by Tia Louise
I’m exhausted like it’s the middle of harvest, but I’m changing. Like shoots pushing through tightly packed soil, I feel something rising, something new. I didn’t believe it was possible. I gave up before I even came here.
Now a tiny spark of hope rises in the darkness.
25
Mindy
“Home is the hunter!” William throws out his arms as soon as I walk through the door.
William’s apartment is located in the downtown arts district, which is tricky for parking but perfect for his career in theater and interior design.
“Dallas isn’t my home, William.” I step into his hug, and he gives me a long squeeze, engulfing me in his soft body.
“Hush, child. You’re ruining our beautiful reunion scene.”
“I don’t get the reference.” He releases me, and I follow him to the guest room, rolling my suitcase behind me.
“What your generation doesn’t know about film. It’s from The Promise, circa 1979.” He swipes one side of his chiffon cardigan over his shoulder. “Starring Academy Award winner Beatrice Straight.”
“Beatrice Straight…” I think a long minute. “Isn’t that the red-headed lady from Poltergeist?”
“There is hope for you after all!” He lifts my suitcase onto the twin bed, which is covered in a mint green and pink floral shabby-chic spread. “She played Dr. Lesh, the terrified paranormal detective shaking her coffee cup.”
“Are you doing a performance of it?”
“What? Poltergeist?”
“The Promise.”
“Oh, Lord no, that soapy thing?” He sashays around the room, turning on the lamp and opening the closet. “It just came to mind when I saw you on the doorstep looking like you’d lost your identity.”
Nice. William has always had the knack for hitting the nail on the head.
“Well… I don’t consider Dallas my home, but I love visiting you.” I look around the modestly sized bedroom. It’s all coordinated to match the bedspread, and it looks straight out of a Target ad. “I think this room is nicer than my own back home.”
“Your room back home hasn’t changed since you were in elementary school.”
“I figured I’d have my own place by now, so why bother.” Going to the bed, I unzip my suitcase and start taking out my clothes. “And you know very well interior design is not my strong suit.”
“Trust me, I know. I decorated all your dorm rooms.”
I manage to smile. “Thanks for putting me up.”
“Girl! I don’t mind at all. How long are you in town?”
“As long as it takes, I guess. Deacon helped me get appointments with two of his friends, Richland Wells and Lincoln Beale…”
“Um-hm, they are both fabulous. Rich works at One Dallas West, the tallest office building in the downtown area. Total asshole. Totally delish. Link is out near Fort Worth. Cowboys and horses and shit. He is also very hot.”
I’ve known William so long, I don’t even bother saying I couldn’t be less interested in how attractive they are. He’s going to give me his opinion regardless.
“Well, I’m meeting Rich tomorrow and Link the next day. Hopefully from there I’ll meet more upscale clients.”
Lifting my green knit wrap dress, I give it a shake before hanging it in the closet. “I probably should’ve left these hanging.”
“I have an iron. And there’s a dry cleaner on the corner.”
“If you’ll give me five minutes, I’ll just shower, and we can chat.”
“Take your time. I’ve got a rosé in the fridge.”
A little more than five minutes later, I’m walking out in my bright red pajama pants and sleep tee with my hair piled on my head in a bun ready to flop on the couch, drink wine, and gossip.
William takes one look at me and immediately starts fussing. “Nope, nope nope. Get out of those pajamas and into something cute. It’s your first night in town, and I’m showing you the neighborhood.”
“Oh, William, no,” I start to whine.
It’s been two weeks since Sawyer left me, and I still prefer curling up on the couch to being around happy people.
“Don’t Oh, William me.”
“But I thought we were going to drink rosé.”
“Not tonight. You’ve been through a breakup, and I can tell by that face, all you’ve done is mope. We’re going out.”
Another ten minutes, and we’re walking up Ross Avenue toward the Flora Street Pub, a trendy Mexican-style bistro operated by some Dallas celebrity chef whose name I didn’t recognize.
I’m wearing skinny jeans and a swishy maroon tank, and William ditched the striped and floral-printed chiffon cardigan and is now dressed in all black with a scarlet velvet smoking jacket on top. He’s very Tituss Burgess elegance.
We enter the pub and the hostess leads us to a red vinyl booth. I hold his arm as we cross dark wood floors and slip in beside each other. A waitress waits while he orders a bottle of Chardonnay, and once she’s gone, he turns to me with a swoosh.
“Deacon said you’re not to leave Dallas until you’re back to your old Sasha-fierce self again. Tell me what happened, so I know what I’m working with.”
“Deacon…” I roll my eyes, taking a sip of the dry, oaky Chardonnay. “He’s turning into the hero of Harristown.”
“It’s funny to imagine him falling so in love with that little hamlet in the middle of nowhere Louisiana. I would have pegged him a bonafide Dallas boy, through and through.”
William and I became friends through our art classes at Harris Tech. He and Deacon connected because they’re both from around Dallas, which means William would bum rides home whenever he could.
“He likes the small-town vibe.” Swirling my glass, I trace my fingers along the base remembering a time when that vibe drove me nuts. Now, I kind of miss it. “And all the old ladies love him there.”
“It’s Psychology 101.” William takes a sip of his wine. “He’s trying to find his mother, because Lord knows Winnie’s no saint. But enough about Deacon. Tell me what happened with you and that luscious piece of man meat.”
I exhale a wobbly breath. I’d prefer to armchair-psychoanalyze Deacon if we could skip over my tragic love story, but William would never let me get away with that.
“Sawyer said it’s over.” My throat tightens, but I swallow the tears. “Then he moved to Nashville.”
“That man moved to Nashville? What is happening to everyone all of a sudden? Deacon’s going small town, Sawyer’s going big city… It’s all wrong!”
A sad smile curls my lips. “I agree.”
I want to engage in his banter, but instead I take a longer sip of wine. He presses his lips together and reaches across the table to hold my hand. “You still love him?”
I nod, sniffing. “I always will.”
His hand tightens on mine. “We’re going to get you through this, my friend. You’re smart, beautiful, and Dallas is at your feet.”
I wrinkle my nose, doing my best not to cry. “Not yet.”
“Just give us time.” He smiles warmly. “You’ve got two secret weapons… Deacon and me, and starting tomorrow, you’re meeting with one of the top guys in oil and gas and livestock. I think Link is single… Maybe we can make a little love connection there.”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “I am not interested.”
“Girl…” He tilts his head. “You know what they say, the best way to get over an old man is to get under a new one.”
“No, thank you. No.” The thought of being with anyone but Sawyer turns me cold. “This is my time. I’m all about me right now.”
“Okay.” He makes a face. “Well, all the single ladies. Put your hands up.”
I raise my hands. “That’s me.”
Mrs. Irene’s words are in my mind. The day I can lay my head on my pillow not worried about whether he’s coming back is the day he’ll reappear.
I’m waiting for that day.
“When people search landman
, I want to be at the top of the list of results.” Rich Wells sits behind a dark mahogany desk in a black leather chair, one leg crossed over the other. “Can you do that for me?”
He’s wearing an expensive gray suit, and his light brown hair is a little long and shaggy. With his blue eyes and easy smile, I imagine he can transition from the boardroom to the oil field and appear to belong in both places pretty easily.
He’s cocky as shit, but he seems nice enough. Deacon sent me to meet him, so he must be okay. I’m making mental notes, getting a good idea for the concept I’ll design for him.
“SEO isn’t my area of expertise, but I can find someone for you.” I’m wearing my dark green wrap dress, and my hair is in a low ponytail over one shoulder. I’m in black pumps, and my goal is to exude brand-building professionalism. “My job is to design your logo, website, and create a look around it all so once customers do arrive at that top hit, they’ll will feel they have to work with you or they’re missing out. FOMO is a huge motivator.”
“FOMO?”
“Fear of missing out.”
His eyebrows rise, and he nods. “Oil men are pretty arrogant from the get go. But you sound confident.”
“I’ve helped launch two independent brands from Harristown, Louisiana, that are now making six-figure profits per year.”
“What field?”
“Produce and cosmetics.” I tap on the screen of my iPad pro and pull up Noel’s website for Autumn’s Bounty. “I did everything for her that I’ll do for you.”
Passing the device to him, I wait as he swipes through all the pages. “This is good. I don’t know much about cosmetics, but I like the way this looks. I like this here.”
He turns it to the About Us tab, where I have a photo of Noel smiling and holding a peach while Dove puts lip balm on her mother’s lips.
“Yes, the personal touch is very important to today’s consumers.”
“Hell, I’m going to place an order right now. My ex would love this stuff.”
His friendly nature helps me relax. I smile and start to feel like maybe Deacon and William are right. Maybe I can take Dallas by storm.
He hands the iPad back to me, and I glance at the screen. “You buy cosmetics for your ex?”
“It’s complicated.” He laughs, pointing at me across the desk. “You’re hired, by the way. Everyone thinks landmen are sneaky assholes. You’ll make me look nice—that’s exactly what I need.”
“I’ll do my research and come up with a concept that makes you a sterling beacon of honesty and friendship.”
“Friendship might be taking it too far.”
“Okay… We’ll stop at honesty and make it more accessibility.”
“But not too accessible.”
“Not too accessible.” I smile feeling eager to get started and… happy. How is that possible?
“Perfect.” He stands, holding out his hand. “Whatever you need, just let me know. Deacon speaks very highly of you. I look forward to seeing your work.”
“I’ll have a concept to you by the end of the week.”
One Texas landman down. That just leaves a horse trader in Fort Worth. I feel like I should start a television show. How to shake off the pain of a broken heart by kickstarting your career.
William is doing everything his power not to say I told you so. “Rich is a total flirt.” Today, he’s in a dark brown undershirt with a bright blue satin kimono on top. Love Island is on pause on the oversized flat screen television in the living room. “But he’s hopelessly stuck on his ex-wife, from what I understand.”
“Oh my gosh!” I hop over the back of the couch and land on my feet in front of him. Tonight I’m back in my red PJ pants and my favorite sleep tee that says I only sleep with the best.
“Easy, girl! My fuzzy navel!” William places the bright yellow drink carefully on the end table.
“I showed him the websites I’ve created, and he ordered some of Noel’s lip mask for his ex.” I sit back making big eyes and smiling like I solved an Agatha Christie mystery.
William rolls his eyes and waves his hand. “What to do with that boy. Although, she is gorgeous. Former Dallas Cowboy cheerleader turned journalist. She’s beauty and brains. You two should be besties.”
Shifting in my seat, I look up at the television, thinking. I haven’t cried once today—a first in two weeks. “I’m feeling really good.”
“You should feel good, Little Italy! You’re taking Big D by storm—just like I predicted.” He takes a sip and nods toward me. “What would Mamma J say?”
Ma… It doesn’t take a second for me to answer. “She’d say when are you coming home.”
We laugh, and I rest my cheek on bent knees. I’ll be home soon, but first I have to do what Mrs. Irene says. It’s time to take care of me, stand on my own feet, and figure out who I am without him. It’s time to grow up.
Curling under the warm quilt, I stare at the ceiling, thinking how far away from home I am. I’m sharing an apartment with my friend, and I’m learning to be myself as an adult apart from my mother, apart from him.
Closing my eyes, I swallow the ache in my throat, the never-ending longing in my heart.
Being independent is a good thing.
Still, when sleep finally washes over me, my dreams go where they always do, into the arms of a strong, silent Marine who told me to hold his hand and never let go.
Lincoln Beale is not at all what I expect as the head of marketing for Superior Show Horses. For starters, he’s not wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and an oversized belt buckle. He actually looks like he stepped out of the pages of Esquire.
“Miss Ray?” He’s quiet, more polished than Rich. Tall with dark hair and blue eyes, a nice square jaw and dressed in a buttoned-down oxford and tweed blazer with jeans. “Thanks for meeting me at the stables. We had an incident this afternoon that changed my plans.”
So formal.
I’m in dark jeans, a red blouse, and knee-high riding boots. Today, my hair is loose down my back, but I still project a very professional image. “It’s actually better this way. Seeing you in your element helps me visualize a concept.”
“A concept.” He slides a hand through his thick hair. “I would think a name like Superior Show Horses tells you all you need to know.”
He’s being genuinely nice, so I answer honestly. “What type of horses? Thoroughbred or stock? Racing, jumping, or rodeo? A picture says a thousand words.”
“I see your point.” Stopping, he faces me, and when he smiles, he has white teeth and an attractive dimple in his cheek. “Our logo needs updating, and we’d like to have a better website altogether. Deb, the owner wants to do a print campaign in the trade magazines, and I’m wondering if you’re free on Friday night for dinner.”
I’m making mental notes as he runs through the list, then everything screeches to a halt. “I’m sorry? Did you just ask me out?”
He leans forward, arching a dark brow. “Too soon?”
My lips part, and I swear I forget my words. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Because we’re working together? You’re right.” He holds the door for me, chuckling as I pass. “Still… Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I’m very flattered.” I pivot inside the office, doing my best to be very clear. “But I’ve just come out of a long relationship, and it’s never a good idea to mix business and personal.”
He holds up both hands. “Pretend it never happened.”
We spend the next several minutes going over the breeds of horses they handle and their upcoming events.
“I’ll have a concept to you by the end of the week.” This time when I hand over my card, I remember to say what I didn’t say to Rich. “If you know anybody who could use my services, I really depend on referrals.”
He studies it a second. “My sister is launching a new professional cheer program outside of Plano. She could probably use your help. I’ll give her your number.”
My brow rel
axes, and again, I’m flooded with hope. “Thank you.” It’s more of a gush than I intend. “I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to work with me.”
He looks confused. “Why wouldn’t I? Deacon says you’re the best, and you clearly know what you’re doing.”
“I just… I don’t know.” I slip my purse on my shoulder not wanting to go back down an uncomfortable road.
“Because I asked you out?” He looks offended. “I’d never let something like that jeopardize a good business deal. And who knows, I might grow on you.”
He gives me a wink, but I just shake my head. “Strictly business, Mr. Beale.”
By the time I get back to William’s I’ve got a message on my phone from Charlotte “Charlie” Beale about meeting with her to develop a look for Cheer Texas. This time as we watch Love Island, we’re clinking glasses of champagne.
Oprah says what God intended for you goes far beyond anything you could imagine. I hope she’s right, because I can imagine a lot, and I’m ready to make it happen. Mrs. Irene’s words have become my mantra, and my focus is on success.
26
Sawyer
Six Months Later
Visualize a blue sky, open air. Safety. Let your thoughts drift by like white, fluffy clouds. Say the words in your mind when you feel your focus slipping. Breathe.
Headphones are in my ears, and I’m listening to a new meditation from Dr. Curtis.
She says I’m ready to go home, and she wants to write a thesis on all we’ve done since I came here—the brainspotting, the meditation, the talk therapy. She says it’s vital to the military’s ongoing efforts to treat service men and keep them active.
No objections here. I haven’t had an episode in weeks, the iron fist of pain in my chest has released, but more than that, I don’t get that itchy feeling all over my body when I’m asked about my feelings.
I still don’t care for the question, and I don’t like people who talk too much. But now I understand the value of getting shit out of my head. Now I can say what’s on my mind.
