Page 54 of Hello Trouble

I’m not a little kid anymore, I reminded myself. Even though my childhood brain had thought I’d caused her death by not letting her rest, I knew better now. I knew better now, damn it.

My eyes stung as I angrily twisted the knob on my shower. While I waited for the water to heat up, I stripped the rest of my clothes. Kicking them aside, I stepped in. The hot water burned my skin, and I twisted the knob back. It instantly flashed cold.

I let out a string of curse words, angrily adjusting it to the right temperature. But even the release of swearing mixed with hot water and the rough scrape of a washcloth over my skin didn’t soothe that uneasy feeling in my chest. It reminded me of that time we vacationed in California and there was an earthquake. At seventeen, I hadn’t known when the ground would stop shaking—and each aftershock said maybe it never would.

Fully washed and giving up on feeling better, I got out of the shower and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Then I made some coffee, poured it in a couple travel mugs, and headed out to my truck.

Even in the dark, the drive to Madigan Ranch was as familiar as the back of my hand. The dirt roads flew under my truck, the same as always. And the countryside out the window always changed in predictable ways. Yellow and brown in the winter. Light green in the spring. Lush in the summertime.

That made me feel a bit better as I steered my truck up the driveway to the home where my dad lived. Where I grew up. Where my mother died.

I blinked back the last thought and parked alongside the front yard. A glance at the dash told me it was half past four. Just like clockwork, Dad would be coming outside soon to start his morning chores.

When I was a kid and having those dreams, he would take me to do the morning chores with him, and it made me feel better. Maybe it was stupid to expect the same treatment now as a grown man, but deep down, I knew Dad wouldn’t judge.

So I waited, listening to the radio and watching the slowly lightening horizon, almost in a trance until I heard the screen door squeak open. I glanced over to see Dad coming down the sidewalk, just like always. The dim morning light caught the extra lines on his face, marking the change in time. My heart stuttered as I rolled down my window.

“Everything okay?” Dad asked.

I held out the extra coffee for him. “Had another dream.”

Dad frowned. “The one you used to have?”

I nodded.

He brought the coffee to his lips, taking a cautious sip, and then said, “Let’s get the girls fed.”

He got into my truck, and I drove up to the pens where the heifers and their calves were kept. These were the cows having their first calf, so he kept them closer to the house than the more seasoned mothers.

When we got to the feed truck, I turned off my truck and followed Dad into the older, bigger vehicle. The leather seats were faded and torn, patched with duct tape in some places. But with the turn of the key, the engine fired right to life, rumbling steadily under us and making dust rise from the dash.

We were silent while Dad drove under the grain bin with the chute and filled up the back with rations for the cattle. Then, he started driving alongside the cement feed bunks. He alternated between lifting out of his seat to twisting his head out the window, glancing in the mirror, and glancing ahead, all while maneuvering the massive steering wheel. I watched out the window past Dad, seeing the cattle hurry over and dip their noses into the mixture. The morning light caught each drip of snot and saliva building on their snouts. Every so often, their tongues would dart out to clear their nostrils of the feed.

They were so unbothered, unworried. It wasn’t a bad life—you know, aside from becoming dinner eventually.

Dust rose in the air from their heavy steps toward the food, catching the rays coming down. It was a beautiful sight, and it made me feel better like it did all those years ago.

We were silent until the feeding was done, and then Dad got back into my truck so I could take him back to the house. But when we arrived, he didn’t get out. Instead, he turned toward me and shrugged. “We gotta talk about it,” he said.

I rolled my head toward him. “Like hell we do.”

He gave me a look.

I sighed. I did get my stubborn streak somewhere.

“Your second date with Della is tonight,” he pointed out, leaning back against the door.

I frowned, not wanting him to connect the dots I was trying so hard to avoid. How could Della, sunshine incarnate, be connected to the darkest days of my life?

Maybe it wasn’t her; it was me. Who did I think I was, anyway? Trying to date a woman who believed in happily ever after when I had no idea how to be that kind of guy. I glanced out my window. “Should I make a run for it to avoid this chat? I can definitely outrun you.”

When I glanced back, Dad had a half-amused smile on his lips. “Your brain is trying to protect you from getting hurt,” he said gently, like I was a scared little calf.

Hell, maybe I was.

“But this is different,” I protested, thinking out loud. “Della and I are just going to eat dinner.” I wasn’t sitting by her side, praying a picture could somehow cure cancer.

Dad’s voice was rough over his words. “The only woman you’ve ever loved left before you could even say goodbye. Before you really knew what goodbye meant.”

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