I didn’t just lose Wade, though. I lost his mama, too. I can’t tell you how many times I would sit in the kitchenwith my mama and Mrs. Callahan as they baked and giggled like schoolgirls while they drank wine. I’d come home from volleyball practice, and Mrs. C would have brought over a Hi-C for me while Mama had some sort of snack at the same time. She and Mama were at all my volleyball games and plays together, until they weren’t any longer.
I knew that Daddy was in the wrong with his actions, but I also couldn’t stand up and tell him that. I had to show loyalty to my family. A lot of good that did me, though. I have nothing to show for it.
I pick up my pace, trying to burn the images away.
I slow down as the trees thin, revealing the outline of my childhood home in the distance. The sight of it stops me in my tracks, my chest tightening with a mix of nostalgia and unease. I didn’t really take the time to soak it all in yesterday when I showed up both times with Doc Lucy. I wanted to push down all the memories and not face them yet. I was doing everything possible not to cry at the realization that my mother wasn’t going to come out on that porch, wiping her hands on her apron and grinning widely back at me.
No, those days are long gone.
Tears prick at my eyes as I stand there, willing her to walk outside. The house looks smaller than I remember, the paint a little more faded, the porch steps worn with time. But it’s still home in a way that no other place ever could be.
I’m standing on the front steps before I realize it, my hand hovering over the railing. The screen door creaks open, and my dad steps out onto the porch, a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate with an omelet in the other. He’s wearing his usual attire: worn jeans, a flannel shirt, and boots that have seen better days. His eyes narrow when he sees me, but he doesn’t say anything right away.
“Morning,” I say, my voice tentative.
He grunts in response, setting the plate down on the small table by the door. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I went for a run,” I explain, gesturing vaguely behind me. “Ended up here.”
He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze steady.
“Fresh pot of coffee inside if you want it, not like that fancy crap you normally drink, I’m sure, but…”
“I’m fine,” I sigh.
I look around and realize that my dad’s old Ford is the only vehicle in the driveway.
That’s odd.
Now that I think about it, when we came by the first time, none of the ranch hands were here, and that’s strange for the middle of the day. And when we came back later, he was the only one present.
“Where’re all the ranch hands?” I ask, glancing around.
His jaw tightens, and he looks away. “Had to let ’em go.”
“What? Why?”
“Couldn’t afford to keep ’em,” he says gruffly. “Not with whatever this is hitting the cattle. Didn’t seem right to ask ’em to put in the work when I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pay ’em.”
“Dad,” I say softly, stepping closer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What good would’ve it done?” he snaps, his tone sharper than I expected. “You made it clear that this isn’t your home. You’ve got your own life, your own job. I didn’t need you swooping in here, trying to fix things.”
I flinch at his words but hold my ground. “But you called me to help. I’m here now. Let me help.”
He shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “I’m managing.”
“Are you?” I ask, my voice rising slightly. “Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like it.”
“What would you know?”
“You can’t run this ranch by yourself. It’s impossible. You’ll put yourself into an early grave.”
“Well, when that happens, you can run it how you see fit. Or sell it—that’s more likely.”
I fight every urge I have to groan out loud.
Jerk.
