“A heart attack is hardly anything to be so apathetic about, Dad,” Marley says, her usually soft voice is sharp.
Mr. Harlow looks at his daughter and his features soften, “Not apathetic, hun, just realistic. Because my ticker skipped a tick doesn’t mean I should lay around in bed for a week.”
“Then don’t lay around, but stay in the house and take it easy, when was the last time you took it easy, Dad?” Mason asks, his knife scraping his plate as he cuts his meat.
“I don’t take it easy and you know that.” The sharp edge in Mr. Harlow’s voice rivals the knife he is using on his meat. I’ve noticed the tone he uses with his daughters is always softer than when talking to his sons.
Mason is unfazed by it and continues, “But you can, Dad, no one’s gonna blame you.” He takes a bite of his roast and looks at me, “This is delicious, Sloane.”
My cheeks heat again and without looking at him, I say, “Thank you,”
When I glance toward the head of the table, I see Gray looking at Mason, his eyes are narrowed and he doesn’t look happy.
Mr. Harlow continues, “I would rather die in my stables, taking care of my home and family than sitting around doing nothing to try and prolong my life just to die of boredom.”
Silverware rattles on a plate and everyone stops eating as Marley pushes her chair out, tosses her napkin on the table, and leaves the room. Mr. Harlow shakes his head as he looks at his plate, a low ‘hmf’ vibrates in his throat.
“See what you did?” Tucker elbows Mason in the ribs.
Mason’s features tighten and his eyebrows pinch together, it’s obvious he regrets the turn of the conversation, “Give her just a minute, if she doesn’t come back I’ll go up.” He says in Tucker’s direction but his eyes stay on his plate.
This is the first time since I’ve been working here, that Tucker and Mason’s seats at the table have been filled at the same time. Those seats have been designated to them and when they are not here, no one sits in them. Tucker has been here a couple of times since I have been working here, but Mason hasn’t been home in a year.
Since I lost my parents, I’ve missed the stability and warmth of family, the knowledge that no matter what, there is a seat just for me to return to and I envy everyone at this table.
For several minutes the only sounds in the room are the sounds of eating dinner, until Lainey Rai says, “I’ll help you with your chores, Papa, I’m strong enough to drag a bale of hay with the hook now.”
Lainey Rai is only nine, but she is always determined to be able to do what the adults do. Just last week she was at the stables trying to ride one of the stallions instead of the smaller pony that is hers. Gray almost lost his mind when he walked in on her pulling herself up into the saddle of the large animal.
I’ve seen Lainey Rai ride, she’s been on horses since she was a baby, and Marley is always talking about how she has a way with the horses. Not to mention, the horse she was attempting to ride is one of the more gentle ones.
Opal told me once that after Gray’s wife died in a car accident six years ago, which Lainey Rai was in, he’s been especially overprotective of his daughter.
Mr. Harlow, known for spoiling his only granddaughter, points his fork at her and says, “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day, sweetheart, it’s a big deal when you can move one of those heavy things. You can be my new right-hand man.”
Lainey Rai’s smile stretches across her face and she beams at her dad as she picks up her glass of milk, Gray winks at her as he takes another bite of his dinner.
“Excuse me,” Mason says and he sets his napkin next to his plate as he gets up and leaves the room.
Even though I know that he is going to comfort his sister and try to right his wrong, the room feels really empty once he’s left and I want him to come back.
CHAPTER NINE
MASON
NO AMOUNTof staring or brushing my hand against her last night or at the breakfast table this morning was getting Sloane’s attention. She seems to have made it her goal to avoid me. Maybe I should just take the loss and move on, but the incredible attraction that I have to her won’t let me.
My year-long absence from home feels like several years as I step out onto the back porch and look around the property. In the distance to the North are the usually green, rolling hills, but everything is brown and grey for the winter.
Down the slope, behind Marley’s stables to the West, and the barn and Dad’s stables to the North is the small, slow-moving river that connects to the Arkansas River north of Tulsa. We all used to fish in that river when we were kids, especially off the one-lane bridge that Dad built for us to drive the ATVs across.
The story is that our great-great-great-grandfather built the original portion of our house for his Native American bride and she picked out this spot close to the river. I don’t know if our mother was romanticizing the story or not, but since a white man marrying a Native American woman was against the rules in his family, he walked away from his family for her.
After the Trail of Tears and the infighting of the Cherokee Tribe during the Civil War, she found herself without family and tribe, and in an encampment in Indian Territory. That’s where she met a Civil War soldier stationed at the encampment.
According to my mother, they fell head-over-ass in love and ran away together, hiding in the hills until the war was over. He built her this house with the promise that he would spend the rest of his life making her happy. I can still remember the look on my mom’s face when she would tell that story, it was the same adoring look she would give my dad.
The thought of Sloane looking at me with that kind of adoration brings a smile to my face.
