

Two hours later.

The cab turned onto the dirt driveway that wound up to my grandpa's house, and I held my breath in anticipation. Would it look the same now that grandpa wasn't there? Would the old barns still creak like they were aging right along with him? Would the garden facing the woods still be seeably kept? Would the shutter on the window of my room still be slightly crooked, or would death have erased all the small things?

We curved around a large clutter of trees and finally I saw it all. The cabdriver parked right behind my grandpa's old pickup, which the sight of made my throat clench. We all slowly climbed out, surveying the farm.

I stepped out and walked a few steps towards the barns, listening.

I smiled, they still creaked like the old bones of my grandpa. Although I was mildly confused as to why God wouldn't stop the creaking right along with the body of my grandpa. It was only right that since he stopped aging his beloved farm did too. I shook this thought off and walked towards the house. I looked up and sighed as I realized the shutter on the left of my window was still slightly crooked.

My mother took my hand and squeezed, knowing I was noticing the small things like she was. We walked, hand in hand, to the front door. Conner and dad were already walking into the house, carrying all the bags. I followed and came to stand in the kitchen.

My mother gasped as I internally groaned. Everything was the same as it was when he died. A cold pot of coffee was sitting in its cradle, a mug half filled right next to it. The table was cluttered with mail and magazines and a photo album, opened up to a picture of all of us at Christmas only a few years before.

"It's the same." I whispered, my throat almost refusing to let the words pass. I let go of my mothers hand and almost ran to the living room. I passed through it, refusing to notice the list of needed groceries laying on the coffee table. I came to the back wall of the living room and flung open the curtains that covered a glass sliding door. I let out a low yelp as a tear slid down my face. It was all the same.

I opened the door and stepped out onto a very small deck. I passed by the little table that rested on it and walked down into the garden. How many summers had I helped him plant in here? How many summers had he explained to me what each plant was? How many times had I hidden behind that scarecrow we had made, giggling as he counted to twenty?

I walked up to the scarecrow and lightly ran a finger along the seam of the flannel shirt it adorned. The first summer I had come here, the year I turned eight, I had been obsessed with the Wizard of Oz. I had fallen in love with the quirky characters, and fell hard for Scarecrow. When I saw the 30x30 garden I didn't care that it was small and that it wasn't a cornfield, I figured that everyone needed a scarecrow. So I explained this with careful precision to my grandpa, hoping he didn't shun the idea, and practically knocked him over when he agreed that we needed one.

We had gathered up old straw left in the barn and an old flannel shirt and jeans from grandpas closet. We had sat in the middle of the garden and stuffed and glued and rearranged for nearly two hours.

The memory choked me, and I went inside to sleep, not caring that I wasn't the least bit tired.

I woke to the sound of the phone ringing from downstairs. I turned to the clock on my night stand, crinkling my eyebrows at the time. I thought I wasn't tired but I had slept for almost three hours. It was almost seven o'clock. I figured I was just jet lagged and began to climb out of bed. I didn't hear anyone going to the phone so I assumed everyone was sleeping. I scurried faster out of my sheets and hurried down the spiral staircase and into the kitchen.

"Hello?" I breathed into the phone, not sure if I had caught the caller or not.

"Hi, is this Marion?" a deep voice came through the phone. I lightly cleared my throat of sleep before answering.

"No, this is her daughter. Can I ask who's calling?"

"This is Ty Baldwin. I was just calling to see when you would like me to bring over Ollie." I racked my brain to remember the name my mother had said the boy who found grandpa was. I had thought she'd said Brian, or Bry for short. I guess she had gotten confused.

"Oh, uh, I guess anytime would be good. We're all here." I paused, gathering myself up, knowing I had to say it. "You found him right?" I wasn't sure if he heard me because the other end of the line was silent.

"Yeah." a short, sympathetic pause. "I'm so sorry." and he sounded it. I absorbed his tone of voice but I felt the anger towards him that I had felt earlier. If only he had been faster.

"So am I." I hoped he heard the contempt I felt towards him. I breathed in, readying myself for my next words, when suddenly I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to have to look at him and know that if he had been a mite bit faster grandpa might still be alive. I couldn't be the one to greet him, and I was the only one awake. He couldn't bring Ollie over. "Look, its getting sort of late and everyone here is sleeping, so if you could just bring Ollie over anytime tomorrow. Whenever is convenient for you, and that will be fine." Inhale, exhale. "Goodbye."

I slipped the phone into its cradle before snatching it back up. I didn't want him to call again, saying tonight was the only good time. I would bring the phone into my room so that noone else could answer when he called. So I slipped the phone into the large pocket of the robe I adorned, and began to walk into the living room.

On the far right wall, right smack dab in the middle, was a fireplace. Above it was a large photo taken when Conner was only a baby, me a mere toddler, and Lou a teenager. Grandpa stood behind two chairs that held my mom and dad, and his arm was around Lou, who stood smiling to the side of dad. Conner was bundled in my moms arms, and I sat happily in my father lap. It was my favorite photo.

I idly rubbed my fingers across it, remembering things that made my stomach clench together. I stopped and walked towards the couch, sitting heavily, still rubbing my stomach in agony. When the pain subsided I sat up weakly and skimmed my fingers across the coffee table, working my way towards the grocery list. When my fingers came upon it they clasped it gently and turned it over.

Written in the decisive handwriting of Jack Bartlett was a list for more than groceries, I noticed.

hamburger

chicken

rice

eggs

milk

coffee beans

dish soap

mayonnaise

Saddle with carved leaves throughout for Amy. Should be on hold at counter.

I felt the pain in my abdomen restart as I realized that Jack had my birthday gift all picked out, and on hold. He had trusted the actual receiving of the package to Ty. He must have really been sick. Groceries were one thing, but personal gifts were something only he would handle unless he were truly incapable.

"Why didn't he tell us?" I gasped out as I began to silently cry. Why would he keep his sickness to himself? He knew I would have been here in an instant, helping him. It killed me to know that I had seen him only weeks before, and he hadn't confided in me about any ails or pains.

I carefully folded the paper and slipped it into the pocket along with the phone. I sniffled and cleared my throat before climbing the stairs. I tiptoed to my room before carefully easing the door open, shutting it just as carefully. I walked towards the bedside table that I had picked out that first summer when grandpa had taken me to a bunch of sales around town, helping me create my own space in his house. He had wanted it to feel like home, and it had. I pulled open the drawer and extracted a black leather book. I skipped through, almost to the end and placed the list between two pages I knew so well. They were filled with my last day here, the day I had gone on a walk with him in the woods, on the old horse trail that had fallen into shambles after he had closed the farm. Conner had gone to the movies with a new friend, so we had taken the opportunity at hand. We'd had the greatest time, and it had been the last time before he'd seen us off at the airport. I had written about the day in my journal while Conner slept next to me.

As I slipped the paper into the crinkled pages, I silently said goodbye.

Okay, so no Ty yet. Only a phone call. But her WILL be in the next chapter. No doubt about it. But school starts tomorrow so I have no clue when the next chapter will be.