The Hard Way Home

by C. W. Farnsworth

  “Uh-huh, sure,” I reply. Far be it for me to correct Andrew’s assumption. If he wants to think I went to a party on a Friday night for my assignment for the paper, maybe that will soften the blow when he sees how atrocious my article draft is. Inspiration strikes. “You know, Andrew, I actually did think of some good stuff, but I haven’t had a chance to add it to the article. Can I get you the draft later this week instead of tomorrow?”

  Andrew nods. “Just this once, all right? And don’t tell the others. We have deadline for a reason, but I know you’ll get it done. I’ll need it by Thursday, though.”

  “Sure, not a problem,” I reply. Simon sent me some more questions this weekend, so all I need is an opportunity to ask Caleb them before I have to turn in a draft to Andrew. Which will require . . . talking to Caleb.

  The warning bell rings, indicating there are only two minutes left until the start of third period. Andrew startles. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he tells me, and then sets off at a brisk walk. I’m not surprised. He’s absolutely the type who arrives early to class to get a front-row seat. So am I, which is why I set a fast pace, since I have to get to my locker and then all the way to the south wing for English.

  The hallways are rapidly emptying, which saves me some time. I reach my locker, hurriedly emptying my History and Oceanography textbooks, and replacing them with English, Calculus, and my lunch. The final bell hasn’t rung yet, but I know it’s imminent. I only pass a couple other students as I turn into the long hallway that comprises the south wing. There’s another figure just rounding the corner ahead of me. I recognize the dark hair and broad shoulders immediately.

  Might as well get this over with. If I time it right, maybe he won’t have a chance to bring up Friday night before we reach the classroom.

  “Caleb!” He doesn’t react. “Caleb!” I say again, a bit louder. Does he have headphones in?

  “Caleb!” Finally, he turns.

  “What?” His voice echoes in the empty hallway, sharp and annoyed.

  I falter, and then recover. “Are you deaf? I called your name three times!”

  “Yes, Lennon,” he replies in a droll tone. “I’m deaf.”

  “Better than being an asshole,” I retort.

  His expression hardens. “Ever think I just didn’t want to talk to you?”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have made certain I have to!” I snipe. “Andrew thinks I went to Marcus’ party to observe you or something, and now he’s expecting some in-depth expose. I could barely write more than a page based on last week’s conversation. I need to—”

  The final bell rings, signaling the start of third period.

  “Fine. Whatever,” Caleb replies, his tone still short, but not quite as cold as before.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, without really meaning to.

  “I’m fine. Just tired,” Caleb responds. He looks more than tired, I suddenly realize. There are dark circles under his blue eyes that remind me of my own. And his ordinarily bright eyes look duller than usual, more gray than vibrant. “When do—”

  “Ah, Ms. Matthews. Mr. Winters. I thought I recognized the dulcet tones I heard out here. Class isn’t being held in the hallway today, I’m afraid.” Mr. Tanner appears in the doorway of our English classroom.

  “Sorry, Mr. Tanner,” Caleb says, his tone vastly different than the one he just used with me.

  “It won’t happen again,” I add meekly.

  Mr. Tanner nods, and ducks back inside the classroom, clearly expecting Caleb and me to follow. We do.

  “I can meet on Wednesday at the same time as before,” Caleb mutters as we finish our trek to the classroom door.

  “Fine.”

  NINE

  __________________________________

  It’s not until the numbers on my phone display a four and a five that I realize Caleb isn’t coming. I arrived at the field just before 5:30, again. The smug satisfaction over having beaten him here this time has long since faded; first I was annoyed, and now I’m smack dab in the midst of anger. Is this some sort of game to him?

  I remain on the bleachers for a couple more minutes to let the aggravation churn for a bit longer. The school won’t even be unlocked for another fifteen minutes. The parking lot fills slowly as the seconds tick past. I should be taking advantage of the extra time to accomplish something, but I’m too incensed to focus right now. I stare out at the field, not really seeing anything in front of me.

  Eventually, I leave the baseball field and head towards one of the benches just outside the entrance to the school. I’ve just sat down when I see Andrew walking along the sidewalk. I stand and march right up to him. “I can’t do the article on Caleb. I tried. I really did. But I can’t do it. Not anymore—”

  “I get it, Lennon. I understand where you’re coming from, but unless he tells you he can—”

  His voice is gentle, rather than annoyed, but I cut him off anyway. “Are you kidding me? I literally told you this would happen! The whole news staff heard me say it was a bad idea, but you insisted I do it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Andrew asks.

  I throw my hands up in the air. “I just told you! The interview with Caleb! I gave it a chance, and fine, he showed up the first time and it was okay, but this time—”

  “Wait. You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?” I reply. A trickle of unease interrupts the indignation when I see his somber expression.

  “Senator Winters was rushed to the hospital last night. He died a couple of hours ago.”

  “Oh.” That one syllable is all I can manage for a minute. “I hadn’t heard,” I add unnecessarily. I’m pretty sure my shocked expression already conveyed that to Andrew.

  He nods grimly. “Needless to say, we’ll forget about the article for now. We’ll revisit it . . . later.” He doesn’t expound on when exactly that will be before continuing along the sidewalk, leaving me standing there.

  News of Senator Winters’ death spreads like wildfire through the halls of Landry High. Everyone speaks in somber tones. Teachers offer amateur counseling services. A giant scroll of white paper is spread across three folding tables in the front lobby, although it doesn’t remain pristine for long. A rainbow-colored array of scrawled condolences soon cover every inch.

  I spend most of the day comparing the reaction to Senator Winters passing to my parents’ deaths. It’s silly. Death isn’t any sort of competition. But I can’t help but feel a bit miffed by the outpouring of support after the obligatory sympathy and shunning Gramps and I were subjected to.

  Caleb isn’t back in school on Thursday. Or Friday. According to the rumor mill, he’s with his parents in the nation’s capital, attending some sort of memorial service being held there in honor of the late senator. A funeral has been planned for Sunday, so I know he’ll be back in Landry by then. It’s strange. I don’t miss his presence, per se, but I definitely notice his absence. The neutral walls and off-white floors seem blander.

  *****

  Sunday morning dawns dreary and overcast, perfect for a memorial service. Wet weather always makes Gramps’ bad hip act up, and after twenty minutes of hobbling around the farmhouse he admits he won’t be able to attend the funeral alongside what I’m sure will be most of Landry.

  I deliberate for the entirety of the morning chores and my usual ride on whether I should go without him. A gathering of all of Landry’s snobs is ordinarily the last place I would choose to be, but I feel some strange compulsion to attend.

  Cassie replies to my text requesting a ride immediately, saying her family will pick me up on their way. Gramps appears a little surprised when I tell him I’m going to attend the funeral anyway, but doesn’t comment.

  I own one black dress: a long-sleeved, sheath style made of crisp cotton. Paired with pantyhose, black flats, and a black cardigan, I look appropriately mournful. I hope. My bulky winter coat ruins some of the effect, but the moist air has a chilly undertone that makes it a necessity.


  After making certain Gramps is comfortable on the couch, I start down the driveway to wait for Cassie. Matthews Farm is a bit out of their way, so it will save some time, but mostly I don’t want them to see the rundown property.

  A shiny car I recognize from the Belmonts’ driveway pulls up only a few minutes after I reach the end of the long driveway. Josh gives me a wide grin when I climb in beside him, and Cassie’s parents greet me warmly. Every time I’ve interacted with them, they’ve both been perfectly polite, but I can’t help but hear the echo of their angry voices when we left for Marcus’ party as they say hello. Cassie smiles over at me, but it’s wanner than usual.

  It doesn’t take long to reach the massive wrought iron gates that mark the entrance to the Winters’ estate. I’ve driven directly past the imposing ingress countless times on trips into downtown Landry. Like everything else in this town, location is a status symbol. The properties closest to town are some of the largest; claimed by those who settled here first and needed to keep their horses close to the racetrack. All of the properties surrounding the immediate downtown area, including the high school and racetrack, are owned by those who really can track their family lineage through our tiny town’s history. It’s the only way Caleb Winters and I are on equal footing when it comes to our families.

  I thought the front gate was ostentatious, but all it does is mask the majesty of the rest of the property. The tree-lined driveway winds and weaves for at least a mile before depositing us in a cobblestone circle comprised of light gray stones. Some of the rocks look darker in the shadow cast by the main house. Meaning there’s more than one residence.

  It’s obvious which one the Winters family lives in. Columns soar upwards, framing the white front porch, the white front door, and the white shutters that frame every front-facing window. Everything is white. The house stands out like a drop of snow amongst the greenery that rolls out like an emerald carpet in every direction.

  The second house is smaller, but not by much, and no less grand. The basic architecture is identical to that of the main house, only without some of the additional, more ornate details, like the front porch and scrolling columns. It looks like it could comfortably house at least a dozen people, and I’d be surprised if it doesn’t. I can only imagine the number of people it must take to not only run a farm of this size, but to maintain the impeccable condition it so clearly is in. I barely have time to care for seven horses while neglecting every square inch of our property. Last I heard the Winters housed close to a hundred horses, and I know from personal experience the grass doesn’t naturally look so green and plush. Especially in winter.

  Mr. Belmont parks behind the long row of cars already here, and we all disembark. There are a few groups milling around on the cobblestones, but everyone else seems to be heading behind the main house. Cassie’s parents and brother follow them, and she and I trail behind.

  “This place is insane,” she whispers to me. “Can you imagine living here?”

  “No, I can’t,” I reply honestly.

  We round the side of the house, and what looks to be the entirety of Landry suddenly appears. The backyard is expansive, but it’s not nearly large enough to accommodate everyone. Two sides of the yard are buttressed by split-rail fencing, and those who weren’t able to claim one of the hundreds of folding chairs that have been set up have already begun to claim spots along the wood to lean against.

  Uniformed attendants have begun to set up more chairs on the paved patio directly behind the house, and Cassie and I follow her family over there. Her parents grab two seats, and Cassie, Josh, and I all sit down on the stone wall that wraps around the periphery of the patio.

  Josh lets out a low whistle from the other side of Cassie. “This is crazy,” he remarks, surveying the crowds.

  Silence suddenly falls, and everyone who was fortunate enough to get a seat takes it. A minister clad in black robes appears around the corner of the house, closely followed by Caleb’s parents. Then a woman who looks to be in her fifties, who I’ve never seen before. Then Caleb. He’s wearing a black suit that’s almost the exact shade as his dark hair. It exacerbates just how perfect his features are. I’ve never thought Caleb was unattractive, but it’s a bit concerning just how aware of his looks I’ve suddenly become. Especially at a funeral.

  I’m so busy chiding myself I miss the end of the procession. The minister heads up to the lectern that’s been set up, thanks everyone for attending, and then sets off on a long sermon filled with metaphors and psalms. I tune in and out, more interested in people-watching.

  Until the gravelly, deep voice is replaced by one I’m keenly familiar with.

  “My grandfather was an important man. A proud man. He cared about this community. Where he came from. What legacy he wanted to leave behind here. He would always tell me he decided to first run for office to contribute to a place that had given him so much. That he had to leave Landry to truly understand and share all that it had to offer. Until we moved here, I didn’t get what he meant. I thought it was just a compelling political soundbite one of his aides came up with.” Polite laughter ripples through the crowd. “My grandfather did a lot of incredible things. For this country. For this state. For this town. But he was always most proud of what he called his tangibles. His horses. His family. The land we’re standing on now. One summer when I was visiting the farm, his favorite mare was expecting her first foal. My grandfather had a taste for the finer things in life, as you can tell by looking at his car collection—” more laugher, “—but he slept on a cot in the barn for half the time I was here, until that foal was born. I would sneak out into the barn at night, and I saw that foal take its first wobbly steps. Two years later, we watched him win the Landry Cup, and I’ve never seen my grandfather happier. All his tangibles in one place. And that moment is how I’ll choose to remember him. How he would have wanted to be remembered. Thank you all for coming. I know it would have meant a lot to him.”

  Caleb steps away from the lectern, and the minister takes his place again.

  “That concludes the service. The Winters family would like to invite you all to remain for some light refreshments. There will also be some guest books circulated around in case there are any messages you’d like to convey or memories you’d like to share.” The minister steps back to speak to the Winters family, and then my view of the lectern is obscured as attendees start to rise from their seats to mill about.

  “That was intense,” Cassie whispers to me. “Caleb’s speech? Did you know he could write like that?”

  “Yeah, I had some idea.”

  Cassie’s no longer listening, scanning the crowd. “Oh, look! There’s Shannon and Eliza.” She stands.

  “You go ahead, I’m just going to grab a drink,” I tell her.

  I weave through the crowd over to where the refreshments have been spread out. I fill a glass with lemonade, and then head over towards the periphery of the nearest field. There’s a gray filly grazing only a few feet away. I lean against the nearest post to study her. Then, I hold my hand out, but the filly doesn’t venture over. She trots over to a new patch of grass, tossing her mane haughtily. Ignoring me completely. Or making a good show of doing so. Uneasily, I realize she reminds me of myself. Proud. Stubborn. Alone.

  “Is the whole town obsessed with horses?” I turn to see Josh walking over towards me. He disappeared as soon as the service ended.

  “Pretty much.”

  “They are nice to look at,” Josh states. “Is this one old? He’s all gray.”

  I laugh. “You don’t know much about horses, huh?”

  “Nothing.” He grins.

  “I’d guess she’s about two,” I inform him. “Wrong on both accounts.”

  “Hey, no one’s perfect,” Josh replies. “Show off some more.”

  “What do you want to know?” I ask.

  “You came.” A voice that doesn’t belong to Josh joins our conversation.

  I look to the right, and Caleb is sta
nding there.

  “Yeah.” My voice comes out quiet, so I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, Caleb. About your grandfather.”

  “Thanks.” Caleb doesn’t say anything else, and there’s a pregnant pause that exacerbates the sound of the dozens of conversations happening around us. Moist mist swirls, infusing some texture into my ordinarily straight hair in what I hope is a flattering way but most likely is not.

  Josh seems to sense the same awkward tension that’s choking me. Or maybe he’s just thirsty. “I’m going to grab a drink,” he shares, before disappearing into the crowd.

  Caleb comes and stands next to me once he leaves, and I fumble to come up with something to say besides bringing up how our last conversation was not exactly a cordial one.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “It’s fine,” I interject, cutting off his apology.

  Silence falls between us again.

  “Your speech was nice,” I offer. Caleb scoffs, and I think it’s in response to my words, so I feel obligated to explain them. “I judged what people said to me after my parents died. But it wasn’t because I knew what they should stay instead. I still don’t, obviously.”

  “It was a lie.” The words are so quiet, I barely hear them.

  “What?”

  “My speech. I made most of it up.”

  “Oh.” I look away, back at the gray horse. I know I should follow that solitary syllable with more, but I’m too busy processing the curveball Caleb just threw at me. Why didn’t he just say thanks?

  His vulnerability draws a little of my own out. “At least you tried,” I offer. “I didn’t—couldn’t—say anything about my dad. I just tossed some dirt. And that was that. I didn’t say anything. True or made up.”

  I feel his eyes on my face, so I keep mine fixed on the gray horse moving steadily away from us. “What about your mom?”

  A long exhale of air rushes out of my mouth. “I read a poem. I was too young to come up with anything else, and it—losing her was different. She didn’t choose to go, you know?”