Page 107 of Grit
Abby nodded. “I have a lot of accomplishments.”
Cary smiled. “You do. Especially for only being ten. Being proud of your accomplishments is good. You should be proud of them. Being proud of other things is stupid.”
“Other things like what?”
Cary frowned. “I’d say anything you’re born with that’s just chance? Don’t be proud of that. I mean, you should always like who you are, right? But don’t think you’re better than anyone else because of it, because that’s just luck. You get me?”
“Like having straight teeth or curly hair?” Abby sighed. “I wish I had curly hair like Marta.”
“And I bet Marta’s curly hair is really pretty, but is that something you should be proud of? You’re born with whatever hair you have, right? I mean, is it the most important thing about her?”
“No. She is areallygood singer. And dancer.” Abby sighed. “She really carried our group at the talent show.”
Cary muffled a smile. “See? Way more important. Those are accomplishments she should be proud of.”
“Are Grandma and Grandpa proud of the wrong things?”
Cary shrugged. “What do you think?”
“I think… they think they’re better than Mom and Grandma Joan.”
“Do you think they’re right?”
She frowned. “No!”
“Why do you think they want the ranch?”
“If I can’t live here with Mom and Grandma, I’d have to live at our house there.” She rested her chin on Cary’s shoulder. “They want me to live at their ranch. And go to school with my little cousins. And ride English instead of Western.”
“And what do you want to do?”
“I like riding EnglishandWestern. I think it’s good to learn both.”
“Agreed. That way if you go to England, you’ll be able to talk to the horses.”
Abby giggled, then she put on her serious face. “People and horses in England speak English, Cary. Everyone knows that.”
“Yeah? I’ve heard the accent is way different though.”
Abby grinned and threw her arms around him. “I love you, adult.”
“Love you too, kid.” He rubbed her back. “And you know how you were asking about what your dad would do about your grandma and grandpa Rhodes?”
“Yeah. What do you think?”
Cary thought hard. He didn’t want to overstep, but he’d also been Calvin’s friend, and he knew exactly what the man had thought of his parents. He tried to imagine what Calvin would say. What he’d do. How he’d counsel his ten-year-old daughter coming face-to-face with the fact that part of her family really weren’t very good people.
“You know”—he patted her shoulder—“I think I have an idea.”
After scheming with Abby,Cary gathered his tools and walked over to the bunkhouse, curious if Melissa needed help with anything. He walked up the new gravel path, which was wide enough for a car, that ran along the north side of the main house. The truck had come to spread the gravel a few days before. It was still dusty, but it would look great when the rains came.
“Missy?”
“Inside!”
He took his shoes off on the porch and set his toolbox down, walking in to the newly refinished bunkhouse that still smelled like wood oil, varnish, and paint.
“Wow.” He looked around, turning in place. When he got to the corner, he saw Melissa, lounging on the repainted four-poster queen bed that had been placed in the corner. “That looks great there.”
