by Tia Siren
At this rate, we’re never going to catch our flight in time.
I chided myself for thinking that I had enough time to finish everything. It wouldn’t have been too bad, but Mr. Kinney begged me to take on one more account before I left and it completely tied me up for the weekend.
“Zelda!” I bent to peer beneath the living room coffee table. I sighed, resting my hand underneath my chin, and slumped over the table.
In the corner of my eye, I spotted a small, white ball dart toward the fireplace.
“Philip,” I called. “She’s in the fireplace!”
The sound of pattering feet became louder as he neared.
“Where is she? Where is she?” Philip’s loud squeal echoed across the apartment. He ran into the room and dove to the floor, crouching on his hands and knees, his head peering at the fireplace. He wore his dinosaur pajamas, his blonde hair whirred into messy tufts from tossing in his sleep.
“You have to be very quiet,” he said in a whisper. I sat with my arms folded, silently laughing to myself at Philip’s serious nature.
“If you’re quiet,” he said, “she won’t be scared. And if she’s not scared, then she trusts you.”
For a moment, Philip cooed toward the logs that sat in the fireplace. He reached into his pajama shirt pocket, and began piling sunflower seeds on the floor in front of him.
“Oh, Philip…” I sighed. “You shouldn’t put--”
“Look, look!”
A little white head peeked out from behind the logs. Zelda’s little ears twitched, and her tiny pink paws skittered toward the pile of seeds that Philip left. Soon, she was climbing on his shoulder, twitching her little whiskers at Philip’s face as he giggled.
Of all the animals my son could have possibly chosen to love, it had to be a rat.
At least he seems to be taking the move well, I thought. Perhaps Zelda’s presence helped with that. I was thankful for any relief I could get. I knew it would get much harder in the days to come. But, for now, I reminded myself, it’s time to pack!
“The prodigal daughter returns,” a familiar old face met with us outside of the airport. Leaning against his dusty, blue pick-up, was Peter Hargrave, Gordonville’s very own carpenter, welder, and plumber extraordinaire. To me, however, he was an old family friend, the uncle I never had. He stretched out his arms for a hug, his rosy cheeks beaming under his silvery-white beard.
“You’re all grown up now,” he rested his hands on my shoulders.
“It’s only been six years,” I said. “I’ve been grown up for a while, Pete.”
“But your hair--how’d you get it so straight?--and your clothes--why, I remember when you were just a little bony thing, always gettin’ tears in your dresses from playing with the boys.”
My cheeks grew warm. “Well, a lot has changed.”
A small hand pulled at my jacket.
Pete’s eyes widened. “A lot indeed!”
He bent down to meet Philip. Philip hugged at Zelda’s carry-box close.
“You must be Philip,” Pete sent him a wink.
“You must be Uncle Pete,” Philip said.
Pete stood up and chuckled.
“I am indeed.”
“This is Zelda,” Philip held up the little carry-box. “She’s shy at first, but if you’re nice to her, she will be nice to you. Also, she loves sunflower seeds.”
Pete smiled and fished into his front flannel pocket for some sunflower seeds. One, he bit into himself, prying out the seed from inside the shell. The other he gave to Philip, whose face lit up. Pete tousled Philip’s hair.
“Well then,” he chuckled. “I think Zelda an’ I will get along just fine.”
It was a two hour drive to Gordonville from the small airport that we flew into. Going from New York time to Montana was rough. Philip had already fallen asleep in the back seat shortly after we set off, and even I had trouble keeping wake. I leaned against the passenger door. Outside, endless fields of grasses filled the landscape, some early spring flowers already began to peak out. Mountains and trees scattered in the distance, the melting snowy peaks visible in the clear air. It was quiet out here. I had almost forgotten the sound of silence.
Pete filled the emptiness. “When I heard from Rick that you were comin’ back to take over the farm, why, I about jumped out of my seat.”
I sat up.
“Whoa, whoa--wait a minute,” I said.
Philip shifted in the back and I let my voice down.
“Look, I don’t know what my dad told you, but I don’t have any intention of taking over the farm.”
Pete’s smile left, and he shifted uncomfortably.
“Oh, well, I guess I must have misheard--it sounded to me like Rick thought you were comin’ back to help out, an’--”
“Yes--to help. I’m coming back because I heard he was having a hard time, and I know he won’t admit it. I’m not planning anything permanent. I’m going to see what I can do. Honestly,” I folded my arms. “I keep telling dad to come move in with me. He knows he’s just not able to do it all by himself anymore. But he’s too stubborn to listen.”
“Your father’s a proud man,” Pete said. “But this is his home. You can’t just expect him to give it up so easily.”
“He’s worked himself too much ever since mom passed,” I said.
Pete let out a sigh.
“It seems to run in the family.”
“Pete,” I was already getting agitated.
“Sorry, Erin.”
We continued in silence for a moment.
“By the way,” Pete cleared his throat. “I know I’m on shaky ground as it is, but...”
I turned to Pete. “Hmm?”
“You know, Matty Gordon’s still nearby. He’s a real man of the town nowadays. Got a real head on his shoulders. Really taken after his family business. You plannin’ on speaking with him at some point?”
I looked out toward the side of the road once again. Until that moment, I hadn’t really thought much further. My sights were set on taking care of things with my father, settling the business with the farm, convincing him to move back with me and Philip, and then, maybe, I would find enough courage to talk to him. No, I knew I had to talk to him at some point.
“First things first,” I said. “At least let me get settled in. When, and if I speak with Matthew Gordon, it’s going to be a thought-out, civil conversation for mature adults who’ve moved on.”
“You do know that everyone’s already talkin’ about it? I bet he already knows himself when you’re comin’ in. I’d just be ready for the audience, if I were you.”
I sighed and leaned myself on the armrest of the door.
“Perfect. Everyone’s ready for the sequel. Let’s see how Erin McGarity can embarrass herself in front of everyone--again!”
Chapter 2
Driving through downtown Gordonville was like staring at a foggy, old mirror. Everything was just as I had left it, and yet it seemed entirely foreign to me. The main street buildings huddled together, with the rustic charm of an old Western outpost. Antique shops, a corner cafe, a drugstore, and an assortment of fancier specialty shops lined the strip.
In just a few moments, we had already ridden past the heart of Gordonville. The McGarity farm lay almost thirty minutes toward the outskirts of town.
It was a bright day that seemed the first to really feel like spring after a harsh winter. A slight chill still hung in the air. As the small plots of neighborhoods and farm became scarcer, the scenery once again became the familiar roll of yellow green hills, wet with melting slush.
After several moments, I began to spot large cows grazing in the distance, and a tall, meshed, wooden fence trailing far along the roadside.
“Whose land is this? I don’t remember this belonging to anyone before.”
“This here’s all part of the expansion by the Gordon ranch. Apparently, Matty’s had a lot of success since he took over. Made a few deals with some buyers in Texas. Got some
big shot investors to oversee everything.”
“So he’s just been buying out the whole county?”
Pete didn’t respond at first.
“Matty’s a good kid,” he said. “And times have been rough for a lot of folk out here. He makes his living--”
“By selling the town out to some corporate money bank?”
Pete sighed, “By givin’ folks a second chance.”
“Right,” I folded my arms and sighed. “A second chance.”
“Philip,” I cooed toward the backseat. “Philip, we’re here.”
Philip peeked out from the blanket draped over him, his bright blue eyes blinking the sleep away. He brought Zelda’s box close to him as he leaned toward the window.
“It’s so big!”
He marveled at the old farm house, the yellow-white paint peeling off, the shriveled shrubs overgrown against the porch railing that wrapped around the house. Smoke puffed out of the blackened chimney.
As we walked to the house, Philip pointed in the distance to the large red barn, though it looked more brown now, fading into disrepair.
“Are there cows in there?” He found everything around something to marvel at. “Look, look!” He giggled at the chickens that ran about his feet, pointed excitedly at a large willow in the front yard sporting a large tire swing, and hugged tight to Zelda’s box when a bright orange farm cat settled atop the wooden fence-post nearby, coolly watching us with his gaze.
“Erin!” The green screen door banged to a close as my father came out to greet us. His flannel shirt was dirtied, the sleeves rolled up. His heavy boots thundered as he bumbled down from the wooden porch.
“You came much earlier than I thought you would,” he said as we pulled away from a hug. He turned his sights to Philip, rustling at his hair with his large, worked hands.
“Hey there, Philip! It’s been a while. You were just this big when I last saw you,” he held his hands apart from one another.
“We made pretty good time,” I said, ushering Philip toward the door. “We’re tired, but we made it.”
Pete began unloading the truck. I held my hand out toward the door when a large hand closed in before mine, my father grasping onto it before me.
I stood back.
“I really didn’t expect you so early,” he said, shifting.
“Well, we’re here now…” I tried to skirt around him toward the door, but he stepped in front of me.
“You have to understand, Erin,” he said. “It’s a man’s duty to see through all his options.”
“Options? Duty? What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner…”
I began to grow impatient. I was tired and jet lagged, and the last thing I needed was my father presenting me with games.
“Dad, please, just let me--”
“Momma, who is that man?”
Philip pointed toward the front living room window. A shadow moved from inside, the curtain swaying as if they had been peeking out at us.
“Who was that?”
My father shifted his gaze from me and sighed.
“Dad…” the impatience in my voice must have caused him to resign, and he stepped aside.
“I’m sorry,” was the last thing he said.
I walked into the house, the wood below creaking as I entered the breezeway. I could smell the warm fire burning in the living room fireplace.
I unzipped my boots so as not to drag the mud and slush through the house. Then, I turned right toward the living room. The wood was warm and slick beneath my socks. Walking through the archway, I immediately stopped in my tracks, my heart beating, almost jumping toward my throat.
The tall figure turned toward me, hands slouched in the crisp, gray slacks.
“Hello,” he said, in a cool, low voice. “It’s been a while...Erin.”
The last time I saw Matty Gordon was on our wedding day. Well, it was supposed to be our wedding day. I should perhaps clarify that the last time I saw him was as I was running out the door, picking up the train of my dress with one hand, and the straps of my heels with the other, sobbing “Sorry” and “I can’t do this” and “I’m not ready” to the bright-eyed, wiry young boy I had always known growing up.
The Matthew Gordon I saw in the living room was certainly not the wiry, doe-eyed Matty that I remembered. He wore a crisp and polished gray suit that altogether clashed with the outdated, cozy scene of my father’s living room, the shelves cluttered with old figurines and trinkets, and a bright red couch with my mother’s favorite knitted throw. A deep blue tie brought his ensemble together, and brought out the lightness of his blue-gray eyes.
Matthew had always been rather tall, but he seemed much bigger, fuller now. Less of a boy and more a man. His golden-brown hair fell just right, neatly swept, with a few stray strands sweeping across his forehead. His face sported a clean shave, but the afternoon scruff was already setting in, marking his strong jaw with flecks of darker brown. He was polished. I didn’t remember him ever being quite the type.
“Matty--Matthew,” I said, correcting myself. I had pictured our first meeting not so one-sidedly prepared.
“Glad to see you made it here safely,” he said. He turned a small bird figurine to be facing outwardly upon a shelf. “I was just on my way out from talking with your father.”
“On your way out…” I folded my arms. “Right. And what business do you have here, anyway?”
“Well,” he said. “I’m sure you know all about it by now, since you’re so invested in the goings on around here.”
His words were sharp, and I felt my body grow tense. It wasn’t the thought-out, mature, and collected reunion I had intended at all.
“The Gordon ranch is looking to expand, and the McGarity farm has some great things to offer.”
“Excuse me?” My voice raised. “You can’t be serious.”
Matthew continued, seemingly unphased. “For one, it’s a more direct route to get to the Sakatchee River. It would open up more land for grazing. More than that, it would help your father…”
“Help? What help is it to take away everything he’s ever worked for?” My arms waved in frustration in front of me. “The McGarity’s have been in this area for generations! You can’t just come in here and--”
Matthew’s eyes traced to my side, his hands fell out of his pocket, and for the first time I saw his expression waver.
“Momma,” Philip’s hand tugged at my sweater, his other hand hugging Zelda, now freed from her cage, close to his chest.
My hands immediately fell to my side and I patted Philip’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, Philip,” I said. “I was just having a talk with--Mr. Gordon.”
The room suddenly felt tense, and I dared not make eye contact with Matthew.
Pete came fumbling into the house, the sound of luggage bags being placed on the wooden floor.
“Hey, Philip, don’t you wanna see your new room?”
Philip perked up and I nodded permission as he ran toward Pete. I peeked out and sent a thankful glance toward Pete as he and Philip walked up the narrow wooden stairs.
I turned around, only to be awkwardly met with a broad, suited chest.
I backed away.
“Excuse me,” Matthew made his way out toward the hallway. “I should be going.”
I didn’t have any time to say anything before he was already bounding out the door. I peeked out the window as he spoke briefly with my father before shaking hands and leaving for his car, which must have been parked out back.
I sighed and slumped into the red couch. I was so tired, and that was not at all the welcome home I was prepared for. In a moment, the jet lag took over and the last thing I remember was the smell of wildflowers and the memory of fireflies flitting above a deep canyon.
“My, what a pleasant surprise,” Maggie Turner greeted me as soon as the bell rang at the storefront door of Gordonville’s Country Market and Cafe.
&
nbsp; “It’s good to see you too,” I said. Wafts of cinnamon and apples filled my senses, and the smell of freshly baked goods. Maggie wiped some stray strands of her jet black hair from her face. Her long black braid fell toward her back, her green apron messed with flour.
We stared at one another for a few solemn moments. Then, a smirk, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer myself. I laughed, and Maggie let out a girlish squeal as we embraced one another.
“Where in the world have you been, Erin McGarity?” she held me out with her hands on my shoulders.
“I miss you too, Mag.”
The ring at the door sounded.
“Come on,” Maggie ushered me toward the cafe nook of the store.
We sat ourselves at a table. It was still early in the day after our arrival. Philip was still at home with my dad, and I took the time to head into town for some items, and not without stopping to pay a visit to my best friend.
I took a sip of warm cocoa from my mug.
“When you said things were rough, I didn’t think you meant Big Man Matthew was going around town buying people out.”
“Okay,” Maggie took a sip of her drink. “Big Man Matthew? What is that?”
I rested my hand underneath my chin, my cheeks red. “I was trying to make him sound ominous.”
“One,” she said. “That makes him sound like Paul Bunyan’s awkward cousin. And two, he’s not really a bad guy. He’s just...really powerful. And wealthy. And handsome...”
I sent her a darting look and she took another sip from her mug.
“To be fair,” she said. “He’s the one with the sympathy card.”
“What?” I sat up in my chair. “He’s trying to steal away everything my family’s worked for!”
“You left him at the altar, Erin. Then you left town. You didn’t call, you didn’t visit. You don’t really have a right anymore to defend the place.”
I grew hot at Maggie’s stark comments, but deep down, I felt it too. I had left. And six years was a long time, apparently. Enough for the entire town to change, and the people in it.
“He’s done some good, you know. I’m sure you noticed all the unique little shops in town--”
