“Maybe you can paint me something, yeah? Before you leave?” Merelyn asks, tearing me away from Gavin.
“I would love to! I can draw something with a pencil and paper. When I’m not drawing on my iPad, I’ll pick up a pencil and paper and change up my style to refuel my creativity.”
“Amazing. Promise?” Merelyn asks with a giddy smile. “Maybe a portrait of beautiful me?” she teases, leaning forward.
“I promise,” I reply.
“I can get you that,” Gavin says as he lifts his beer to his lips, winking. It’s another Shiner Bock. That’s his favorite. “A pencil and paper. Whatever you draw, I’ll frame it,” he finishes.
I flush, and my mouth drops for a second.
“It usually takes me two to three weeks to finish a piece,” I admit, shyly.
“Oh, the roads should be cleared in about a week,” Merelyn replies. That’s quicker than I thought. Gavin flinches while I jump in my seat excitedly.
“Oh, that’s great! I think my family is going crazy, worried about me. Does your phone and internet work now?” I ask, straightening my spine, hoping she’ll say yes. I’m sure my parents are worried sick. It’s unlike me to go a day without speaking to my mother, let alone weeks.
I’m lucky enough to say that my parents love me like they can’t live without me. Yes, they fought frequently, but they always put my sister and me first. They always attended every talent show and awards ceremony. They always showed up for any little thing they could. We take annual family trips to the beach or mountains, and I go to my dad’s house to watch every Dallas Cowboys football game because I know he’s going to BBQ. My mouth waters when I remember how amazing my dad’s brisket comes out every single time—the cooler full of Dr. Pepper.
I hope they’re not worrying too much.
My heart cracks when I realize Gavin never had any of that growing up.
“Not at the moment, no,” she says as she puts a spoonful in her mouth.
I slow my chewing. “Where’s the closest phone?” I ask after spooning down ground beef. Gavin narrows his gaze. A grim expression replaces his once blissful smile. His lips are pressed as he chews. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I have to know.” I grab my napkin and slowly tap my lips. “I need to get going. There are so many things I need to get done. My family needs to know I’m okay. I need to report the accident to the police and hire a detective to find out who has been sending me these messages. I keep having nightmares and seeing–”
Ghosts.
Merelyn interrupts before I can say it.
“What kind of nightmares, dear?” Merelyn places her cold, veiny hand on mine comfortingly.
“One moment, I see myself driving, and the next thing I know, I’m rolling down the hill, over and over again. Or I’ll dream about a man wielding a butcher knife, chasing me through the trees. Just your usual nightmares,” I say sarcastically. “I’m sure my parents are wondering where I am.”
“Where are they? Where’s home for you, dear?”
“Texas. I’m from San Antonio.”
Gavin clears his throat loudly. A deep sound reverberates in his chest and slices through the suspenseful tension brewing at the dinner table. Is the conversation upsetting him?
He stands, his chair scooting back loudly against the floor. He grabs his empty plate and utensils and reluctantly hurries to the kitchen.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Texas. Gavin was stationed at Fort Hood for training. Gavin’s grandfather taught him how to bull ride as soon as he could walk, before he passed away. He was only there for about six months, but he told me he liked it. Isn’t that right, Gavin? Tell her about the local rodeos you were in while you were there.”
We both turn to him. He’s drinking beer like it’s water. He sets it down on the counter with a loud clink. He doesn’t bother looking at us when he nods. Instead, his attention is on the porch, looking through the kitchen window. The sun is almost down. Streaks of dark grey reflect through his blue eyes, illuminating his face.
He looks stressed.
“Yeah, I haven’t done it in a while because of my injury. I know I still can, but…” He trails off like he doesn’t want to talk about it. Grabbing a toothpick, he places it in between his teeth. I wait for him to continue, but he just fixates on the beer and shrugs nonchalantly.
Is bullriding the passion he doesn’t get to do anymore?
Is he upset that I have to go? My home is in Texas.
I purse my lips, placing my hands on my lap nervously. He’s shutting down again. I know that look, and I don’t miss it. I want the Gavin who lets himself smile.
“Where’s the closest neighbor? I’m sure they have a phone, right? I mean, I know the blizzard was bad, but?—”
