“What do you mean?” he asked, squawking. “Did your mom get you nail polish?”
“It’s only pink, Dad,” she said, rolling her eyes at his foolishness. “Bubble bath pink, it’s called.”
“I thought you didn’t like pink,” he said.
“This is different.”
A lot of things were going to quickly become different, and he sensed, somehow, that he needed to make the most of this moment, and all the moments to come, as best he could. So he squared his shoulders and tugged on her hand.
“Can I put some on me, too?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in hope.
“Sure!” She tugged on his hand right back and pulled on him to hurry.
When they reached the cabin, they carried on as they usually did, with Bea in the shower, and him looking at his paints and his brushes and paper, all piled on his dresser in his room, wondering if he and Clay would ever go out in search of a view again.
When Bea came out, dressed in her pink and blue Lilo and Stitch pajamas, he dragged one of the kitchen chairs out onto the porch, where she sat facing the sunset while he carefully combed her hair and braided it. Unbraided it, then combed it again, and braided it again. All the while Bea relaxed and sighed and the kick of her heels became slower and slower.
He finished, and she hopped up to bring back a little bottle of pink nail polish, some tissue paper, and a bottle of purple nail polish remover. She sat in the chair and handed everything to him, and he did his best to apply the polish. When it was his turn, he sat in the chair, and she put polish on his nails, doing a better job than he did, far tidier.
“It’s okay, Dad,” she said as she came out after putting the nail things away. “It takes practice, at least that’s what Mom says.”
“Bea,” he said, getting up to push the kitchen chair aside. “About that. Come sit with me on the steps for a minute.”
“Okay,” she said, plopping down next to him, flinging her still-wet braid over her shoulder.
She was his daughter. She was fearless and happy and strong, and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she stayed that way.
“So, about your mom,” he began. “We’ve decided that you’re going to live with me now. And I’m thinking that we should stay on the ranch for the summer, and, I don’t know, maybe the winter, and you’ll go to school in Chugwater, or Cheyenne, depending. What do you think about that?”
“In the cabin?” she asked. “What about my friends? I’m going to be in the fourth grade, Dad, which is the year all the kids in Mrs. Harr’s class get to put on a play. It was going to beAlice in Wonderlandan’ I was going to be the caterpillar.”
“There will be other chances to be in a play, right?” Of course he wasn’t certain about that, but there would also be chances for her to do things she’d not yet dreamed of. “And,” he added, slowly, playing his ace card, grateful none of her questions had been about Mona. “You’ll get horse riding lessons all summer. Every week. Every day if you want.”
“Oh.” Bea looked up at him, eyes wide in the slowly building dusk, and sighed with happiness. “I’ll be a real cowgirl then.”
“You’re a real one now, you know.” He hugged her close and kissed the top of her head, and drew a breath, for he had one last thing to talk to her about. “And then there’s Clay. I wanted to ask you about him—”
“He wasn’t at dinner, Dad,” she said. “Did he go somewhere in his yellow truck without us?”
“He did, honeybee, and that’s your dad’s fault. We had a disagreement over a lot of things, things that are important to Clay. And they are to me too, only, when he and I were talking, I said stupid things, and that’s why Clay is keeping his distance. I hurt his feelings.”
“You can always say you’re sorry, Dad,” she said, leaning against him, playing with the damp end of her braid. “That’s what you always tell me, right? You say itallthe time. Talk to the other person. Straighten it out. That’s what you say.”
“I do say that,” he said. “And I’m going to talk to Clay as soon as I can find him tomorrow. But what I also wanted to add and to check with you about is—” He took another deep breath. “Clay and I are friends.Goodfriends. Friends like Mom and I used to be. Close. Maybe kissing close. I want to spend time with him like I used to with your mom.”
He wrinkled his brow and hunched up his shoulders, waiting for her to respond to this.
“Kissing is gross,” she said, biting on the edge of a finger, cleaning his sloppy polish application with her teeth. “But I like Clay. You smile when he’s here. He makes me laugh. I like his truck, too. It’s yellow. Maybe yellow is my new favorite color.”
“Already?” he asked, struck by how quickly she moved on from what he considered a very sensitive subject. But maybe to her, he’d said he liked Clay, and that was all she wrote. “I thought purple was your favorite color.”
“I’m tired of purple,” she said. “I think I need a yellow t-shirt to match Clay’s truck. Ladybelle, that’s her name, right?”
“Yes,” he said, thinking of Bea’s love for color and her passion for new things, and the calm way she sat there at his side after he’d announced to her he and Clay were kissing close. “Why don’t we go in and you can read to me. Anything you like.”
“EvenBlack Beauty?” she asked. “I’m just kidding. I know it makes you sad. It makes me sad, too, so how aboutThe Secret Garden?”
“Perfect,” he said, standing up, holding out his hand so he could gently pull her to her feet.
