I can see that.
“If Joseph is fierce with you, he cares enough to keep you safe.”
She ushered me to one of the rocking chairs and took the other one. Bathsheba curled up under mine.
“I’m glad you found the shepherd’s monument,” she said. “You want a little history?”
“Sure.”
“Before all this land was settled by homesteaders—most of them Scottish in this area, by the way—it was all free range. The shepherds were pretty much nomadic and they let their sheep graze a pasture for a while and then moved on. But water was like gold to them: rare but essential. When they found a water source, they built a stone tower so that when they came back that way, they could find it again.” She sort of shrugged with her eyebrows. “At least that’s what they say. The more cynical historians say they were just bored. Or drunk.”
“I like your story better,” I said. “And I can tell you, that kind of technique doesn’t happen if you’re plowed. It’s some pretty impressive engineering.”
“You would know. So tell me, do you have a passion for architecture?”
“A passion?” I watched my thumb rub across the scar on my wrist. “I’m not sure what you mean. I like it okay.”
“What made you choose it?”
“Process of elimination?”
She waited. She really did do it well.
“My dad wanted me to go to MSU, and since he hadn’t really been a part of my life for the two years before that, I guess I wanted to kind of keep the connection.”
“Where did the eliminating come in?”
I felt my cheeks color. “I looked at the majors MSU was strong in and that was the only one I could even halfway see myself doing.” I looked up at her. “Can you see me being an aggie?”
She didn’t answer because at that moment Emma stormed up the steps and charged through the front door without, as my mother would have said, so much as a by-your-leave. I watched Frankie watch her. The brown eyes were so full I thought she’d go in after her. But she let her lids close for a few seconds and then stood up.
“You should probably go have some lunch,” she said. “See you at six?”
I went inside, expecting Emma to have slammed into her room by now, but she had planted herself on the couch and was yanking her boots off.
When are you going to stop expecting around here?
Immediately, actually, because Emma looked up at me, eyes smoldering, and said, “What is with that Andy person?”
I wasn’t sure why that pulled a laugh out of me.
“What?” I said. “You don’t like the Italian type?”
“No, I don’t like the be-rude-to-Joseph type. What is his problem?”
It sounded like a rhetorical question, so I just parked tentatively on the arm of the sofa and watched her peel off her socks.
“It’s like Joseph is invisible to him,” she ranted on.
“I don’t think invisible is the word,” I said. “More like hostile.”
“You saw that too?”
Yikes, I think you’re bonding.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “Joseph cares about him—you can totally tell that.”
You can?
“And I know it hurts him, the way Andy treats him.” She balled up the socks and crammed them into her boots. “I wish he’d go back to Massachusetts.”
“Is that where he lives?” I said. “Oh, well, yeah, he would if he’s going to MIT.”
“That’s where he goes to school, but this is home for him. I just don’t think he belongs here anymore.” Emma scratched at her curls. The rant was apparently over. “Look, I tend to go off. If you like the guy, y’know, no offense.”
“It’s absolutely fine. I don’t know him enough to like him or not like him. And besides, I have no interest in men at all. None. Nada. So no, you didn’t offend me in any way whatsoever. It is totally cool.”
Emma’s eyebrows pulled together. “You had me at ‘It’s absolutely fine.’ I’m convinced, already.” She stood up and retrieved her sock-stuffed boots. “I gotta go put this stuff away and get back to work.”
I think you might have overdone it a little with the I-hate-men thing.
I didn’t think I could overdo it. Andy was cute. Okay, he was hot. But he was obviously also mercurial. And I had enough family problems of my own. And I wasn’t going to be an idiot over a guy ever again.
Besides, you only have twenty-four days to go here. But who’s counting?
In spite of the familial tension that was apparently building behind the scenes, Frankie seemed more at peace the next morning, Friday. On the way back from taking the sheep out, she once more linked arms with me.
“This is your seventh day here,” she said as we crunched up the ranch road. “The hardest part of the adjustment is behind you. Now I think you’ll start to move forward.”
I beat Nudnik to the punch with Finally!
“I intended to check in with you yesterday,” she said, “but I’m afraid I was distracted by Andy’s arrival the other day, and I hope you’ll forgive me for that.”
She looked at me as if she required an answer before she could continue.
“It’s okay,” I said.
Still she searched my eyes, probably looking for specks of dishonesty in there, and nodded.
Nodding is another one of her best skills.
“First, though, I think it’s only fair to you that I explain a little bit about what’s happening with Andy.”
“You don’t have to,” I said.
Oh, come on, you’re dying to know.
“Andy’s story isn’t mine to tell,” she went on. “But I’ll share my part with you. Okay?”
I nodded. It was apparently one of my best skills too.
“Andy was raised here on the Bellwether. His mother, my twin sister, brought him here before he was born, and he’s never known any other home. She died when he was three years old and my parents couldn’t handle raising him and running the ranch. They were in their forties then. So I left the order and came home to take care of him.”
“So you’re more like his mom than his aunt,” I said.
“Right. And before I came, Joseph was like his father.”
I bit my lip practically in half to keep from asking what, then, was the deal between the two of them now.
Not to mention what happened to his real father. Katie Couric you are not.
“We were so proud of Andy when he was accepted to MIT and graduated last year and got into a grad program there. But I think this year has been tough for some reason, because he’s not doing his summer internship like he planned. He’s come home to figure out what that’s about.” Frankie gave my arm a squeeze. “And now you know as much as I do.”
I don’t think so.
“He wants to sort things through on his own, and I’m going to honor that. Meanwhile, I have made a promise to you and Emma and I intend to honor that too. And I want to.”
“Are you sure?” I said.
Frankie stopped just short of the narrow bridge across the creek bed. “I’ve been praying about it ever since Andy got here, and yes, I’m sure.”
Do you always do that—pray? Do you get answers? How do you do that?
Those were surprising—make that shocking—questions from the Nudnik. I might have asked them out loud, but Frankie shifted gears.
“It’s just about time for your shooting lesson,” she said. “How are you with that today?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You don’t have a choice about doing it, unless you want to sit in the house all the time. But you do have a choice in how you approach it.”
“What are my options?” I hoped it didn’t come out as snarky as it felt.
Frankie counted them off on her fingers. “Resist it like a root canal. Just do it and get it over with. Or see it as an opportunity to be empowered.” She patted my arm. “I think you’ll do fine. He’ll meet you behind the house.”
I wasn’t sure about fine as I continued the climb up the driveway alone. But it did strike me that Frankie was sending me off to learn how to handle a gun. A weapon. A thing that could kill somebody. Or myself.
Is it just me, or does this feel like trust to you?
Maybe trust was too strong a word. But she didn’t think I was suicidal, that was certain. She really hadn’t been placating me when she said she believed that, back at the hospital. I wasn’t sure shooting a gun was going to empower me. But the could-be-trust made me lift my chin as I headed toward the house to meet Joseph.
Except it wasn’t Joseph who was waiting for me there. It was Andy.
We-e-e-ll now . . .
“Um, hi,” I said.
Very smooth.
“I thought Joseph was giving me the lesson . . . I mean, it’s fine if you do it . . . It’s just that I . . .”
Have temporarily lost my mind. It happens.
Andy, of course, grinned as he picked up a long gun from the open tailgate of one of the trucks. “It could be just me,” he said, “but if I let Joseph teach you, you’d probably be even more scared spitless than you are right now.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” I said. “You don’t think we could not do this and say we did—do you?”
He just looked at me.
I’d take that as a no.
“Kidding,” I said. “But just so you know, I’ve never even held a gun before and I have no desire to do it now.”
The grin reappeared. “I picked up on that. But just so you know, there’s nothing to be afraid of if you do everything I tell you. Besides, I’ve never lost a student yet.”
There was something suspicious in the way his mouth twitched. I felt my eyes narrow.
“How many people have you taught to shoot?”
“Actually, none. Look, if that freaks you out I can go get Joseph—”
“Give me the gun,” I said.
“Right after I show you how to keep from taking us both out.”
From then on he was all business as he went through the safety rules—including don’t point the thing at anybody or anything, which of course, I promptly did—and showed me how to check to make sure there were no rounds in the chamber. Pushing that lever back was harder than they made it look in those horse ranch films where the feisty rancher’s daughter takes aim at every dude who hits on her.
Personally, I don’t see this guy hitting on you.
I didn’t either and I was okay with that. I was shaking hard enough already. Andy made me take several deep breaths with my eyes closed before he would show me how to hold the rifle. His first words: “Do not put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”
“Which one’s the trigger?”
“Are you serious?”
“No,” I said.
“Well, I am.”
O-kay, moving on . . .
It took several minutes—
Define several.
—before I got the hang of how to hold the gun. Nothing about it felt natural, even though intellectually it made sense. The left hand, which held the gun, pointed at the target. The right hand, which did the shooting, took the shape of a handshake. The butt rested against the muscle on the inside of my shoulder so the “kick” wouldn’t hit the bone. Feet were pointed in the same direction as the arms, hip distance apart, with the right foot back so I could naturally lean into the action.
But as I said, nothing about any of it came naturally.
“Everything looks good,” Andy said when I finally got my body to do all that. “Now, take a breath and relax with it.”
He’s on crack.
I did try to relax and everything collapsed inward. The gun barrel wavered and I stumbled forward. It took another several minutes to get it all back together.
“Am I the worst student you’ve ever had?” I said.
“Oh yeah,” Andy said. “But also the best. Now . . .”
He showed me how to look through the sight to line the barrel up with a target that grew smaller the longer I looked at it.
“When you’re ready, you’re going to firmly squeeze the trigger. And keep in mind that for every action there is an equal and opposite reacton, so it’s going to kick. Don’t freak out.”
“Too late,” I said. “I’m already freaked out.”
“Okay, have you got it lined up?”
I started to say I have no idea but, actually, it was the only part that made sense to me. I just didn’t want to say anything and mess up my form.
“When you’re ready, go ahead and fire,” Andy said.
I squeezed the trigger and my eyes at the same time. If I’d had them open I would have seen who punched me in the shoulder. Oh, wait—that was the gun butt. Between the recoil and the report that cracked the air, I could almost believe I myself had been shot.
“You did it,” Andy said.
I turned to him, and the gun barrel went with me. He warded it off with a quick hand and a jump backward.
“Oh—sorry—I’m sorry!” I pointed the rifle at the ground and wished I could shoot a hole in it and climb in.
Not a bad idea actually.
“What did you do wrong?”
“I pointed the gun at you!”
Andy grinned. “Okay, as long as you know. So how did it feel?”
“To point a gun at you?”
“To shoot.”
I puffed out air. “Like I’m glad it’s over with.”
Except it wasn’t. We spent another endless half hour of me pulling the lever back, emptying the chamber, and shooting again with earplugs in, which were supposed to protect my hearing but definitely protected my pride. I didn’t hear most of what Andy told me I was doing wrong.
By the time I’d shot twelve rounds—and, frighteningly, knew what that meant—I could almost get myself positioned right without thinking about it. And a couple of times I even hit the target.
“You done for today?” Andy said.
“Just for today?” I said.
He nodded for me to check the gun to make sure the chamber was empty. “You’ve got the basics,” he said. “If we practice a couple of times a week—”
“I have to do this again?”
The grin appeared more slowly this time as Andy took the rifle from me. “All right, be straight with me. Is it my breath? My armpits? I bet it’s my armpits—”
“I don’t know anything about your armpits!”
No, that’s not usually what you check out in a guy.
“So it’s not me you want to avoid,” Andy said.
Wait, is he flirting?
“No,” I said. “I just thought one lesson and that would be it.”
He shook his head, all seriousness again.
He’s like a yo-yo, this guy.
“Right now you know just enough to be dangerous. But you’ll get there with some practice—only don’t do it by yourself. It doesn’t have to be me who’s with you—”
“I didn’t mean that. You’re . . . fine . . . It’s just . . . I don’t like this whole gun thing.”
He responded with a shrug. “The whole gun thing is part of the whole living on a ranch thing. To tell you the truth, I’m not that crazy about it myself.”
The guns or living on the ranch?
I didn’t ask. Andy had closed the shutters on his charm.
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In that moment I knew there was no control. Are we ever in control? #TheMercifulScar
Chapter
EIGHT
I was still standing there trying to think of something to say besides I’m sorry I offended you. Did I offend you? I think I did. I do that . . . when Emma rode up on Sienna. Even with my mind still in Weapon World, I did see she had a rifle so she must have talked Joseph into forgoing the refresher course.
Yeah, but you have to admit it would be sort of delicious to see Andy try to give her lessons.
I smothered a grin.
<
br /> Emma pulled the horse up several yards from us and Sienna snuffled and sidestepped as Bathsheba appeared and danced a figure eight among her legs.
Definitely one puppy short of a pet store, that dog.
“What’s up?” Andy said.
“Joseph just spotted a ewe giving birth about a quarter mile from the flock,” Emma said—to me alone. “He wanted me to tell Frankie.”
“I think she’s inside,” Andy said. “We’ll tell her.”
“I’m supposed to show her where they are.”
Her eyes were so obviously on me and not Andy, she was starting to remind me of Joseph.
What a surprise.
“I’ll get her,” I said.
But fortunately for all of us, Frankie appeared on the other side of the gate, cell phone pressed to her ear.
Yeah, you leaving the two of them alone? She’s liable to take him out.
“Emma can lead us up there,” Frankie said into the phone. “Yes, I know. We’ll all come.”
Before she even ended the call she was telling Andy and me to get in one of the pickups—one I hadn’t ridden in before—and motioning for Emma to start off down the driveway.
“I’m driving,” she called out to Andy. “You’ve been doing freeways too long. You scare me to death.”
I squeezed into the cab between them and felt a spring poke me in the rear end. The header dipped like a scarf above our heads and a large section of the dashboard had been removed—or had fallen out from exhaustion—exposing wires and plugs and things I never knew were hidden behind gauges. I would be very surprised if the truck made it out of the driveway.
But the engine wheezed to life like an asthmatic old man emerging from a coma and it coughed and rattled us down the drive behind Emma, who already had the gate open. This vehicle made the Suburban feel like an airport limo.
“When are you gonna trash this thing and get a new one?” Andy said, as even he clung to the door with both hands to avoid being catapulted through the window.
Frankie grinned. “I’m just getting it broken in.”
“Broken? It’s about to disintegrate. Does it even have a transmission left?”
“She still has two gears. How many more do I need?” Frankie glanced at me, eyes shining. “Kirsten, you are about to witness one of the most mysterious, beautiful things in God’s world.”
The Merciful Scar Page 13