"Oh no!" Dori exclaimed. "What happened?"
I gave a slight shrug, staring at my red-eyed reflection in the mirror. "Probably a heart attack, but the coroner wants to do an autopsy because he was found lying out in the old barn—"
"Don't tell me that it was Lisa who found him that way?" Dori asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
I shook my head. "No, one of the ranch hands found him," I explained. "Lisa was in the kitchen fixing breakfast." Again I felt a warm flood of tears in my eyes as I shook my head in stunned amazement. "But Dori, Lisa's just lost! She wanders around the house as if she's still looking for him…" Dori placed her hands on my shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze.
"That's so sad," she sighed. "They’ve been married, what, like 40 years?"
I nodded. "Fifty-something. Donovan told me once that they had met in high school just before the Second World War."
"Have you heard from him?"
Again, I shook my head, as thoughts and memories of Donovan, our years of dating, and the love I had felt for him - once, a long time ago, came pouring back. "Not a peep," I said. “I don’t even know if anyone knows where he is now. But I don't think he'll ever come back."
"What makes you think that?" Dori asked.
I sighed. "I don't know if I ever told you, but after he left, I wrote him letters. For a while I knew he was living in Ohio, not far from the college he attended, but about a year after he graduated from the university, he just up and disappeared. I know that Lisa occasionally talked to him, but she didn't tell Frank." Dori played with my hair a little bit, fluffing it with her fingers as she stared at my reflection in the mirror.
"What happened between those two?" she asked. "What could've been so horrible as to cut off all Donovan's communication with his family? He never even communicates with his brothers or sisters?"
"Not that I know of," I replied. "I'm not sure exactly what straw it was that broke the camel's back, but I do know that Donovan and his dad had several rather large arguments about his intention to leave the ranch and start his own business."
"I remember when you and Donovan used to date," Dori smiled. "You guys made the cutest couple. Donovan was so handsome with his wind-swept dark hair, those gorgeous blue eyes, and that perpetual tan he had year-round. And you, Memphis, were always the belle of the ball, weren’t you? That blonde hair of yours, your green eyes, and that perky little upturned nose dotted with freckles always turned the boys’ attention your way."
I glanced once again at Dori's reflection in the mirror. "I wasn't a big flirt and you know it," I grinned. "Besides, I'm ready for a change. If you've got time, I want to go ash brown today." Dori tilted her head slightly to the side, pursing her lips as she squinted at my reflection.
"I think light ash brown would suit your bone structure and skin tone wonderfully," she said.
She shook out a clean plastic apron and placed it over me and fastened it securely around my neck. "And I want a cut," I stated abruptly, nodding at my own image. Yes, I needed a definite change. "Short. Like pixie short."
"Sure, I can do you. You sure you're up to it?"
I sighed. "At this point, I'm not sure I'm up to anything. But, life goes on, doesn't it? I've got to work at the restaurant tonight, and tomorrow I need to find out what's going on with the autopsy and then I need to sit down with Lisa and ask her about funeral and burial arrangements."
"Did they already have plots picked out?" Dori asked.
"I'm not sure," I said. My heart thudded dully in my chest. I was going to miss Frank - his booming laugh, his comforting presence, and most of all, the deep sound of his voice. Donovan's voice was just like his dad's, and I felt a new, burgeoning ache in my heart. Frank's death had brought emotions and feelings to the forefront that I had pushed away for years. I had loved Donovan with all my heart and soul. I had thought we were going to be married, and then, from one day to the next, he was gone. Out of my life. Not a word.
"You okay, Memphis?” Dori asked. Her question jarred me out of my self-pity, and I glanced up at her face in the mirror, realizing that tears were streaming down my cheeks and my breath was coming in small, quiet, hiccupping sobs. Dori leaned down and enveloped me in a gentle hug, and I grabbed her hands and held on tight. "I miss him so much," I choked out.
"Frank?" Dori asked.
I nodded. "And Donovan too.”
Two hours later, I stared at a new me. "I look quite different, don't I?" I asked.
"Light brown hair certainly suits you," Dori agreed. "How's the length?" She ran her fingers through the short cut, tweaking and fluffing here and there.
I turned to try and see my profile better, and Dori handed me a mirror so that I could gauge the length of my hair at the back. Dori had run her fingers through my hair, giving it a little bit of lift and a funky bounce.
"Perfect," I commented. "I was always sweeping my hair back in a ponytail, so I figured why not just cut it all off and save myself the trouble? I like this." I meant it. I did like it. The light brown color wasn't too dark and looked natural, and I was very pleased with the results.
"This will last about three months, depending on how often you wash your hair," Dori said. "Of course, come in any time you think you need to touch up."
I stared at the new me, not really surprised that I felt a little different, but that deep-seated heartache that I felt at Frank's passing and Donovan's loss still tugged at my heart. Nevertheless, the change was a start, and just what I needed to snap me out of my doldrums. I had a busy and challenging week ahead of me, what with helping Lisa and family members with the funeral and burial plans. Then, I would need to speak to one of the brothers or sisters about the ranch finances.
The hard truth was that the ranch was going under. Frank hadn't wanted anyone to know, least of all the boys. He had sheltered Lisa from the truth for several years. I was the only one who knew about it, other than Frank of course, but he had sworn me to secrecy. I had been tempted several times to try to contact Donovan and let him know, but every time I asked Lisa for his contact information, she had busied herself with other chores and told me she would get to it, but she never did. I couldn't really blame her.
The family had been dealt a blow when Donovan abruptly left not only the ranch, but Stinnett and Texas behind. For a while, his brothers and sisters had attempted to maintain communication, but within a couple of years, their one-sided efforts had grown fewer and further in between. Before long, no one spoke of Donovan, least of all to Frank. I'd heard Julie and Tammy talking to Lisa several times about him, and it appeared that they were kept appraised of his rare phone calls letting his mom know that he was okay, but other than that, there had not been much news. I had no idea what Donovan had been doing with himself in the intervening years. I didn't know whether he was married, had kids, or where he was living. That hurt. His abrupt departure out of my life had cut me so deeply that even now, eight years later, I felt the pang of his loss.
Nevertheless, no matter how much I had, and still loved Donovan, deep in my heart I felt so angry with him. How could he have left me, turned his back on me like that? I could understand him not wanting to take over the ranch from his father. I could even understand him not wanting to remain in Stinnett. I could understand him wanting to make his own life. What I couldn't understand was how easy it had seemed for him to turn his back on everything that he had known, including me. Why hadn't he made an effort to maintain communication with me? Had I so terribly misread and misjudged his feelings for me? Had our relationship been more one-sided than I had imagined?
"You see something wrong?"
Dori's voice jarred me once again from my reflections. I smiled up at her image behind me. "It's perfect, Dori, thank you." She removed the cutting apron from around my shoulders and then grabbed a blow dryer, which she turned on and blew over my shoulders to make sure that any stray hairs were blasted to smithereens. I slowly stood, then turned to give Dori a hug. "Thanks for the ear, Dori."
> "Any time, girlfriend," Dori replied, squeezing tight. "Any time. You know that."
I did. I nodded, then turned and headed toward the cash register to pay for my overhaul. Then I walked outside, pulling my truck keys from my pocket as I stepped into the parking lot. I walked across the lot and climbed into my Ford Ranger pickup truck, where I sat for several moments, idly staring out the windshield. Dori's shop was located at the east end of Main Street, and I watched local traffic pass by. Everyone seemed focused on their errands and chores. The local feed and grain store was the busiest at the moment, with cars and trucks pulling in and out regularly. Beyond that, the post office, the small courthouse, the library, and several shops and businesses lined the street. I glanced down at my watch. I had to be to work by four o'clock this afternoon. While Frank had paid me a small but reasonable wage to take care of his books for him, I also had what I called my main job at the Chit Chat restaurant twelve miles south of Stinnett in the town of Borger.
I had worked as a waitress at the Chit Chat for the past five years, and when I had time, I also picked up other odd jobs. I liked to stay busy, and while there was not much in the way of careers in Stinnett or Borger, I loved the area and didn't want to leave. In the summertime, I spent a lot of my free time at the Lake Merritt National Recreation Area south and west of Borger. Occasionally, I visited Amarillo for shopping expeditions or just a day away from the quiet and rural communities out in the middle of nowhere when I had a desire to be around more people and activity.
I didn't really like the hustle and bustle of Amarillo, and with my thoughts still on Frank, the family, and ultimately, Donovan, wondered what it was that had pulled Donovan so far away from our small home town. It wasn't that bad, or at least I didn't think so. Obviously, Donovan had a different opinion. With a scowl and a muttered curse, I shoved the key into the ignition slot and turned over my engine. Enough thoughts about Donovan. He had made his choices, and now he had to live with them. I had work to do, and then, after my shift, I planned to head back to the ranch to help Lisa and the family in any way I could in preparation for Frank's funeral and burial.
Chapter 3
Donovan
I felt exhausted after arriving at the Donovan Husband Amarillo International Airport, serving the Panhandle regions of Texas and Oklahoma. The single terminal airport had been recently renovated, but all the shops and restaurants were closed, as was expected for close to five o'clock on a weekday night. Totally different from what I was used to in New York City, which was filled with services, facilities, and restaurants that were open twenty-four hours a day.
"Good to be back home?" Damien, my best friend who had flown in from New York City, asked.
"Nope," I muttered. "And besides, we still have over an hour drive up to Stinnett, and that's after we get from the airport here to downtown Amarillo."
"About that," Damien commented. "I think I'm going to find a hotel room and stay here tonight."
Before I could say anything he lifted a hand to explain.
"I think it would be better if I stay here for tonight and you go on ahead. I'll rent a car and come up at some point tomorrow afternoon. That will give you time alone with the family."
I knew better than to argue with Damien. It was nice that he had offered to accompany me, but I knew what he was getting at. He knew about my history with my family, as during our college years, he had come down with me several times to visit over school breaks. He knew that I had become estranged with my family because I hadn't wanted to settle down and run the family ranch, but there was more to it than that. Without saying anything, I shrugged and gave him a nod.
"You're okay with that, right?" Damien asked.
"Makes sense," I said. "To be honest, I feel a little awkward. It's been eight years since I've been back home."
"Think there'll be trouble?"
"I have no idea," I sighed. Dusk was just settling over the eastern horizon, and just by the look of it I could tell it would be full dark in another hour or so, even though it was only five o'clock in the afternoon. Stuck between late summer’s heat and the cooler weather of fall, this region of Texas experienced a wide variety of weather this late into September.
The airport was located along Highway 60, roughly ten miles east of downtown Amarillo. Shane had said that he would have my truck waiting in the parking lot, so we headed toward the Preferred Parking area located close by the single terminal entrance and not far from the parking garage structure. He’d probably dropped off the truck earlier this morning.
As Damien and I headed toward the parking lot, our carry-on gym bags slung over our shoulders, I quickly scanned the lot, looking for my old 1992 F-250 Ford truck. The parking lot wasn't crowded, and it didn't take long to spot my truck at the far end of the lot. I couldn't help but smile as I spotted it, complete with chipped blue paint, off-road tires, and Bull Nose front end replacement bumper. The sight of it brought back a rush of memories, both good and bad. As we headed closer, Damien glanced at me.
"Surprised that old monstrosity still runs," he commented.
"Hey," I replied. "It's a fucking workhorse, and a lot more practical than any of the cars you drive around the city." I inserted my key, still on my keychain after all these years, and pulled open the door. I flipped the switch and opened Damien's door lock as well.
"Stinks like one," Damien commented as he climbed onto the bench seat.
"Does not," I replied. I climbed in behind the steering wheel and allowed the scent of hay, dirt, dust, oil, and, okay, some horse smell - obviously from the saddle blanket that covered the seat – to rush through my senses. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed the earthy smell of Texas, the hint of sand, mesquite, and scrub pine. I'd been smelling car exhaust, asphalt, and subway fumes for so long I had forgotten how good it smelled out here. Oh, I had been in Montana a few months back opening one of my gyms out there, but I hadn't been able to spend much time outdoors.
"I booked a room at the Courtyard Amarillo downtown," Damien said. "It's on south Polk Street, heading north out of town."
I nodded. "I know the place. It's in the historic Fisk building downtown." I glanced over at him. "You sure you don't want to just drive up with me?"
"I’m sure," Damien said. "I'll come up at some point tomorrow. I'll call you and let you know when I’m heading out."
"Head north out of town and take the 385 east,” I told him. “It turns into the 136 heading north. You’ll drive along the eastern edge of Lake Meredith and the Lake Meredith National Recreation Area and then you’ll hit Fritch. I like to take the 136 out of Fritch due east to Borger, as it's less roundabout, and then head north on the 207 out of Borger until you get to Stinnett. When you get to Stinnett, give me a buzz and I'll tell you how to get to the ranch, or to my hotel, whichever. I'm not sure where I'll be staying yet."
Damien glanced at me.
"You don't think you'll be welcome at the ranch?" he asked, surprised.
"I have no idea," I replied, feigning indifference. “My mom told me I’d be staying there, and I’m sure she’ll welcome me, but I’m not so sure about Cameron, Shane, Julie or Tammy.” I hadn't heard from them in years. I had only written to Memphis a few times, and I had talked to Shane a couple, but that was about it.
Before long, I pulled up in front of the hotel and dropped Damien off at the lobby entrance. "You sure you will be okay?" I asked. "After all, you're not in New York City anymore."
Damien nodded. "I’ll be fine. You be careful driving out there. Never know when a cow might be standing in the middle of the road, right?"
I made a face, and then Damien shut the door, offered a short wave, and turned and strode into the lobby. I pulled out of the driveway and took the exact route out of town that I had suggested for Damien. The roads were practically deserted this time of the evening, even though it was still early by New York City time, like they always were in the middle of the week in rural Texas. It was dinnertime out this way.
Just
as I hit the outskirts of Fritch, I turned on my headlights, and then cruised at a comfortable speed through the endless emptiness. It was a mindless drive, one that had been imprinted into my memory after years of traveling that route before I had left home. It gave me time to think, though my thoughts were far from pleasant.
I was still reeling from the news of my father's death. To be honest with myself, I was forced to admit that the news had hit me harder than I thought it would. I'd been angry with my dad for so long that I had allowed my feelings to push out all the good memories and the good times we shared together. My dad had taught me how to swim, to shoot, to hunt, and how to ride a horse. I'd learned a solid work ethic from him, and so much more. So much anger and resentment, and now it all seemed so pointless. Now, I would never have a chance to say I was sorry or to feel his arms wrapped around me, to hear his deep rumbling voice or his booming laugh.
I swallowed a hard lump in my throat and blinked several times, clearing my eyes. Damn. I hadn't expected this. I was worried about my mom as well. The last two times I'd spoken to her on the phone, she had sounded different. Stressed. Well, maybe not particularly stressed, but she definitely sounded anxious. Uncertain. I didn't even want to think it, but to be honest, the last time I talked to my mom several months ago, she had sounded, well, rather forgetful. The thought was sobering. My parents were mortal, as my father's unexpected death had made me realize. Neither one of them would be around forever. I had destroyed any chances of ever reconciling with my father. I just hoped it wasn't too late to reconcile with my siblings… or others I had left behind so many years ago.
By the time I approached Borger, my stomach grumbled loudly in protest. I realized I hadn't eaten much in the last couple of days since hearing the news about my father's death and decided to stop and get something to eat, though I was within a half an hour of Stinnett. As I drove into the small town, I saw lights blazing at a cozy looking restaurant called the Chit Chat. I pulled into the parking lot, surprisingly crowded for a Wednesday evening, and found a spot at the far side of the lot. I would probably have to wait for a table but I didn't really care. I wasn't particularly anxious to rush into Stinnett and deal with dad's death, my siblings, or my mom’s certain grief.
Donovan Page 2
