Chance thanked me with a nudge when I set the sandwich half on his plate. “Every morning’s busy.” He dove into his sandwich and tore off a good-sized chunk. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I might as well have gotten stampeded by all of those mustangs yesterday.”
Chance stopped chewing and appraised me with concern. “Let me go grab this great ointment for sore muscles.” He shoved out his chair. “Black Hawk’s mom makes it and sells it at the Saturday market on the reservation. It’s helped every hurt muscle I’ve ever had, which has pretty much been every muscle on my body.”
I would have called him back with a “thanks but no thanks,” but Chance had already loped out of the room.
Chase shook his head at where Chance had disappeared. “If he’s not in the saddle or his truck, that guy cannot sit still for thirty seconds, I swear. If that’s not a restless soul at work, I don’t know what it is.”
I’d never really thought about it because being busy was just who Chance was, but hearing Chase say it that way made me look at it differently. Chance redefined the concept of multi-tasking, but he didn’t need to be that busy. Chase was right—each of them had such a large trust fund that none of them needed to lift a finger for the rest of their lives. Chance put little value in money and idleness, but still . . . it was almost as though he was afraid of being still and quiet. Like he wanted to keep something stowed away and the only way to keep if from surfacing was to stay busy from waking to sleeping.
“So that office job that’s so rough . . .” I looked at Chase, who seemed almost full. It had only taken a slab of bacon and a carton of eggs to achieve that great feat. “When are you planning on heading back to it?”
Chase had headed up the Armstrongs’ commercial real estate and development empire from the time he (barely) graduated college. It turned out Chase had been even more successful with college girls than he had been with the local girls . . . against all odds.
“Eventually,” Chase answered with a small shrug. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? What do you mean maybe?”
Chase leaned back in his chair, his eyes going to that far away place again. “I mean maybe. I’m not sure which direction my life’s going to take after all this. I’m not sure I can go back to the same office, mingle with the same people, hold the same business meetings . . . after everything that’s happened. My life’s changed. How can I just go back to living it the way I used to?”
I looked at John, like I always used to when someone needed to step in and say something I couldn’t, but John’s eyes were glassy again. His expression was pained as he stared at his son seeming to shrink before our eyes.
I cleared my throat. “You’ll never go back to living your life the way it was before, but you’ll need to eventually figure out what kind of life you want to live from now on. You were good at your job. You seemed to enjoy it, and the people you worked with loved you. As far as something to take with you from your past life to this one, your job seems like a no-brainer.”
Chase shook his head. “It’s not that easy.”
I leaned forward. “No, it’s not easy. It’s hard, and it will be every single day, until one morning you wake up and realize that crawling out of bed that time wasn’t as hard as it was the time before, and that begins a pattern of each day getting a fraction easier to face than the one before it.” I paused to take a breath. “But you can’t get to that place until you’re ready to say good-bye to this place.”
“What place is this place?” Chase’s voice was almost as far away as his expression. Not the direction I was hoping he’d take.
My mother’s face flashed before my eyes. First the version I remembered, with smile lines and freckles from summers spent in the sun, then the version of her face frozen in death. “The place where you keep waiting for Jenny to come back.”
Chase froze. “She’s dead.”
“I know. But I know telling yourself that and accepting that are different things that take a while. I know you remind yourself she’s dead and that you buried her and that you miss her every single second of every day.” When Chase’s eyes clamped closed, I almost closed my mouth and dove back into lighthearted banter, but I couldn’t. Only a fool would believe that the mourning process could be compartmentalized into the timeframe immediately following the person’s death. A fool might believe the mourning process didn’t last a lifetime. Unless a person figured out how to deal with the pain, they would spend their lives either hiding from it or running from it. From my experience, it was best to embrace it, let it have its way every now and again, and move on. “But she’s gone. She’s not coming back. I know you wish you’d died with her, but you’re still here. Alive. Eventually you’re going to have to figure out how to live.”
Chase inhaled slowly then exhaled even slower. Just when I was sure he would storm out and never come back to the dining table or me, he nodded. “I know. I know, Scout, but I’m just not ready to put that last nail in her coffin, you know? Soon, just not yet.”
When he looked at me, I smiled. “Of course I know that. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be preaching at you like I know what I’m talking about. If you need help with that last nail, you know where to find me.”
Chase’s face cleared some, and he worked up a smile. “Yeah, I know where to find you. Battling me for the last few pieces of bacon.”
The sudden shift in his mood made me laugh. What I guessed was John’s laugh sounded right after mine.
I stabbed my fork through the last piece of bacon as Chase reached for it. “Get your hands off my meat.”
“Ew, Scout, do you have to be so lewd? I mean, come on, this is a family breakfast, not a girls’ night at the club.”
I lifted my fork with the bacon hanging from it. “Whatever, huevos man.”
Chase’s deep, vibrating laugh joined John’s. Even the nurse joined in, and the dining room filled with the noise I remembered it being saturated with.
That was when Chance came jogging back into the dining room, looking around as though he couldn’t believe his eyes or ears. “What’s this sound? It’s vaguely familiar, but it’s been so long I can’t remember what it’s called.” Chance tapped his ear and made his way back to his chair.
“It’s the sound of us laughing at Scout schooling me,” Chase answered, shoving his empty plate away and reaching for his coffee.
Chance leaned into me. “Next time, wait to do that until I’m back so I can bear witness and join in with the whole laughter thing.” Clinking his coffee cup against mine, he set a small jar in front of me. “Your muscles can thank me later.”
My eyes narrowed as I examined the jar’s contents. It looked like it had the consistency of slime, and I couldn’t decide if the color was more gray or brown. Either way, it wasn’t a color that made me eager to go and rub that stuff all over my body. “Thank you?”
I lifted the jar and unscrewed the cap. Big mistake. It smelled only about a billion times worse than it looked.
“Holy monkey funk.” Chase covered his nose, thrusting back from the table. “Put the cap back on and call in the haz mat team. That is toxic sludge, not icey-hottie substitute.”
Clamping the lid back on the jar, I made it a point to breathe through my mouth until the stench had dissipated some. Chance barely seemed to notice as he shoveled in the remnants of his half sandwich.
“Where did you say you got this stuff?” I set the jar on the floor beneath my chair.
“Black Hawk’s mom makes it. She has a whole line of medicinal remedies made from things that come from the earth. Nothing synthetic, fabricated, or grown in a lab in that stuff.” Chance waved his sandwich at the floor where the jar of toxic waste was probably burning a hole through the wood.
“Unfortunately,” I mouthed at Chase, who still had his nose covered because he was the smart one. I turned back to Chance. “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to put it out there. Either Black Hawk has pulled a serious prank on you or h
is mom wanted to curse you with that stuff . . .” My face fell. Tally number two on the board for Scout saying the worst possible thing at the worst possible time. I had to be more careful with everyday expressions at that table, at that place, with those people. I always had, but I’d gotten out of practice. Too much bad history and superstition floated within those walls to even casually mention the word curse. “Yeah, I didn’t really mean that either. Not in, you know, that way.”
The laughter and lightness had been sucked out of the room. When I looked around the table, I saw two solemn faces, one doing her best to be sympathetically solemn, and one understanding. Chance’s hand found mine under the table and gave it a squeeze. It was so gentle I could have thought a child’s hand was wound through mine, but he managed to relay both comfort and support in that simple touch.
Even though John was staring at that glass jar with a blend of anger and remorse from the mention of a curse and Chase, from the look on his face, was remembering the scene he’d found that day on the highway, I felt strength enter me, instead of weakness. Somehow, having Chance’s hand in mine gave me a strength that made me believe there was no storm life could throw at me that I couldn’t weather. I don’t know if it was his strength or mine that grew from that touch, but I felt so strong that even if all of the world’s problems had been dumped on me, I could have kept moving forward. Right then, nothing could have stopped me.
“So, Dad, when should we be expecting Mr. Harper next month?” Chance’s voice cut through our contemplations, bringing us all back to the moment. “You know, just so I can make sure Mrs. Baker prepares his favorite meal and has the temperature set at just the right setting when he arrives.”
Chance and Chase exchanged a look, no doubt challenging the other to see who would laugh first. Mr. Harper was John’s attorney, and he was such a particular, odd duck that we’d secretly called him Mr. Quacker behind his back . . . until Chase had slipped and said it to his face and John had about blown his lid. Ever since then, we’d been careful not to mention that name.
John mumbled a string of words.
I couldn’t make out a single one, but Chance nodded. “Next Saturday? Why so soon? I thought he wasn’t supposed to come until the week after.”
John didn’t have to answer that question. Mine, the nurse’s, and Chase’s heads turned toward Chance, our eyes wide with disbelief. Why would John move an important meeting with the family lawyer up a week? Because he wasn’t sure how much longer he had.
Chance swallowed, the remains of his sandwich falling back onto the plate. “Never mind. Stupid question.” He shook his head. “So the big meeting with Mr. Harper is next Saturday? Can’t wait to find out what this big reveal is.”
When Chance looked at me, I could tell he wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. We’d learned enough about life at Red Mountain to realize that no good news would be coming at us on Saturday. That only left the other kind of news.
When his hand started to slip from mine, my fingers curled deeper around his, pressing ours palms back together. I’d let him go for seven years. I wasn’t letting go again.
I HAD A simple question to ask Chance. Questions didn’t come much simpler. I wanted to know if I could borrow his truck to head into town. I would explain that I wanted to swing by a few of my favorite galleries and check out the new collections and artists, but the truth wasn’t quite as simple. The truth was that I needed to get away from Red Mountain and the heaviness that came with it.
This place had always had a stagnant air of discord, but it had only grown thicker in the years since I’d left. I needed a break. I needed a chance to breathe air that wasn’t so saturated with sadness, but I could walk a few miles in any direction and still be on Red Mountain Ranch. So I needed a car. I didn’t know why it felt so important that it be Chance’s truck, but it did. Maybe because I was familiar with it or maybe because it was old and banged up enough that I wouldn’t sweat making sure it didn’t get dinged or scratched. Whatever the reason, I needed to get away, and I needed Chance’s truck to do so.
Chance, however, was coming up missing in just about every place I looked for him. The house, barn, and back forty included. The last I’d seen him was at breakfast. He’d been a no-show at lunch, which wasn’t a big surprise, and I’d waited until every seat had emptied and the plates had been cleared at dinner before accepting he wasn’t showing up. I was still slumped in my chair at the dinner table when Faye shoved through the kitchen door, a plate with a slab of cheesecake in her hand.
“What have you lost?” she asked when she found me still slouched over the table.
I felt my eyebrows pull together as I gave her a confused look.
“That look on your face. You’ve lost something.” She circled her fork at me. “What is it you’ve lost?”
“I haven’t lost anything.” I checked the dining room doorway for the hundredth time. Just like the ninety-nine times before, he wasn’t there. “I’m waiting for Chance. I’ve been looking for him all day but haven’t been able to find him.”
Faye tilted her head from side to side. “Lost or looking. Pretty much one and the same if you ask me.” She cut off a triangle of cheesecake with the side of her fork. “I’m not a technology buff, but haven’t there been these great things known as cell phones around for the past couple decades? Those contraptions come in handy when you’re ‘looking’ for someone.”
I blew out a disgruntled breath. I liked Faye taking care of John, but I didn’t like Faye trying to take care of me. “I wanted to ask him something in person, not over the phone.” Again, why was it so important I ask him if I could borrow his truck specifically, in person specifically, were conditions I didn’t want to spend too much time analyzing. I was fairly sure what conclusions I’d arrive at.
Popping a bite of cheesecake into her mouth, she gave me an appraising look. “Well, sitting around this table moping won’t help you find him. I know you didn’t ask for my advice, but I’m going to give it to you anyway: don’t lose that boy.”
I fidgeted. “I don’t know what you’re—”
Faye pointed her fork in my direction again. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and I’ve seen the way you look back. I’ve barely been around either of you these past couple of days, but it’s been enough to see there’s something going on between you two. He’s a good boy. You seem like a good girl. Together you could be great.” Stabbing another piece of cheesecake with her fork, she lifted an eyebrow. “So what are you waiting for?”
I slid out of my chair, in a hurry to get out of the dining room. “I don’t think I’m comfortable having this conversation with you . . .”
Faye chuckled as I walked to the door. “You’re not even comfortable having this conversation with yourself, sweetheart.”
Her voice wasn’t unkind, even her words weren’t, but I didn’t like that what I felt for Chance was so evident that someone who was almost a stranger had picked up on it in a mere few days. If it was obvious to Faye, was it just as obvious to Chance? God, I hoped not. I couldn’t deny I felt something for him, but I wasn’t able or ready to assign a designation to what that something was. Not yet.
“Good night, Faye,” I said before slipping out of the dining room.
“Good luck with your search,” she called before clearing her throat. “But if you want a little help with it . . . Chance is up in John’s room with him right now.”
I paused in the hallway and sighed. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Just make sure I’m on the guest list when and if you two finally get your stuff figured out. At my age and in my line of work, I get invited to ten times more funerals than I do weddings, and I’d like to tip those scales some.”
I closed my eyes and found myself ruing the day observant, blunt nurses were created. “Goodnight. Again.” I hurried down the rest of the hall before she could add anything else. As I headed up the stairs to John’s room, I did my best to clear my head of everything she’d jus
t said and implied. I’d been messing with my head enough—I didn’t need someone else helping.
When I was just outside John’s room, I paused. The door was cracked open, and a sliver of light came through it. I heard voices coming from within, but they were quiet, muffled almost. I lightly knocked on the door and waited a few moments before pushing it open. John’s room was empty, his bed turned down for the night and his window cracked open just the way he liked it. Even in the dead of winter, he had to have it open a bit. He said he couldn’t breathe without fresh mountain air rolling through the house.
I listened again and made out where the voices were coming from: John’s bathroom. I mainly just heard Chance’s voice, but every few sentences, a grunt or a slurred word from John found its way into the conversation. After crossing the bedroom, I peeked through the crack in the bathroom door. What I saw made me both want to smile and cry.
John was sitting in a chair behind the sink, his head tilted back so his neck was exposed. Chance kneeled in front of him, carefully shaving long, slow swipes up John’s neck. After each swipe, Chance dipped the blade into the sink full of water to clean it before he went back to shaving his father’s face. He was concentrating hard, as evidenced by his tongue just barely sticking out and his brows drawing together every time he settled the blade against John’s neck.
“If the summer keeps up with this hot trend like they’re forecasting, we’re going to be in trouble. Too much sun means too little rain means too little grass to graze on. I’m not excited about the idea of hauling in hay in August.” Chance was rambling, his eyes not seeming to blink as he wielded the razor.
When Chance dipped it into the sink, John grunted some sort of reply, although I couldn’t make it out.
“Yeah, that’s a possibility.” Chance nodded as he lowered the razor to John’s neck. “I suppose we’ll just have to do what we ranchers adapted to a long time ago and take it a day at a time.”
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