Page 18 of Ember Meadow
Suddenly, a tiny bright light twinkles from inside. It’s gone just as quickly as it came.Am I going crazy?Ihavebeen working myself into the ground lately. It’s possible my brain is playing tricks on me. I just can’t shake that feeling that I’ve had both times unexplainable things have happened here. The feeling of belonging, of love. Warm and tingly. Like a hug.
Another twinkle snags my gaze. This time, I can see where it came from.
Reaching down towards the back corner of the fireplace, some sort of paper sticks out from between a couple of rocks. How is there paper in here? It must have been left there after the last time a fire was lit.
My fingers snag on the corner of the thick paper. I work the paper out from between the stones carefully, making sure not to rip it.
I turn the paper over in my hands, reading the words written on it. It’s a postcard. A really old postcard. The front is a yellowing, faded photo of red rock cliffs that remind me of southern Utah. But in big, bold letters, the name Villavieja, Colombia paints the top of the card.
Written on the flip side of the postcard is a letter addressed to, “Mi Cielo” written in Spanish. Signed, “Abuela.”
On the wall of the fireplace, right where the postcard was, there’s some sort of symbol. I kneel down further to get a better look. It’s almost like a brand, burned into the stone. The shape of a longhorn skull is carefully drawn in black soot. The curvy “L” brand of Lone Pine Ranch etched onto its forehead.
This had to have been placed here on purpose. It’s so delicately drawn.
Chimes ring through the air so loudly, I jolt and almost fall over. My pocket buzzes to the familiar sound of Aunt Millie’s ringtone. I haven’t spoken to her in a few weeks, save for the occasional text.
“Hey kiddo, whatcha up to?” Her comforting voice sends bursts of warmth throughout my chest. Everything in my world could be up in flames, and just hearing my Aunt Millie call me kiddo would fix it.
“Hi Aunt Millie,” I smile. “Not much, just started on the first construction day at the ranch cabin.”The weirdest cabin in the world.
I glance back over to the longhorn skull inside of the fireplace but it’s… gone. How is that possible? I lean back into the fireplace, and sure enough, there’s nothing there. I must be dehydrated or something.
“Not much? Knowing you, you put in more work than you should have. How is it looking up there? Still beautiful as ever?” she says.
“Yes, it’s gorgeous here. I love the ranch. We are tucked right into a valley full of rolling green hills with a view of the Grand Tetons. You’d love all of the wildflowers,” I say.
“Sounds heavenly. Everything is going okay so far?”
“Yep, all good so far. Although, I’m sure there’s still time for something to go wrong,” I joke. “I don’t think the rancher’s son likes me very much, though. I think he’s upset that a company as big as MacPherson Enterprises is buying a section of their ranch.” I conveniently leave out the fact we kind of know each other. The less she knows about that the better.
“Well he can suck it,” she laughs. “They shouldn’t have sold if they didn’t want to. It’s not like you came and forced their hand. Knowing MacPherson, they got a great payout too. I’m sure he’s grumpy about everything.” Oh if she only knew how spot on she was.
“Yeah, probably,” I chuckle. “How’s Albuquerque?”
“Hot,” she says with an exasperated sigh. “I’d tell you to come and visit me, but I wouldn’t wish that upon my greatest enemy so I’ll come visit you next.”
“Not even Greg?” I tease. Aunt Millie and her old neighbor in Juniper Ridge were always in an all out war. They fought over property lines, sprayed toxic weed killer on each other’s rose bushes, and Greg let his dog poop on Aunt Millie’s lawn so many times she gathered it all up one day and promptly dumped it right on his welcome mat.
“Why would you ruin my day by invoking the name of the devil?” Aunt Millie scoffs. “Now all I can see is his ugly, wrinkled face. Thanks for that.”
“My pleasure,” I hum, picking at the leaves on a tree in the backyard. “Well, if you called to check and see if I’m still alive, I am. For now. Until the rancher’s son whacks me over the head with a shovel and drops me into the river.”
“Alright, good to hear. If you could also check in with your folks before you get knocked out, that’d be great. Your mom has already texted me twice asking about what you’re up to,” she says.
“Why are they asking you? Are they not aware I’m not thirteen years old living with you anymore? They know exactly where I am and what I’m doing. I literally work for them.” I bristle. My parents always go to Aunt Millie before me, and it never ceases to upset me.
“You know the deal, kiddo. They’ve never been great at the whole parenting gig. Just shoot them a quick text, let them know you’re good. I know they know where you are, I think they’re probably just curious abouthowyou are,” she says.
“Fine, but only because if I don’t, they’ll keep blowing up your phone.”
“I don’t care what the reason is, just get it done. Hey, I’ve got to run. Shelley just pulled up outside for Paint And Sip night at the downtown art gallery. I can’t miss my monthly drunk painting.”
“Okay, have fun, bye,” I call out, lingering on the last syllable for a while before I hang up.
My phone stares silently back at me as I hover over the text message thread between my parents and I. It hasn’t been used in so long I can practically see dust collecting on the little green bubbles of words.
The last texts in the thread are a couple of very generichappy birthdaymessages, almost identical.
