So, I’ve kept my mouth shut about them and tried not to act too deranged every day when I go to the mailbox. Sure, I could be going for whatever mail was delivered, but it’s not really why I check it every day. I check to see if I’ve gotten another letter from my Sunflower.
For the last year she’s described the seasons, the land, the town, and what she loves and fears without giving too much away. Through her letters I’ve learned to appreciate everything more. I had stopped looking at Seneca Falls beyond the place I grew up, the place I’ve been tied to without anyone asking if it’s what I want.
In the moments of resentment, real seeds of hatred were starting to take root. I looked around at Sagebrush and saw what it was taking from me. Then Sunflower started writing me letters.
She’s given me back an appreciation which could have easily been lost forever.
It was almost inevitable with how much work I put into the ranch. It was all left on my shoulders when my mom and sister moved to Lake Tahoe. They’ve spent their years entertaining and pretending like their last name is currency. Considering the people they spend time with, it probably is.
But it’s all on my back.
Dad would be ashamed.
I shake my head and take my letter straight into my room. I sit on my bed, not caring about being more than a little dusty after working most of the day. My stomach growls as the scent of pot roast floating through the house.
Rosalie is an amazing cook. She’s been in charge of Sagebrush’s kitchen since before I was born. After her husband was killed while serving in the military, she wound up in Seneca Falls without much going for her. Dad hired her and gave her a safe place to raise her son.
It’s hard to believe now, but Rosalie and mom were friends, and they raised their kids together. I don’t think mom would lower herself to consort with a cook now. Even though Rosalie really is my manager, not just of the house, but of me.
Sometimes I wish I had been given the opportunity to leave like Rafael. He went off to school, and built a life away from Seneca Falls. He has a baby on the way and Rosalie has been beside herself about it. I’m going to have to fend for myself when she goes to visit them for a few weeks once the baby arrives.
I’ll be fine, but only because Rosalie taught me things in the kitchen when we were growing up. I don’t remember where Mom was then. As I stare down at the letter, my eyes taking in the words one more time before I fold it up and tuck it intomy bedside drawer, in order, I can’t help but wonder if maybe I didn’t notice Mom’s behavior because Rosalie was there.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, tempted to rip open the drawer and read all my Sunflower’s letters. Again.
Before I can, the phone in my office starts ringing. I had to find a special phone that sounds like the devil’s come from hell to take you away. It was the only way I could hear the damn thing from my room.
I’m not ready to move into my parents’ room. I can’t remember the last time Mom slept there, but if I move in there, if I change things around, it means this is really my life. I’ll have no way to escape.
It’s everything Dad raised me to believe in. It’s the life I wanted back then. But I had no idea how things would change.
When I pick up the phone in my office and sit down, my voice is gruff, “Hello?”
“Ford,” my mother’s trilling voice has me swallowing hard and wishing I hadn’t made it to the phone in time.
But I can’t hang up now.
“Hello, Mother,” I try to keep my voice even, but it’s not easy.
“I’m so glad you answered, darling,” she sounds expensive, like I’m about to get billed for her calling me. Trust me, I wouldn’t pay to be graced with her presence, over the phone or in person. “You spend so much time out working on that dreadful ranch.”
My eyes close slowly and I fist one of my hands to try and stop myself from destroying everything on my desk. It wouldn’t do me any damn good to give into the temptation of violence.
“Well, someone has to work at the ranch,” I remind her, pushing the words past my gritted teeth. “Or else how would you be able to shop to your heart’s content?”
“Now, Ford,” she admonishes me like I’m an errant toddler and not her 25-year-old son who has already been in charge of Sagebrush for far longer than he should have been.
If only Dad hadn’t died. But he did.
“You know it’s better this way. I was never meant to live on that ranch so far away from civilization. Crystal is just like me, and it can’t be helped,” she says the words like they’re true.
But the alternative would be both of them here, in my house, on my land, and getting in my way. Yeah, that would be worse. Far, far worse.
“Yes, I’m very aware of where your talents and priorities are. I understand your need to be in Lake Tahoe,” my voice is tight.
What I don’t mention is that the house Dad bought there years ago was only supposed to be a vacation cabin, not used as a permanent residence. Pointing it out would be a waste of time.
I clear my throat and make a wish for a little patience. “Was there a specific reason you were calling today, Mother?”
