Page 16 of Someone to Hold
“Yet, here I am.” I hold out my arms. “The picture of health.”
I know I’m not fooling either of us but ignore the bead of sweat trailing between my shoulder blades. The reminder of that night, and the hell that was my months-long recovery, always triggers some kind of physical reaction. Never a good one.
“Are you sure you can handle this?”
“I’m wiping the slate clean with the McAllisters.” I don’t mention Linda’s promise to sell me her property when she gets back to town or how Molly’s admission that she wants to buy it made me second guess every plan I have for the future. “I can manage a few weeks of nannying.”
“Well, I like anything that makes you stay longer,” she says softly. “It’s good having you here.”
We both know she’s not just talking about geography. Ever since Mom got sick, Ada’s been carrying the heavy load.
It’s been over five years since our mother accidentally burned down our childhood home, but the memory hasn’t miraculously become less painful.
Ada had just moved back to town for a job at Skylark Elementary, and I was checking in by phone a couple of times a week from the road. We hadn’t realized that Mom’s tendency to forget details and misplace her keys had progressed into full-blown dementia. She left a pot of boiling noodles on the stove while she drove into town because, as she told us later, she’d forgotten to buy tomato sauce. By the time Linda, Mom’s nearest neighbor, saw the plume of smoke in the sky and called the fire department, the house was engulfed. Thirty years of memories—not all of them good—literally up in flames. We were able to salvage a few photo albums, but everything else was gone.
It wasn’t the worst thing that happened in that house by a long shot, but it did make me aware that my sister needed more help than I was giving her. I pulled out of the events I was scheduled to ride in over the next month and returned to Skylark to get Mom settled in the memory-care unit of a nearby assisted living facility.
Fresh out of jail, Dad had shown up the day we had the charred remains of the house bulldozed. He’d been drunk and belligerent, ranting about how this was what Mom deserved for leaving him. Ada hated it when Dad popped off, but I was immune to his temper, which didn’t mean I wanted anything to do with the fucker.
That didn’t stop me from coming back to Colorado more often to see my mom and offer Ada what help I could give. I tried to coordinate my visits with events so that I’d have an excuse to get in and out. Too much family bonding wasn’t good for any of us given our level of dysfunction. That’s why I was home for the event that matched me with Black Tornado, a bull with a reputation for being a mean son of a bitch both in and out of the ring. The kind of animal that didn’t just want to throw you—he wanted to make sure you never got back up.
Dad came to see me once in the hospital after the accident, but the minute he started going on about how I wasn’t all my reputation was cracked up to be, I pulled the cord for the nurse and had him kicked out.
I felt nothing, my go-to emotional state, as I watched him leave. Which is why it’s annoying as fuck that my body, particularly the empty cavity that once held my heart, seems so attuned to every emotion Molly displays—particularly the ones she tried to hide.
“Thank you for caring, Ada.” I pull her into a hug. “You’re a better person than anyone in this family deserves.”
“I know,” she agrees and pats me on the back. “Not a chance I’m going to let you forget it.”
I don’t bother grabbing my toiletries from the bathroom. Like I told my sister, I’ll be coming here or going to Ray and Janice’s for running water.
It’s a short drive over to the Grimshaw ranch where I’ve got my Airstream parked and Fancy stabled. Unlike most guys who retire from the rodeo circuit, Ray didn’t start running cattle or training horses. He and his wife, Janice, bought land, but Ray went back to school for a teaching degree. I lucked out to have him for American History sophomore year. He became my mentor and friend, and we stayed in touch over the years.
He’s also the one who drove me to physical therapy appointments before I was cleared to drive. Unlike my sister, he didn’t ask questions about whether my recovery was physical or mental. When I told him I was retiring, he nodded and said I had a good run and should be proud of myself.
Proud is another emotion I don’t do, so I’m taking his word on that. It sure beats having my dad’s voice in my head.
“So you’re going to be looking after a couple of first graders,” he says as he watches me load Fancy into the trailer after I dropped off the Airstream. “Are you sure that’s a goodidea?”
“You sound like Ada. Why does everybody think I have something against kids?”
“It’s the way your lip curls every time an ankle biter approaches at an event to ask for your autograph,” Janice suggests from where she’s standing next to her husband.
Ray chuckles. “Yeah, that’s why.”
“Kids love a sneer. It’s part of my lore.” That’s a term I overheard my sister using, and I like it.
“It’s part of your DNA.”
My gut clenches in an automatic denial.
“I don’t mean it like that,” Ray says, reading my reaction. “You aren’t like your father. It’s just that some people are kid folks and some are horse folks.”
I shut the trailer behind Fancy, and then turn to face my friend. “I’m driving the twins to activities and helping with Molly’s flower business.” I take off my hat and run a hand through my hair. “Shit, you guys. It’s not like I hate kids.”
“You better watch that potty mouth.” Janice points a finger at me. “Little pitchers have big ears.”
“I never understood that saying,” I mutter.
