"There's a part of me that wishes he would've burned the journal,” Wyatt mutters.
"It was your wife who gave it to him," Wes counters.
Wyatt fixes him with afuck youstare. It's a good thing Warner sits between them.
And on the end, on the other side of Wyatt, Jessie sobs quietly with her fists pressed to her eyes.
Wyatt stands and gently pushes her into his spot. "Come on, Calamity. Don't cry." He sits back down in her vacated spot and puts his arm around her. Warner pats her leg. "I always thought when you cried, the tears would come out shaped like letters and form cuss words, like foul-mouthed alphabet soup."
Jessie's shoulders shake with laughter even though her lower lip juts out and she's still crying.
"I liked him," Wes announces. It's these words that remove Jessie's hands from her eyes. She stares at Wes.
"Youlikedsomeone? I always thought you merely tolerated other people."
Wes grunts a laugh. "Yeah, well. I'm getting weak in my old age."
I love this. Watching my grandkids argue and love, tease and talk. I think they appreciate each other now, and that appreciation will deepen as they get older. It gives me reassurance that the Hayden name will stay strong, long after I’m gone.
They depart. The boys go to their wives. Jessie leaves after she sneaks into the pantry and does a shot of Macallan 25. I won't tell on her. I've been known to nip at that bottle a time or two myself.
Beau comes to find me on the front porch after they've all gone. The corners of his mouth turn down. Lines gather around his eyes. He sits beside me and looks out at the land we've done countless things, both good and bad, to protect.
"I fucked up, Dad."
"No, Son. You fucked up back then. Today, you were the man they needed you to be. You took responsibility for your choice, and you made no excuse for it."
"I feel like I should do something for Sawyer."
"Too late. He's on his way home to California."
He sighs. "I bet Jessie is heartbroken."
"She is most definitely heartbroken, and hopefully almost drunk by now." I also saw her walk out with a bottle of her mother’s wine.
"Good for her." He scratches his chin. "Do you ever think about that day?"
I don't need to ask what day he's referring to. "Not if I can help it."
Beau takes a heavy breath and asks, “Do I know everything about what happened?”
"I don't need to tell you exactly what happened for you to know exactly what happened.” I have never, in all the years since that day, provided him with a blow-by-blow account. Doing so would’ve taken away his deniability.
The look in my son’s eyes is unfathomable. “I know. But sometimes when I think about it, I wonder if maybe she would've lived if I'd done something differently. Maybe I could've saved her life."
I stare at Beau. I started out with two sons and a wife. Here I am, nearing the end of my life, and it's just me and my one son. He’s old now, and I’m older, but damn do I love that boy. I'd done what I needed to do to protect him. To protect our name and our legacy for him, and Wes, and even Colt.
They all deserve to know a little, and none of them should know everything.
I pat his arm. "She was gone. There was nothing you could've done."
35
Sawyer
I left Sierra Grande immediately,staying the night in some shitty little motel in another town in the Verde valley. I woke up this morning and drove straight to the beach house. On my way out, I called the realtor who sold me the place and asked her to meet me. I might be selling on the upswing, and missing out on additional growth in value, but what about the cost to me? To my heart and my life? I can't hang on to this house for years, the way my dad held on to the Circle B.
Selling the beach house is another way I can move forward. Any step is important right now. My heart feels like it's been carved out with a spork. Might as well go full throttle and wipe the slate clean.
