“You’ve got some driving ahead of you,” said Leland, and though the words seemed serious, he was smiling. “Better get started.”
“Thank you.” He shook Leland’s hand, then paused. “Is it okay if Clay comes with me?”
“Never go alone, I always say.”
“Thank you.”
He strode out of the dining hall, Clay at his side, hurrying to catch up.
“He knows,” said Clay, half-moaning.
“What does he know? Which way is the truck?”
“This way.” Clay pointed ahead of them and to the left. “We cut across here and he knows we slept together.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he knows everything.”
“It’s nothing to be afraid of, I guess,” said Austin as they climbed into Leland’s F150. “Unless you’re thinking of the non-fraternization rule.”
“I am.”
Inside the truck’s cab, Clay’s words rested heavily, but he started the engine and carefully pulled through the parking spot on the gravel, and headed slowly down the main road to the front gate. There, Austin knew enough to get out and open the gate and close it behind Clay after he’d driven through.
“I need coffee and I imagine you do, too.”
“We’ll stop at Ranchette’s,” said Clay, putting on the gas as he headed south out of Farthing, down the 211. “They’ve got Bugles and fountain drinks, which is what we really need, on account of this is a road trip and all.”
After a brisk twenty minutes while the green and brown hills flashed past the window, Clay barreled into Ranchette’s Stop-n-Go, skidding to a stop in front of one of the pumps.
“Hey,” said Austin, holding out a hand to touch Clay’s arm. “You can’t drive that way with Bea in the truck.”
“Oh, no,” said Clay. “I would never. I just want to get us there as fast as possible so you look happy again.”
Thatwas Clay’s worry. Not that his Sunday would be taken up on this errand that belonged solely to Austin. Not that he missed breakfast, or that his sleep had been affected by the fact that there was another person in his bed. No, he was worried about Austin and a child he’d never met. Even if they never shared more than friendship, Austin knew it was something to treasure.
He filled up the tank, paying for it with his own credit card, while Clay grabbed snacks for the road. Perhaps knowing somehow that Austin didn’t like soft drinks, he’d gotten a giant bottle of raspberry flavored iced tea, along with his own fountain drink, a bag of Bugles, and a box of peanut butter crackers. Then they were on the road, with soft pop rock on the radio station, and I-25 taking them further and further into civilization, with big eighteen wheelers crowding along the lanes with Mercedes and Jeeps, all going as fast as they possibly could toward downtown Denver and beyond that, to unknown destinations.
At the Thornton exit, which he pointed out that Clay should take, his heart beat faster, and with each inch closer to his old house, his old life, he thought it was going to come out of his chest. And then, when Clay turned the truck into the slanted driveway of the beige and tan split-level house where he used to live, he could almost have cried. For there on the front step, with her little Sleeping Beauty rolling suitcase and her Batman backpack, stood Bea.
The door was closed behind her. God knows how long she’d been waiting with expectation.
His Bea. The magical thing, the only good thing, that had happened to him amidst years of misery and misunderstandings and self-doubt that crawled across his skin every waking moment. When she saw him as he stepped out of the truck, seconds after Clay parked it, she jumped on her toes, but didn’t race into the driveway, only waited, impatiently hopping.
“Dad, Dad, Dad,” she shouted, excited, arms wide open, eyes shining.
He reached her inside of a moment, his eyes hot with unshed tears, his heart tearing itself asunder for having not fought harder to keep her closer to him. Being Mona’s husband had been an exhausting prospect. Being Bea’s dad was the best gift in the world.
“Hey, honeybee,” he said, hunkering down to take her in his arms and hug her tight, tighter than tight. She hugged him back, and shuddered a sigh, as though it’d been ages since she’d seen him rather than a mere two weeks.
“Mom says you’re taking me to a dirty old farm,” said Bea, pulling back, scraping flyaway hair out of her mouth.
“I’m taking you to a ranch, Bea,” said Austin.
He stood up, fuming inside that Mona made it seem like Bea was going to a place where she couldn’t have any fun. Of course, early on, hadn’t wanted to bring her to the ranch either, only now he wanted to take Bea around the ranch, arrange for her to ride a real horse, show her a purple-dappled sunset. Paint her in a field of tall grass along the banks of a slow, glassy river.
“Who’s that?” asked Bea. “Dad, do you know a cowboy drove you?”
