“I know.”
Jenny sputters at me for a moment, and I don’t blame her for being angry. It’s easier to be mad at me than it is to turn her rage to the cruelty of cancer.
“Youknow?” she spits. “God, you could at least act like you care.”
I wince at the accusation, but her eyes are already flooded with tears, and I can’t bring myself to be upset. She’s swinging at any target she can reach right now, and I don’t want to make things worse by responding to her in anger.
I don’t know if it’s even possible to make things worse anymore.
“Are we ever going to have a good relationship?” I say.
I don’t think about the words before they slip out, and I’m almost as surprised to hear them as she is.
She stares at me for a long moment, her surprise melting back into anger.
“Why would we?”
She sounds as exhausted and defeated as I do. The guilt that sits on the back of my tongue is bitter, and it doesn’t go anywhere when I try to swallow it down.
“You’re my daughter.”
It’s an egregious oversimplification of things, but it’s the best summary of all my reasons that I can offer. She’s Laura’s daughter, too, and we used to be so close when she was young. I miss her more than I’ll probably ever be able to admit.
“And you’re my dad.” She sounds bored, uncaring. There’s anger bubbling in her eyes along with her tears. “We’ll have a good relationship when you can act like it. You used to be a good dad, but I guess you’re too busy ignoring the ranch to think about anyone else these days.”
The words sting, but I can’t argue with them. My shoulders slump, and I flex my hands at my sides. I’m not angry—I don’t think I have the energy to get angry right now—but I need something to ground myself.
“I’m not much good at this kind of thing anymore,” I admit. “Maybe it’s time to think about selling.”
I haven’t let anyone take even an inch of the ranch I built with Laura, but what good is it if I’m just letting it waste away anyway? Jenny’s mouth drops open, and she scoffs furiously at me, shoving off the side of the barn. She looks righteously pissed as her tears finally break free to slide down her cheeks, and I curse at myself for failing to filter my thoughts.
“Did you hit your fucking head or something?” she asks blisteringly. “What… did you fuck someone half your age and start thinking like you’re 30 years younger, too?”
As much as I wish I could control myself, I’m at the end of my rope, too. I can’t handle the pain of Al’s declining health and the shambles of my relationship with my daughter at the same time.
“Is that all you’re worried about? The fucking age difference?” I throw my hands up in frustration, too wound up to calm myself down. “You can’t see past a number to let me try to be happy? Mary is the first person since your mother I’ve feltanythingfor! It wasn’t on purpose, Jenny, it just happened. If all you’re worried about is Mary’s age, I suggest you get over it, and fast.”
My chest is heaving by the time I finish my tirade, and Jenny is staring at me in shock. We tend to argue plenty, but it’s rare for either of us to do anything but snipe at each other.
Vulnerability in our fights is so rare I can’t remember the last time either of us even bothered to try being honest. She opens her mouth, fails to find words, and snaps it shut. I don’t feel much better for having gotten the last word in, but at least it means it’s over. I’m too tired to keep on like this for much longer.
“You should call Al,” I say roughly.
She doesn’t answer me as I march past her into the barn, but I don’t expect her to. On any other day, we’d be back to snarking at each other in a few hours, but today is too heavy.
I’d really like the chance to calm myself down before throwing myself back into work, but as I near the back of the barn, Mary’s voice floats out from one of the birthing pens.
I almost want to turn tail and hide somewhere, but I’m also desperate for any form of comfort.
The pen has never been her favorite place, especially after her introduction to Cowthilda the first day she showed up. She must have a hell of a reason.
“Hey, there you go,” she says, and I hear a low, distressed sound coming from one of the heifers. “Just, um, breathe? Or push? You’ve got this, girl. Everything will be just fine.”
I pick up my pace until I’m nearly running the last few paces to the pen, and my brows rise in shock at what I see.
Mary is on her knees in the hay, dirt smudged up over one of her arms and muddying the hem of her shirt. She’s petting over the flank of one of our youngest heifers with one hand, cooing soothingly down at her. Her slim fingers are wrapped around one of the calf’s hooves where it’s just barely managed to breach, and she looks absolutely terrified. Her head whips up when she hears the gate creak, and her eyes widen in relief at the sight of me.
“It’s okay,” I assure her, rushing over to fall to my knees beside her. “I’ll take over. What are you doing in here?”
