by James, Marie
I know how to work. I know how to feed cows and make sure the smaller animals around the ranch are well taken care of. What I don’t know how to do is miss the people I care for.
Missing Frankie and missing Dad are completely different. With him being gone, I feel like I've been left in a world with no guidance, no one to step up when I’m making a mistake to provide corrective action. With her no longer in Utah, I feel like a piece of my soul is missing, as if I’m incomplete and will never be whole again.
I hate them both for leaving. I hate her for not saying goodbye or even mentioning that our time together was coming to an end. I hate Dad for giving up, for not taking better care of himself and seeking treatment when something still could’ve been done.
Most of all, I hate myself for the way I treated Frankie, pushing her away at every turn, for not telling Dad the things I needed him to hear before he was gone. Yeah, I spoke to him before he took his last breath, but he couldn’t hear me. He already had one foot in the grave, and I was selfish to keep my distance for too long. I’ll live with both regrets for the rest of my life.
Somehow, I managed to beat Rowdy to the property, but I don’t need him here to tell me what to do. I’ve been working this ranch for the better part of a year. If it weren’t for the abundance of work to be done, I could run this thing with my eyes closed. My reprieve only lasts half an hour before his over-priced truck pulls up.
Keeping my back toward the door, I line up the bags of feed, I’ll be distributing today. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t even want to see his face. He had a connection to Frankie I wish I had, and the brutal truth that I’m the one who ruined that beautiful girl is too much to face. Add in the pain of losing my dad, and I’d rather be anywhere but here.
“Hey, man.”
So much for keeping to myself today.
“Hey,” I grunt, praying that my irritated tone keeps him at a distance.
It doesn’t.
“Sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks,” I grumble, keeping my hands busy with the feed, hating that Mrs. Jacobson must have told him about my dad. It doesn’t keep my mind from racing, doesn’t keep my heart from squeezing like a rough fist is clenching it and holding it hostage.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” I snap.
I’ve never even pretended to like this guy, much less given him the impression that we’re friends enough to talk about such a great loss. I get where he’s coming from. Death is uncomfortable for everyone, but I’m not going to grab a tissue and sit down and have a heart-to-heart with the man who has effectively taken over Dad’s spot on the ranch.
“I understand.” I’m still not facing him, but I know if I turn around, I’ll see a genuine look of concern on his face. It’s another thing about Rowdy I hate. He’s a fucking nice guy, and no matter how bristly I’ve been to him, he always has a smile and a kind word. I imagine it’s what drew Frankie to him the moment he arrived. We’re polar opposites, and I can see why the only girl I’ve wanted, wants him.
She gave you something she’ll never be able to give another person.
I shake my head to rid it of those kinds of thoughts. I don’t need that night stuck in my head on instant replay any longer.
“But I’m here, if you need to talk,” he continues.
“Thanks,” I mutter. We both know that’s never going to happen. Hell, I bet he offered because he knew I’d never have that sort of conversation with him.
“I was hoping you could head into town and pick up the order I placed last week.”
I spin around. Facing the townspeople and their sad eyes is the very last thing I want to do.
“I’d rather stick around here,” I tell him.
His eyes search mine for answers when I don’t bother explaining why. He must understand because he simply nods his head and tells me he’ll be back in a while.
Relief washes over me when he walks back toward his truck. He could easily make me go. He’s the foreman after all, but true to form, being the nice guy that he is, he doesn’t.
I sigh, listening for his truck as it leaves the property, but the silence I was praying for is louder than a drum in my ears. I should’ve brought headphones, but I know music wouldn’t be able to drown out the thoughts running wildly in my head.
I spend the day alone because Rowdy begins his own tasks when he returns from picking up the supply order. The sun is dipping below the horizon by the time I look at my watch. I’m filthy, covered in grit and grime and all the other elements of a hard day’s work, but going home seems like a daunting task.
Mom is withdrawn and broken, only speaking in short sentences when I ask her something. She hasn’t left the house since the funeral, and I don’t think she has any intentions to do so anytime soon.
But I can’t avoid her. I have to make sure she eats even when she complains she isn’t hungry. I refuse to lose one parent to cancer and another to grief.
The porch light is off when I pull up in our driveway, another sign that Mom isn’t herself these days. Thinking I’ll find her curled up on the couch staring into space, I’m surprised to see her in the kitchen, dishing out some leftover casserole I brought home from Mrs. Jacobson’s yesterday.
“Did you have a good day?” she asks without taking her eyes from the plates in front of her. At least there’s two this time, letting me know she plans to eat or at least sit down with me and pretend as she pushes food around her plate.
I want to engage even though I know she doesn’t really care how my day was, but at the same time, I just want a shower and my bed. Alone at night is the only time I allow myself to think of Frankie. It’s the only time I give myself to transform and manipulate all the times I was mean to her into loving-and-caring scenarios. It’s the only time I picture her arms around me as I tell her all the things I should’ve said while she was here rather than the vile things, I spit at her.
“It was a busy day,” I offer.
Truth is, ranching is monotonous and boring, the work physically demanding but doesn’t really trigger any mental needs.
“That’s nice.” Mom turns with both plates in her hands and walks toward the table. “Wash up so we can have supper.”
Her eyes are empty, but she attempts a weak smile in my direction before I head to the sink to wash my hands.
“Thank you,” I tell her as I sit at the table.
I avoid looking at the empty spot, but my dad’s chair demands my attention. The familiar burn in my nose warns me of impending tears, but I drop my head and scoop food into my mouth instead. If Mom is making an effort, so can I.
“I’ve made arrangements for you.”
My fork clatters to my plate, and I don’t bother apologizing or picking it back up as I raise my eyes to look at her.
“Arrangements?”
“We can’t stay here, Ezekiel. This is the foreman’s house.”
Anger simmers, threatening to boil over. Is this why Rowdy was so nice to me today? Was he attempting to soften the blow before he told me we had to leave the property?
“Mrs. Jacobson is kicking us out?”
Dad hasn’t even been in the ground forty-eight hours yet.
“No, of course not. She’d never ask us to leave, but it wouldn’t be right to stay here.”
“I’ve been saving. Maybe we can pay rent?”
Truth is, I’ve handed the majority of my paycheck over to my parents since I started working. All I have, honestly, is walking around money, less than a hundred bucks if I had to guess.
“We’re not staying in Utah, Ezekiel.” She sighs, hanging her head to look at her plate like it’s killing her to even speak of leaving this place.
Dad is here. He’s in every room, in every piece of furniture. He’s in the land, having touched all that is around us. The tears threaten again.
“I don’t want to leave.” The words come out broken, the burn in my throat increasing until tears begin to roll down my cheek
s.
I’m losing everything. My dad and Frankie were the hardest blows, but now our home, my friends, the only place I’ve ever known? It’s all too much, an unbearable loss.
“I don’t want to leave either.” She clears her throat, straightens in her chair and looks at me with a level of resilience I haven’t seen in weeks. God, she’s so strong. How could I have ever thought this woman was weak? “I have to find a job and there’s nothing around here that will allow me to handle all the bills myself.”
“I can help,” I barter. “I’ll keep working on the ranch. I can quit school and get my GED so I can work full time. We don’t have to leave.”
“It’s already been decided.” The look on her face doesn’t leave room for argument.
My fists clench in my lap, but I somehow keep a handle on my anger, thoughts of the last time I raised my voice at the supper table preventing me from doing it again.
“And where are we going?”
“Westover, Colorado.”
Chapter 30
Frankie
“Ridiculous,” I mutter as I look at myself in the mirror. “Westover Prep should’ve stuck with uniforms.”
I rip the pink shirt over my head and reach for a different top.
“What was wrong with it?” Piper’s voice filters into my room from being on speaker phone.
“Why did you let me buy a pink shirt?” I grumble as I fight my way into a teal-colored blouse.
“You looked great in that shirt at the store, remember?”
“Well, I look stupid in it now,” I argue. “People already see me as a little girl. The last thing I need to do is give them more ammunition with a bubble gum pink top.”
“I told you things will be different this year,” she assures me. “It’s our senior year, and things are going to be amazing.”
I don’t argue with her. There wouldn’t be a point. Piper has stars in her eyes and great plans, all because Dalton is no longer acting like a jerk, and that’s awesome, but he’s one person. He can’t control the droves of other hateful people in school.
I’m dreading today, no matter how much Piper tries to perk me up.
“See you at school?”
I grin at the uncertainty in her voice. “I’ll be there.”
We hang up, and as much as I want to change my shirt again, I know in the long run it doesn’t even matter what I wear to school. A shirt won’t change the past and wasting time worrying about it is pointless. I did the whole change my hair and my style thing the beginning of sophomore year, and all it did was draw more attention to me. I didn’t blend in like I’d hoped. I stood out and made the bullies target me even more.
With another heavy sigh, something I find myself doing a lot of lately, I grab my backpack and head down the stairs. My parents are both home, an unusual occurrence for the first day of school, but what’s more bizarre is both of them sitting in the kitchen, seemingly waiting for me.
“Good morning,” I mumble, trying to hide the confusion in my voice.
They nod in greeting, but a heaviness fills the room that stops me in my tracks rather than allowing me to grab something quick for breakfast before heading to school.
“What’s going on?”
My heart bangs in my chest. My first thought is that something happened to Nan.
But that wouldn’t explain the scowl on Dad’s face.
“We’re going to have a houseguest,” Mom says as she brings her steaming cup of coffee to her lips.
Dad grunts, clearly not happy with whatever she’s talking about.
“A houseguest?” I tilt my head, waiting for clarification. We hardly have anyone over. They’re gone too often to entertain anyone regularly.
“Eden was my best friend growing up,” Mom begins, and I dig around in my memory, trying to figure out why that name sounds so familiar.
My eyes widen when realization hits me in the chest like a bulldozer.
“Benson? As in Zeke’s mom?”
“Did you meet her while you were visiting Nan?”
I shake my head, keeping my mouth closed about the only time I’d seen her in passing was when she was climbing into the ambulance the night Zeke’s dad was taken to the hospital.
“Well her husband, Daniel, passed away last week, and—”
I can’t hear what she’s saying over the blood rushing in my ears with the news. Zeke’s dad died? Emotion clogs my throat as my heart breaks for him. Was that why he was so upset that night in the barn? He didn’t say a word about it, but looking back, I realize he was hurting. The way he clung to me, the way he cried and refused to look me in the eye, all of it must’ve been due to his recent loss.
“—so he’s going to stay with us for a while until Eden settles things in Utah and finds a place to stay here in town.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I shake my head, having missed her part of the conversation, but surely I didn’t just hear what I think I heard.
“Ezekiel will be staying with us until Eden finds a place to stay. He can’t miss the first couple of weeks of school.”
“Couple of weeks?”
Dad grunts again, and I look to him for help.
“He can’t stay here,” I argue.
“They don’t have the money to put him up in a hotel. Besides, Eden is like a sister to me and forcing family to live in a hotel is cruel when we have the room for him here. It’s the least we can do to lessen their burden.”
I don’t say a thing about Eden even though I’ve never heard my mother mention her once in my life. It’s a complete surprise that she’s opening up her home to Eden’s son when the woman has never come up in conversation before.
Like a sister.
What a joke. My mother doesn’t form connections to people. Not her own daughter or her husband. Work and traveling is all she really cares about until now, that is.
“No hanky-panky,” Dad says when Mom finally closes her mouth.
“Wh-what?” I look at him like he’s grown a second head.
“I don’t want you messing around with that boy while he’s here,” Dad says with a look of disgust on his face.
“I won’t,” I say.
And that’s the truth. I mean, I’m not going to explain that we’ve already slept together and that he left me alone in the middle of the night. I have no intention of getting close enough for the boy to touch me much less within a distance that allows—
I shake my head again and clear my throat. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“We can’t take off work to supervise you two,” Dad continues, like my assurance isn’t enough. “You’ll have to behave like mature adults. I need you to keep a responsible head. No parties, no skipping school, and no hanky-panky.”
“I think she gets the point, Paul,” my mother mutters before turning her attention back to me. “I think he’s driving in today, so he should be here by the time you get out of school. I expect you to make him feel welcome—”
“Not too welcome,” Dad interrupts, but when Mom turns to glare at him, he holds his hands up in surrender and leaves the room.
“He has just lost his dad,” she says. “I hope you can make him feel like he belongs somewhere. Losing a father is a terrible thing for a child to suffer.”
She clears emotions from her throat before turning and walking out of the room without another word.
My hands tremble as I leave the house, and my foot doesn’t seem to want to work right when I press the gas pedal on my way to school. I don’t even know where to focus my thoughts as I park on the far side of the school. It’s part of my routine to park far away from the other students. I wouldn’t put it past them to damage my car if I parked in the student lot, but as I climb out, the sinking feeling I felt standing in front of my mirror earlier returns. Only this time, it’s filled with knowing that Zeke will soon be walking these same halls with me.
I’m excited to see him again, but at the same time, I know what he’s going to be like.
&
nbsp; Maybe after losing his dad, he’ll be different.
I erase that hope from my mind as I rush down the hall looking for my best friend. Zeke has done nothing but be consistent, and the push and pull he’s fond of has left me tired and weathered like a yard sculpture left to rust in the hot summer sun.
I’ll never be the same after my summer in Utah, neither emotionally nor physically. He made sure of that.
“Piper!” I yell when I spot her and Dalton walking through the front doors of the school.
Normally, I’d never draw attention to myself, but I have more to worry about than landing on the bullies radar first thing this morning. I feel like my world is imploding, and Piper is my lifeline.
But my feet stutter on the linoleum when Dalton presses a sweet kiss to her temple and the sweetest smile tugs up the corners of her mouth. They whisper to each other, making it clear to anyone who’s witnessing their interaction that these two are so in love that nothing else matters.
Suddenly, I become one of the outsiders. Not that Piper put me there on purpose, but her blossoming relationship with Dalton is just as effective.
Dalton whispers something else that makes her cheeks flush, and I can’t help but be happy for my friend. For once, the flush in her cheeks isn’t from embarrassment or pain. She deserves that. She really does, but I’m in crisis mode here.
“Stop being a caveman, Dalton. We have bigger problems to talk about,” I snap as I approach them.
“We talked on the phone for an hour last night,” Piper interjects. “What could we possibly talk about now?”
“You remember Zeke?” The words rush out on a hiss.
“The farm guy from Utah, you won’t give me any information on?” Bitterness laces her tone, but she smiles to soften the blow.
I huff. “Yes, that idiot.”
“What about him?” Piper asks as Dalton steps around us to head to the lockers.
“He’s here.”
“What do you mean he’s here?” Piper asks as she hands her backpack off to her new boyfriend.
