by Claire Adams
And if I wanted to, it’d be easy enough to be completely swallowed up by work, to not have time for anything else. I didn’t need to be there first thing in the morning; my line chef—Shaun, was fully capable of opening the place every morning, without requiring my presence—but I liked being there, and I’d whip up a few batches of muffins, and they’d be hot and fresh right out of the oven just as the first customers started coming in.
It wasn’t like going back to sleep was an option anyway. Even if I’d wanted to, I didn’t—it was better to be tired than to have another one of those nightmares.
The tiredness was taking its toll, though. I knew it when Lena gave me a concerned look after the breakfast rush was over. I was wiping down the counter, but she came over and took the rag from me.
“You go sit down for a minute,” she said.
“What? Why? I’m fine.”
“You look exhausted. You look like you’re not even going to be able to make it through lunch. Sit. Let me do this.”
Normally, I would’ve insisted that everything was fine and I didn’t need to sit, but I gave in this time. I left the rag and sat on the other side of the counter.
“You’ve been having those nightmares again, haven’t you,” Lena said. She reached over and poured me a big cup of coffee.
I nodded, even though they’d never actually stopped—they’d been happening all along, I just decided to stop telling her about them.
“Maybe you need to get away from this place,” she said. “Not that I want to see you go, but if something like that ever happened to me, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to stick around in the same town afterward.”
“The thought has crossed my mind,” I admitted, though I’d long ago made the decision to stay. I loved Carmel. I’d loved this town ever since middle school, when we’d taken a field trip and stopped at a little café for lunch. The state highway ran right through Carmel, and there were the usual fast food restaurants and chain stores. But as you moved further away from the highway, things took on a much quainter feel, and by the time you reached downtown proper, it was like you had taken a step back in time, with the white clapboard general store, the one-room post office, the gold-gilded movie theater with its faded marquee. I’d wanted to live here ever since then. Perhaps not the grandest of ambitions, but it was what I’d always wanted.
“I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” I told Lena. “It’s not like I’d go back home. I shouldn’t even call it that, really.”
She gave me a puzzled look. “I thought you said you got along pretty well with your folks.”
“I do. But that doesn’t mean I want to go back there. There’s a reason you’ve never met my parents, you know.”
“I have wondered why they never visited.”
“They’re afraid. They don’t leave the town if they don’t have to. Honestly, I don’t think they’ve left in over ten years.”
Lena widened her eyes. “You’re exaggerating,” she said.
I frowned, doing the math mentally in my head. “No, that’s pretty accurate, actually. They’re both just fearful people. They’ve always been that way, but it got even worse after this one time my mom and I went to Denver. I must’ve been . . . ten, I think. It was around Christmas and we were going to see the Nutcracker. It was a big deal, us going into the city. It took us a while to get there and my mom didn’t like driving long distances. We were even going to spend the night in a hotel. I was so excited. We had to stop for gas just outside of Denver, and I asked my mom if I could go with her and pick out a snack when she went inside to pay for the gas. I was standing in the front of all the candy when this guy came in wearing a mask, holding a gun, shouting for the clerk to empty the register. There was one other person in there, besides us and the clerk, and he made us all get down on the floor on our stomachs. People had tracked a bunch of snow and mud and slush in and I remember how it felt soaking through the front of my dress. My mother was crying the whole time. The guy got the money from the cash register and left, the police came, no one was hurt. But we turned around and headed right back home.”
“Oh my god.” Lena’s hand went to her mouth. “Wren, I had no idea. That’s terrible.”
“And that’s why I never told my parents what happened. They don’t even have a computer, so it’s not like they’d ever find out otherwise.”
“But that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t welcome you back home.”
“I know. I know I’m always welcome back there, and that they’d be happy to have me. But I don’t want to live in fear like they do. And I like it here. No, more than like it—I love this place. This is like my home. I’m not going to let one bad experience chase me out. No way.”
“Well, I am happy to hear that part, anyway,” Lena said. “I like having you around. I wouldn’t want you to go anywhere.”
I didn’t want to go anywhere, either, yet I also hated that this thing had happened to me that I couldn’t seem to forget. I wanted to move past it, I wanted to be free of it, I wanted it to not affect me the way it did.
4.
Ollie
It was strange being back on the ranch. How many nights had I lain on my cot, dreaming of this place? It was a hard thing, to be the sort of person that was used to spending most of his time outside, to suddenly find yourself allowed an hour a day in a fenced in area. I felt like an animal, but not one of the horses out on the ranch, not even one of the cattle that got herded to the forest pastures every summer; I felt trapped, like something waiting to be slaughtered.
But it was hard to sleep. It was too quiet, everything too still. I was alone in this little cabin, when I’d become accustomed to sleeping in the presence of hundreds of guys. In prison, you never allow yourself the deep sort of slumber you did before you went in; now that I was out though, it didn’t seem like that was going to happen either.
When I finally did manage to fall asleep, I dreamed I was back there at Reynolds, except the cell was open on all sides, there were no walls, just bars keeping me in. Everyone that I’d ever known was there, outside of the cell though, looking in at me. I had done something awful, I knew it, but I couldn’t recall just what it was. No one would speak to me, not my mother, not Garrett, not Jackson, who was also there, in civilian clothes, looking just as pissed off at me as everyone else was.
Finally, someone broke the silence. My mother.
“You’re an awful person,” she said, her face contorted in anger. There were murmurs from those around her, everyone nodding their heads in agreement.
“Awful!” someone shouted.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!”
“You don’t deserve to be out, walking amongst us!”
Everyone started screaming then, and I couldn’t make out any one specific thing, it was just this horrible onslaught of noise that there was no escape from. There was nothing else in the cell with me, nothing to hide under or to shield myself with—so all I could do was stand there. I couldn’t turn to face the wall because there were no walls; I was surrounded by angry, seething faces, all people that I knew, that I loved, or at least liked.
I woke up, but was unable to shake the feeling. I got dressed and went outside, where it was still dark, the sky to the east just beginning to lighten. The boots were rubbing my heel in a way that was going to leave a spectacular blister, I could tell right away, but I ignored it. They’d take some time to break in, and the pain would be good reminder that I was outside, working, not shut up in a prison. Garrett had told me to take a few days, but I needed to work. I needed to do something, and sleeping sure as hell wasn’t one of those things.
I walked down to the barn, the familiarity of the routine immediately coming back to me. It was like muscle memory, really, something that I’d always remember no matter how much time passed. I went past the barn to the first corral, and I whistled, one short high note followed by one low longer one. I didn’t know if it would still work, if he’d hear it, and if he did hear it, if he’d
remember, but sure enough, a few seconds after that whistle, I first felt the hoofbeats through the ground, then heard the muted thumps as he approached.
“Hey, boy,” I said. Bebop came right over to me and pushed his head hard against me. He nickered, but didn’t push his nose into my hands looking for treats; he knew better than that. He raised his head and looked at me, and I swear, it was like he was glad to see me. It felt good. In fact, it was the best I’d felt since I got out.
I patted his neck and then clucked to him to follow me as I opened the gate and went back to the barn. I didn’t have to bother with the crossties; he stood while I went over his coat with the curry comb, followed by the stiff-bristled dandy brush, then the softer body brush. I brushed out his tail and then used the metal comb on his mane and forelock. I had just grabbed the hoofpick when I heard a voice behind me.
“Whoa, what’s going on?”
It was a male voice, not hostile, exactly, but it startled me and I dropped the pick and jumped up. Bebop swished his tail and pinned his ears back but he didn’t move.
Prison imbues you with the fight or flight response, and I felt both urges rise in me simultaneously. I didn’t recognize the guy standing there in the weak morning light. He was probably around my age, and dressed similarly to how I was: jeans, boots, work shirt. No doubt he was one of the wranglers that Garrett had hired, but I still couldn’t help but feel threatened.
“Getting my horse ready,” I said. “That’s all.”
The guy stepped forward. “Oh,” he said. “You must be Oliver. I’m Ryan.” He held out his hand, though the look on his face still remained suspicious. “Garrett said you wouldn’t be starting for a couple days. Wasn’t expecting to find anyone else in the barn at this hour; I’m usually the first one.” He looked at Bebop. “You’re riding that one?”
“Yeah. He’s the one I rode before . . .” I stopped and looked down at my boots. I wasn’t sure how much Garrett had told him about me. “He’s the one I used to ride.”
“Right. Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.”
He turned and walked back out of the barn to the corral to get his own horse. I cleaned Bebop’s hooves, tacked him up real fast, led him out of the barn and swung myself up into the saddle. The sun had just cleared the eastern horizon. The air was brisk and the sky was just starting to deepen in color from washed-out blue. The smell of horse, of well-worn leather, filled my nose. Bebop moved agilely underneath me and a smile broke out on my face now that I was back in the saddle again. I’d dreamed about this moment for a long time. Sometimes it’d felt like it was never going to happen again, but I’d held onto the hope that eventually the day would come and I’d be back outside, on a horse, free to go in whatever direction I chose.
It might’ve been a while since I’d last worked the ranch, but I fell back into the routine of it like I never left. I rode Bebop out to the main pasture and wrangled the horses that guests would be using if they were going to ride that day. Ryan joined me as I was driving the horses back to the corral closest to the barn, and we worked together in silence. We groomed and grained the horses and I set about refilling water troughs.
After the rest of the chores were done, Ryan headed up to the main lodge for breakfast. “You coming along?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure exactly how many guests were staying at the ranch right now, but all meals were served family style, and even though employees weren’t expected to eat with the guests, just the thought of having to face them right now seemed like more than I was ready to handle.
“No,” I said. “Not that hungry at the moment.”
He was already walking off before I finished my sentence. I could see the lodge from where I was standing in front of the barn; I could make out Garrett talking with two people I didn’t recognize. Guests, from the look of it. They turned as Ryan approached and all four of them stood there chatting. I turned and walked toward my cabin. Inside, I got the keys to the Ford and then got in and drove off.
As I drove, I thought about my brother, Darren, who, as far as I knew, was still living in San Francisco. Or maybe not—he might’ve moved and I’d have no way of knowing. Had he gone to our mother’s funeral? Did he ever come out this way? We weren’t particularly close growing up, but he was the only family I had left.
I drove into town and went to the drug store to get Band-Aids for my blisters, and some soap and shampoo, too. I was going to just drive back to the ranch, but I ended up going past that restaurant, Ollie’s, and decided I’d stop in. I’d been jumpy when I was there with Paula, but not so much that I couldn’t recognize a good cup of coffee when I tasted one.
I stepped inside, the little bell on the door jingling as I did so. The place was more crowded than it had been when Paula and I were there; families were seated in the booths, kids with plates in front of them, piled high with pancakes; tired but content looking parents with their own big mugs of coffee. That must’ve been quite the life, I thought, taking a seat by myself at the bar. Being part of a big family like that.
A woman came over right away with a pot of coffee and a smile on her face. “Hi there,” she said. “Coffee?”
“Please.” She slid a white mug in front of me and poured the hot coffee.
“You want to look at a menu?” She was quite attractive, with blue-green eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. I looked away. It had been a long time since I’d made eye contact with a woman like this. Paula didn’t count.
“Just the coffee for now.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I will.” She turned to put the coffee back, her thick brown ponytail swaying as she moved.
I didn’t recognize her, or any of the other people in the restaurant. I sipped my coffee and tried to relax.
A lot of the people, I noticed, had those same phones that Garrett had. I’d seen some people using them in the drug store, too. Periodically, they’d take them out and look at them, moving their finger across the screen. At one point, even the girl who’d poured my coffee took her phone out and looked at it, before slipping it into the back pocket of her jeans.
She saw me looking and smiled, came back over with the pot of coffee.
“Let me top you off,” she said.
I watched as she poured, trying to think of something to say. It seemed like she was waiting for me to say something, and nothing was coming to mind. “Everybody have those smart phone things?” I asked finally, realizing too late how stupid a question like that made me sound.
But if she thought it was odd, she didn’t let it show; instead, she nodded emphatically. “It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? The way everyone’s glued to their phones these days.” She set the coffee pot back on the burner and then turned back to face me, leaning her forearms on the counter. “I’m guilty of it, too,” she said sheepishly. “Though I try not to do it at work. You’re probably one of the few people who comes in here and sits by themselves at the bar and isn’t staring at their screen the whole time.”
It was my turn to look sheepish. “I don’t have one.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“That’s kind of awesome, actually. I fantasize about getting rid of the thing, sometimes, but I know I’ll never do it. It’s awful, isn’t it? Knowing that you’re pretty much dependent on this thing that half the time you don’t even like, but not being able to get rid of it. I can’t even imagine my life without it, though I do realize how ridiculous that makes me sound.” She shrugged. “Most people feel that way, though—they just won’t admit it.” She winked, giving me a little smile with just one side of her mouth. It really did feel like she was flirting.
“That’s good you can admit it,” I said lamely.
“So, do you just have one of those flip phones? The old school ones? Those are so much more durable. I used to have one; you could drop that thing off the roof and it wouldn’t break.”
I almost said, “Yeah, that’s the kind of phone I have.” It was, ac
tually, the kind of phone I used to have, but I didn’t know what happened to that, either. It probably got turned off because the bill wasn’t getting paid, after my mother died.
“I don’t have a phone,” I said. I didn’t want to lie. Even if it was to try to impress her, there was no point in lying, just as there was no point in trying to impress her, because it wasn’t going to go anywhere.
She smiled with her whole mouth this time, and I noticed she had a tiny mole on the side of her face, near the corner of her mouth. “I almost don’t believe you, but that’s really refreshing to hear,” she said. “You’re about the only person in here who could make a claim like that.” She looked at me more closely and I thought for sure she was going to ask why I didn’t have a phone, and if I was going to stick with my no lying policy, I’d have to tell her truth of it. “So, are you staying at Wilson Ranch?”
I shook my head. “No, ma’am.”
She burst out laughing. “No need for the ‘ma’ams’! Shit, that makes me feel old. I just assumed since I didn’t recognize you. I’m Wren.” She wiped her hands off on her apron and then held one out for me to shake, which I did, hoping my own palm didn’t feel too sweaty.
“Well, I’m not a guest there or anything,” I said. “But I guess I am staying there. I work there,” I said. “At the ranch.”
“You do? I thought I knew everyone who worked for Garrett. What’s your name?”
Her gaze was both tantalizing and unbearable. It had just been so long since I’d been around a woman and I felt like I just didn’t know how to do it. Not that I was supposed to be doing anything right now anyway, other than answering her question.