Heartland

by Sarina Bowen

  “Oh, Rickie.” I laugh. “You make some good points. But when you only have two girls, it’s too pricey keeping a buck around. He’d jump the fence and Griffin would make him into goat burgers, anyway.”

  I lead Rickie out the door.

  “Does the drinking start now?” he asks.

  “Sure, man. There’s only one rule for tonight.”

  “No pot in the house?”

  I give him a playful slap. “That goes without saying. The rule is to remember—”

  “—to pretend that you and Chastity aren’t doing the nasty. I won’t forget. Even if that’s stupid.”

  “It’s not my idea,” I say, looking around the barn for anything my goats might eat or climb on. “Let’s eat some ham and drink a whole lot of wine.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Dylan

  You’d think that a major fight with my brother and a major life decision would leave a guy stressed out and broody.

  But it doesn’t. As the house begins to fill with people, I feel more peaceful than I have in a long time. That’s just how I roll. I’m sitting on a kitchen stool with Rickie when my sister May and her boyfriend Alec come through the door.

  “Hey, Dyl!” May says cheerily. “Who’s your friend?”

  I introduce her to Rickie and accept a glass of beer that Alec has brought over. “Try this, would you? It’s my oatmeal stout.”

  “You made it?” Rickie yelps. “No way. I knew this family was cool.”

  Alec gives us each a pint and a fist bump. And my night is shaping up.

  Then the Abrahams come through the door—Isaac, Leah, Maeve, and Chastity, in that order. Rickie and I greet them all, of course. “Hey, Chass,” I say, as friends do. “Happy Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” she says, but her face is like a stone. She passes by us as quickly as possible, carrying Leah’s giant potato casserole into the dining room as if she’s in a big hurry.

  Okay. Well. I guess she plans on taking this “just friends” thing to the next level. It’s a little weird. But I can take it.

  “Dylan, carry the vegetables to the table,” my mom says, hurrying into the room. “I’m going to carve the ham now.”

  “Sure, Ma.” I take one more gulp of my beer.

  “Can I help?” Rickie asks.

  “If you want. But I’ve got this.” I pick up a giant bowl of roasted Brussels sprouts. “Hey, Audrey!” I call to my sister-in-law. “Is there bacon in this?”

  “Omigod, it’s like you’re new here,” she scoffs, the baby on her hip. “Of course there is.”

  Rickie takes the bowl out of my hands. “I’ll carry that. I don’t want to let it out of my sight.”

  “Wait up, boy,” Grandpa says, trailing behind Rickie. “I got dibs.”

  “Here, I have a different job for you. Hold this.” Audrey passes me ten-month-old baby Gus. “If you put him down, just know that he can crawl out of sight faster than Grandpa can get at a dessert table.”

  “Noted.”

  “And he will try to grab your beer,” she says at exactly the moment Gus does this very thing.

  “You are a wily little fox, aren’t you?” I ask my nephew as I move the beer out of his reach.

  “Oopa,” he says. “Bappa.”

  I have to smile, because Gus is a cute little beast. And his daddy hasn’t taught him how to criticize me yet. So that’s something.

  Speak of the devil. The back door flies open and Griffin steps inside. The lower half of him is coated with mud. “I got it out and put it away,” he says to me.

  My mother makes a noise of dismay. “I don’t even want to know what you’re talking about. Drop those jeans and throw them on the laundry room floor. You have two minutes to clean yourself up and get to the dining room table.”

  “Oopa!” Gus shouts as his father disappears toward the laundry.

  “Oh, he’ll be back,” I tell him. “Although his wardrobe choices are limited.” I carry Gus into the dining room, where the table has been extended to its full holiday size. It’s practically sagging under the weight of so much food. There’s deviled eggs, apple chutney, Leah’s decadent cheesy potatoes cooked in duck fat, the sprouts and bacon, polenta, and green beans with almonds.

  I take the seat that Rickie has saved me. Gus gets a look at the table and lets out a shriek of excitement. He is a Shipley after all. The boy likes his food.

  Even though it’s a crime to serve anything before grace has been said, I grab the spoon in Leah’s potato dish and scoop a small portion onto my plate. “Have at it, man. This is what happens when a potato dies and goes to heaven.”

  Gus doesn’t need instructions. He uses two of his short little fingers to pluck a gooey bit of potato off the plate and shove it in his mouth.

  “That is the cutest baby ever,” Rickie says. “He looks like you, only fatter and more motivated.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty motivated. I just hide it well.” I look up and see my brother in the doorway. He’s standing there, holding a platter of ham, wearing a pair of my sweatpants which he obviously pulled out of the laundry bag I’d left on the floor in front of the washer.

  And he’s watching me and Gus with a soft expression that I rarely see on his face.

  Caught staring, Griffin snaps out of it and puts the platter of ham onto the table.

  “Griffin!” Isaac calls. “Come down here and tell me if you’ve made up your mind. Connors is blowing up my phone, but I’m holding him off.”

  My brother glances back in my direction, which is odd. But then he goes and takes a seat next to Isaac, and the two of them whisper quietly together for a moment.

  Isaac shakes his head slowly, as if my brother has disappointed him. And then they share a one-armed man hug and a back slap that I don’t really understand.

  Mom rushes in with another platter, so it’s time for dinner.

  Audrey swoops in to take Gus, who complains about the loss of his potato feast. “Oh, there’s more where that came from you little chubster,” she says.

  Grandpa puts his hands together and says his trademark top-speed prayer. We all say “Amen” at the same time, and then everyone reaches for a dish to pass.

  We’re elbow to elbow tonight as everyone digs in. Chastity is seated at the other end of the table from me, wearing a fuzzy sweater and a stricken face. I’m a little worried, honestly. Exams must have been harder on her than I thought.

  I can’t wait to talk to her. There are so many things I need to say. But not in this room. Who could get a word in, anyway? Everybody’s talking at once. And Rickie looks as happy as I’ve ever seen him.

  “Coming here tonight was a good decision. Mrs. Shipley and Mrs. Shipley, everything is wonderful.”

  “You can come back so long as you don’t call me Mrs. Shipley,” my mother argues. “I’m Ruth and she’s Audrey.”

  “He’s not usually polite at all,” I tease. “You should just roll with it.”

  “Dylan, don’t malign the friends who bring wine and give your mother snarky dishtowels.” Mom passes the potatoes to her left. “You can bring Rickie home anytime.”

  Rickie gives me a smug look. “I’m beginning to see how you became the nice guy that you are. Honestly, it explains a lot.”

  The meal goes on and on. I spend much of it trying to catch Chastity’s eye, with no luck.

  Audrey brings around a tray of crackers—not the kind you eat, but those British party favors that snap loudly when you pull them apart. There’s a tissue-paper crown inside, so of course we all put them on.

  I give Chastity a grin down the table, and she barely musters a tight smile.

  “What’s up with her?” Rickie whispers.

  “No idea. I guess she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s slumming it with me.”

  Rickie snorts. “Challenge. You’re her favorite person in the whole entire world. She’s keeping it on the down-low so she’ll feel less awful when it ends.”

  Ouch.

  “Who’s re
ady for dessert?” my grandfather barks from the head of the table. He pushes back his chair. “I’ll put the coffee on.”

  “I already did it, Grandpa,” Daphne says. “You can just sit there looking handsome.”

  “You are my favorite grandchild,” Grandpa says. “Somebody bring this girl a slice of pie.”

  “Dessert is served buffet style,” Audrey says, pointing at the sideboard. “Give me two minutes, and you can both be first in line.”

  Chastity actually avoids me by staying in her seat until I’ve made my way past all the desserts. I’m a little peeved by this. But I can drown my sorrows in a slice of pumpkin bourbon pie, and a piece of bouche du noël cake.

  I’m feeling fat and happy enough when Leah quiets the table by saying she has an announcement to make. She’s found a donor who can make her foundation a reality. “Our plans are going forward in a big way, and since all of you have been such dear friends and neighbors all these years, I need to tell you what that means.”

  Half listening, I scrape frosting off my empty plate until I hear her say: “We’re all relocating to Laramie in the fall.”

  Relocating to Laramie. Laramie…Wyoming?

  My head snaps up and I meet Chastity’s hollow eyes. And they tell me everything I need to know.

  Holy shit. She’s moving? That makes no sense.

  “You’re leaving?” May gasps. “Don’t do that.”

  “It wasn’t an easy decision,” Leah admits, her eyes shining. “But this is important to me. And there are other benefits. Chastity can take classes at the University of Wyoming, at a pace that feels more comfortable for her. And, of course, I’m going to need her help.”

  I’m just trying to take this in when my evil twin chirps, “But who’s going to tutor her in…algebra?”

  “That’s what Skype is for,” my brother says, causing Rickie to choke on his wine.

  “But that won’t be as satisfying,” Daphne says with a completely straight face.

  And I want to murder her. Or anybody, really. I’m suddenly so angry. I push my chair back from the table and carry my plate into the kitchen, flinging on the tap and rinsing it under the spray.

  I don’t know how long I stand there in front of the sink, just seething. Chastity hates Wyoming. Hates it. Why would she agree to go there? Was she even going to tell me?

  “Hey,” someone says, and I whirl around. It’s only Rickie, holding out his plate. “You okay?”

  “Sure,” I snap, grabbing it and rinsing it off with a firehose of water. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  I can feel his eyes on me. “You know, a dedicated bachelor would view this as a natural breaking-off point.”

  “Natural?” An angry noise erupts from my chest. “No, it’s…stupid.”

  “Kidding.” I hear Rickie laughing softly behind me. “Calm down. Stop trying to wash the pattern off those dishes, and go find her. I just saw Chastity put on her coat and leave the house.”

  “Oh.” I shut the water off. I need to talk to her so badly. But I’m full of rage. It might be a bad idea.

  Rickie puts his hands on me and gently steers me toward the mud room, where the boots are. “Go on. Go outside and cool down. Then find her.”

  I stomp toward the coats, grabbing mine off the hook and shoving my arms inside.

  Unfortunately, Griffin picks that moment to show up, too. “Can I have your help with one thing? It will only take ten minutes.”

  “Right now?”

  “Well, yeah. Since you have a guest, I was trying to give you Christmas day off. No milking in the morning, no chores until late afternoon. But I just need ten minutes more of your help.”

  “I’m not available,” I grumble as my head continues exploding. Chastity can’t move to Wyoming. It’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. Leah and Isaac can’t either, goddamn it. Thursday dinner won’t be the same.

  “You made that very clear earlier,” my brother says stiffly. “And I’m sure you’re trying to teach me a lesson. So have at it. Go light up with your friend or whatever you were going to do. It will only take me four times as long to get the tractor tire off by myself. But you have a good time.” Griffin pushes past me and stomps outside.

  I’m still tugging on my boots when his words sink in. And then I can actually feel the blood leaving my extremities. That’s what shock does to a body. Is he seriously going to try to lift that tire? I’ll kill him myself, first.

  My fingers are stupid with rage, but I manage to jerk the door open and launch myself outside, jumping off the stoop and lurching across the newly fallen snow. “Griff!”

  He’s already striding across the grassy circle toward the tractor shed, and doesn’t bother turning around.

  “Griffin! You asshole.” I take off after him. It occurs to me to wonder where Chastity went. I don’t see her anywhere. Anger propels me across the snowy yard. Even though Griffin has a head start and a long stride, I have no trouble catching up to him.

  It’s just that I don’t slow down. I tackle him from behind, because I’ve forgotten how to do anything rational.

  We go down hard and shockingly fast, corkscrewing a quarter turn to the side, so that my ear bounces off the snowy ground.

  “Fucking hell,” Griffin snarls, rolling away from me. “What the fuck, Dylan.”

  “Fuck you,” I bite out, shakily sitting up. “You don’t get to drop that bomb and laugh it off.”

  “What bomb?” he bellows, sitting up.

  “A fucking joke about the tractor tire!” I shout. “On Christmas Eve!”

  He stares back at me with the same self-righteous gaze he always wears. And I just can’t take it. I’m like a grenade that bounced when it landed and has yet to explode. I lunge at my brother, knocking him back on the snow with a grunt.

  Here’s a tip for later—never tackle an ex-football player. Barely a half second after I watch his head bounce off the snow, the world tilts and I find myself on my back.

  But I have anger on my side. I struggle with everything I’ve got, knocking him in the side of the head and curling my abs to try to twist free.

  Ultimately, it’s no good. After a quick and brutal scuffle, I’m pinned on my back, squinting up into Griffin’s angry, dark eyes. “Are you on something? Serious question. Speed? Coke? What the fuck did you get into?”

  That’s when I hear my mother gasp from somewhere nearby. In my peripheral vision, I see Mom and Daphne and Isaac and God knows who else.

  “Nothing!” I gasp at Griff. And all the fight suddenly drains right out of me. I flop back against the snow as Mom marches toward us. “Are you really that mean, though? Serious question. You don’t get to bring up that fucking tire and turn your back on me like it’s nothing.”

  “Dylan.” His voice is pure exasperation. “What about the tire?”

  “I get that you’re pissed at me. But you don’t need to bring Dad into it.”

  “What about Dad?” he demands.

  “Jesus Christ. He asked for my help with a tractor tire on the day he died. I didn’t show up. You want a replay on Christmas? I guess I can’t stop you.”

  “What?” Griffin gasps, releasing me. “Dad changed a tire? Why?”

  “Because—” I put one hand down on the frigid snow and push myself up. “Because I was horsing around with Keith and missed the school bus. So he tried to do it himself. And that was it.” I can’t even bring myself to say the last part out loud. He died trying.

  “Mom?” Griff asks. “Is any of that true?”

  Exhaustion bleeds through me. Because of course Griffin doesn’t believe me.

  “No,” my mother says, stunning me. “Well, Dylan missed the bus. But it didn’t matter. Your father decided hours beforehand not to change the tire. He asked me to call T-Core for a service. They came at noon.”

  “What?” I gulp.

  And then mom is there in the snow in front of me, on her knees in the cold, and grabbing my hands. “Dylan, it wasn’t your fault. I had no idea you th
ought so. It was my fault.”

  “What?” I repeat. That makes no sense.

  “He said he wasn’t feeling well. But I didn’t press. He didn’t eat his lunch, and I thought that was strange. But I was busy doing the payroll and baking three pies. Pecan.”

  “You never make pecan,” I say stupidly. Because nothing makes any sense.

  “Right,” she whispers, her eyes sad. “I can’t look at a pecan pie anymore. That’s what I was doing when your father went back to the tractor shed to listen to the baseball game on his shop radio. Alone. And I never saw him again alive.”

  My body must be shaking, because I hear my teeth chattering. “But the t-tire was there. When I found him.” I saw it with my own eyes, leaning against the wall where he’d left it.

  “Whoa. Slow down. You found him?” Griff asks. “Fucking hell. I didn’t know that.” Griffin had been away at the time, training with other would-be football stars.

  “He did,” my mother says, tears in her eyes. “It was a horrible thing.”

  “I thought…” I can’t quite get the words out. “The tire was right there.”

  “He always kept the busted ones,” Griff said. “They’re useful sometimes.”

  My mother leans in and puts her arms around me. “The heart attack just took him,” she says. “It wouldn’t have mattered if you made the bus. It wouldn’t have mattered one bit.”

  I can hear her words. But my heart can’t quite believe it.

  “How come Dylan doesn’t already know this?” Griff asks. “The kid’s been carrying this around for six years?”

  The kid. There it is again. But I don’t mind it so much right now.

  “I didn’t know,” my mother says, brushing snow out of my hair. “And we’re all carrying it around one way or another.”

  I lock my jaw to stop the shaking. And I let my mother help me to my feet.

  “Griff,” Daphne says. “I’ll help you with the tire.”

  My brother glances toward the tractor shed. “Nah. It can wait. It can all wait. Let’s go inside.”

  I glance at the group of people watching from a respectful distance. I shake my head.

  “Take a minute,” Mom says. “I’ll say goodnight.” She turns around and walks away from me and Griff.