Even Cowboys Get the Blues

by Stuart, Amie

  Her eyebrows pulled together into a frown. “When did she tell you that?”

  “About four months ago. She’s been writing for about the last six months or so.” He held up a hand and added, “And I swear to you, Rene, this is the first time in nine years I’ve heard from her.”

  “Where is she?” she asked, her voice low. Rene kept her eyes on her plate and again he resisted the urge to pull her on his lap.

  He sighed, his body tensing as he cleared his throat. “She’s in jail. In California. For armed robbery.” He spoke softly, as if that might lessen the impact of his words. It didn’t work. She turned white and tears filled her eyes. He felt worse than he had the previous night when he walked into the dancehall. “She had substance abuse problems for a while after she left us,” he said by way of an explanation.

  It was one thing to get his heart broken, and quite another to break his daughter’s, but he could no more have lied to Rene than he could have lied to himself.

  “She’s found God now. She’s got religion, and she’s asked for my forgiveness,” he snapped, startled to discover he was sweating and his hands were shaking. “She wants to know how you are.”

  “What did you say? Did you write her? Forgive her?”

  “No, not yet. I still haven’t figured out how to not be angry at her for leaving us.”

  She looked up at him, her pale face streaked with tears, and he gave into the urge to hug her as she whispered, “Well, maybe we could figure out together.”

  DADDY MADE COPIES of all Mom’s letters and let me keep the originals. He also promised to pass on any new ones that came in and dug out old high school annuals and photo albums he’d had stored away. He’d handed them all over with an apology, his blue eyes sad.

  “Promise me you’ll let me know if or when when you decide to write her?”

  “I’ll let you read it,” I swore, curled up on his lap the next morning.

  “I don’t have to read your letters to her, sweetheart. I trust you. But if you want me to, I will.” He rocked me in his office chair, as if I was no older than Travis. Twice in one week was a record, but I figured we’d both earned it.

  “I thought we were gonna figure it out together?”

  “We will.”

  One a week for six months was a lot to take in. I stayed up all night reading and re-reading those letters and looking through all Dad’s old photos. The one thing that struck me about Mom—Charlene—was how scared she always looked. Even in her junior year picture she looked wide-eyed and pale and unhappy.

  Early the next afternoon Aunt Dee came pounding on my bedroom door. “Why are you hiding in here?”

  “Did my dad send you?” I frowned at her, immediately suspicious he’d decided I needed a woman to talk to. Aunt Dee had her own set of problems.

  “No. Why?” She looked as suspicious as I felt as she closed the door behind her and came to sit on my bed. “You mean because Toni took off?”

  I shook my head and dug the pile of letters out from under my pillow. She picked one up and glanced at it then back at me with a shrug.

  “They’re from my mom. She wrote them.”

  “Oh.” She dropped the letter as if it’d been on fire. “I guess it’s not because of Toni then.”

  “He loves her more.” I bit my lip as the childish urge to cry hit me. She picked up the letters and dumped them on my nightstand before stretching out beside me.

  “He loves her more than who?”

  “My mom. He loves Toni more than my mom.” I sniffed and gave in to the hot tears that poured from my eyes and sniffled as she pulled me into her arms. Crying over Dad loving Toni was the stupidest thing in the world.

  “Want me to go get Gram?” she whispered.

  “No.” I sobbed as silently as I could. I didn’t want Dad to hear me downstairs.

  “Are you mad because he loves her more?”

  I rolled away and scrubbed my face, accepting the tissue she plucked from the box on my nightstand and held out to me. Propped up on my elbows, I tried again. “In a way, yeah.”

  “You know, there’s all kinds of love. Maybe he just loves her different than he did your mom and doesn’t even realize it?”

  I just sniffed and wiped at my face and studied her, trying to determine if she was just feeding me bullshit. “You think?”

  “It’s possible.”

  I tried to take the hope she offered. “But she hurt him. You should have seen him, Dee. It was the most awful thing ever!”

  “Being a grown-up sucks,” she said solemnly.

  I nodded, despite the fact I had a few years to go.

  “If I tell you something, you swear you won’t tell a soul?”

  I nodded again and bunched my pillow beneath my head, prepared to listen.

  “You know you can’t lie in therapy. It’s like a sin.”

  I laid there as still and quiet as I could, afraid to distract her.

  “It’s hard to go with Dad and Maggie. I can’t lie, and sometimes it’s hard to talk because I want to talk about my mom, but I don’t want to hurt them. I still don’t understand why Mom had to die, but knowing Dad never loved her is the worst. I’m not whining, but at least your dad loved your mom.”

  Ew. “Why would Poppy sleep with her, if he didn’t love her?” Sex was obviously one of the great mysteries of life, like the great pyramids and football.

  “She loved him, but love can’t be one-sided, and maybe your dad’s love for Toni was like that. It’s better he knows now than found out after he did something really stupid.”

  “You mean like after they got married or something?” I shuddered.

  She nodded slowly. “Yeah, or something.”

  “I guess I just never realized Dad was human.”

  She snorted and rolled onto her back. “Welcome to adulthood.”

  One Saturday afternoon two weeks later, Daddy came and knocked on my door. Before I could get them shoved under my pillow, he caught me reading Mom’s letters again. He didn’t know it but I’d also Googled the prison where my mom was at.

  “You don’t have to hide those,” he said, sitting on the edge of my bed.

  The biggest change I’d noticed since The Witch left was that he seemed softer, gentler, quieter, and more vulnerable. I did my damndest not to stare at him, to act normal and swear like always, but it wasn’t near as much fun, and I wished everything could go back to the way it had been before Toni came to town and ruined everything.

  “Did you write her?”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I rolled onto my side and crossed my arms in front of me.

  “Busy tonight?”

  I snorted. “I’m thirteen, Dad.”

  “How come you don’t have any friends?” He frowned as if just realizing after thirteen-odd years his daughter was a loser-freak who could only attract girls interested in drooling after her dad. No one was doing any drooling after him if I had my way. Not anymore.

  “I dunno. They just all seem so freaking lame,” I lied. The truth might hurt his feelings or make him feel bad. Now, normally I wouldn’t care but gettin’ digs in just wasn’t what it used to be.

  “Am I lame?” He gave me a tiny smile.

  “Nah.” I shook my head and grinned. I’d decided he was far from lame, but I still had to play it cool. “You’re alright, for a dad.”

  “Alright enough to have dinner with?” he asked, lips twitching.

  “We have dinner every night.”

  “Well tonight, you should probably wear something nice.” He stood and crossed to the door.

  “A dress?” I made an ‘Ew’ face. “Because I don’t think I have any that fit,” I happily confessed

  “If you want.” He gave me another tiny smile and disappeared. His smile wasn’t as bright anymore, his laugh wasn’t as genuine. If he’d leave me alone long enough, I’d go dig up a voodoo spell from the Internet. I wonder if they really worked. Toni deserved to have her head shrunk or something.

&nb
sp; I dug in my closet until I found my one and only dress, yanking it off the hanger with a vicious tug and standing in front of the mirror with it in front of me. A pink Easter thing with a bow on the chest Gram had bought me ages ago. It was too short and too tight, but I resisted the urge to rip the tiny satin bow off. My boobs might be small, but I was growing. Not that I actually wanted boobs. Especially if they ended up as big as Toni’s, Gawd. I shuddered.

  I settled on khaki’s and took them downstairs to iron. Daddy was already in his office, pressing a shirt. “Want me to do that?”

  “I’ve been ironing shirts since before you were born.”

  I giggled.

  “Hand me your pants. I’ll do ‘em.” He snapped his fingers and held out a hand. “Gimme your pants and go primp, or whatever.

  “I don’t primp,” I snarled, tossing him my pants.

  He caught them with his free hand and smiled the first genuine smile I’d seen in weeks. “Ain’t nothing wrong with a little primpin’. Besides, we’re going to Boudros.”

  Dinner was great, but instead of wandering the Riverwalk, making fun of tourists, Dad hurried me out, saying we had errands to run. I’d wanted to hang around and people-watch, but he said no. We ended up stopping at a furniture store on the way home where I got to pick out a whole new bedroom set. No white, no canopy and no flowers.

  I guess growing up did have an upside after all.

  Just when I thought it was safe, the following Wednesday at dinner, I got myself into trouble again. “Who’s Betti?” I asked buttering a hot yeast roll. Meatloaf night—with mashed yams and homemade rolls, no less—was my absolute fave night.

  Daddy stared at me from across the table. “Betti Blanchard. Her and your Uncle Ty are getting married on Monday.”

  “Dang, Uncle Ty. What’d you do? Knock her up?” I settled on ‘dang’, knowing better than to swear at Poppy’s table, otherwise I’d get the belt, but I had no idea everyone would get so bent out of shape. Uncle Ty’s eyes bugged out and his cheeks turned red, while his fork clattered against his plate.

  “Rene Linette Caldwell, excuse yourself!” Poppy glared at me, and I knew I’d way overstepped. I glanced at Uncle Ty, but he wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t dare sneak a peek at Aunt Dee, who sat to my right. The exit was to my left.

  “But I’m not done eating,” I protested.

  “Do as your grandfather says, young lady,” Daddy snapped, his face all red. “And while you’re at it, take yourself across the road and get busy on that homework.”

  I huffed and puffed. I even tried whining, but finally gave in and stomped out of the kitchen and out of the house.

  Honestly, grown-ups were plain stupid when it came to sex. I was never having sex.

  I finished up my homework as fast as I could and shut off my laptop and my light, hoping it would save me from another ass-chewing. Wrong. Dad knocked twice and came in, flicking on the light and slamming the door behind him. “I can see things are finally back to normal.”

  “What do you mean normal?”

  “You and your bad attitude.” He perched on the edge of my bed. Shit! He’d noticed.

  “I don’t have a bad attitude! And don’t get my new quilt dirty,” I added softly.

  “Rene,” he sighed, “how do you like your new bed, honey?”

  “Is that a trick question?” I mumbled.

  Daddy snorted. “No.”

  “It’s comfy. Maybe you should get a new bed.” I gave him my best smile and tucked my hands beneath my head.

  “Don’t try and distract me,” he said with a chuckle, stretching out beside me. “You’re right. Maybe I do need a new mattress. Now listen up. Betti’s a sweet woman, but when it comes to toughness, she beats your Aunt Jessa all to hell, so don’t think you can sass around her and stuff. She raised her baby sister, and she won’t put up with crap. Your uncle’s excited at being a dad, too. Please don’t blow this for him.”

  “When are they getting married?”

  “Monday—”

  My mouth fell open as I stared at him. “What? I have school! That’s so not fair, Dad.”

  “What’s it worth to you?” he asked with a sly grin. He wanted something.

  I giggled. “What’cha got in mind?”

  “Your tiramisu?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

  I snorted, recovered myself, and gave my most indignant gasp, throwing my hand across my chest. “You’d steal your only child’s dessert?”

  “Wanna see your uncle get married?” he teased. “Or not?”

  “But I love my Uncle Ty,” I whined in my softest voice while doing my best not to giggle again. I threw myself at him and hugged him. “Please, Daddy!”

  “Go eat your dessert, brat,” he chuckled, squeezing me back.

  After I ate my dessert I hid in my room with my laptop, typing in every variation of Toni’s name, but nothing showed up. How the hell was that possible? I thought everybody had a Facebook page.

  I slammed the lid and turned off the light.

  So, Monday I got to stay home and see Uncle Ty marry Betti Blanchard in Gram’s sunroom. I’d never met anyone like her before and found it a real learning experience. Like better than anything I could have learned in school.

  She was really tall and curvy and wore really really high heels with this frou-frou paisley dress. She kind of reminded me of Marilyn Monroe. Not that she looked like her, but you could tell she was really girly. Nothing like Aunt Rhea, and whenever he had his back to her, she got this really sappy, stupid expression on her face. Like Aunt Jessa whenever she looked at Uncle Zack. It was kinda gross but it also made me laugh.

  Her friend Tara wore all green—even green eyeshadow, like really green, and lots of it—and she wore her hair in a very short pink, purple, and blonde ‘do. Her maid of honor, Cassi, had eggplant colored hair. It was a dark brown but when the light hit it, it was purple, and they all had really long colorful nails.

  “Geez, they all make me feel underdressed,” Aunt Dee whispered at one point.

  “Trust me, nobody noticed.”

  Cassi kept staring at Daddy. I was not a happy camper, and I made a point of glaring at her every chance I got. I could have sworn she said she had four kids. I shuddered at the thought of sharing my house with four step-siblings and snuck another piece of cake, slipping out onto the side porch for peace and quiet.

  “How many pieces of that cake have you had, Runt?”

  I glanced over my shoulder and slowly slid the fork from my mouth with a smile. “If I tell you, I have to kill you.”

  Uncle Rowdy chuckled and settled down next to me with his own piece. “This is my third.” He grinned real big.

  “Mine, too.”

  “Where’s Daisy and the pups?”

  “Poppy locked ‘em in the barn.”

  “So...how’s school?” He jammed a forkful of cake in his mouth as if he were afraid to ask. I turned and rested my back against the railing so I could look at him.

  “Honestly?”

  He leaned against the opposite railing and nodded, his mouth full of cake. Despite the fact it wasn’t even Halloween yet, the day had turned out to be nice. Even in the early afternoon it was still warm with just a light breeze to ruffle the top of Uncle Rowdy’s short blonde hair. I could see the tell-tale white lines on his neck and over his ears that said he’d recently gotten a haircut, too. His mustache wiggled as he chewed and waited.

  “Boring.” I shrugged. “But it’s alright.”

  “Your dad says you don’t have a lot of friends.”

  “So.”

  “Girls should have friends. Who you gonna have sleepovers and stuff with?”

  “I’m too old for sleepovers. And besides I have Aunt Dee.”

  “Oh, yeah. I heard about her doing your toes.” He grinned, looking down at my feet. I was glad I’d worn my boots so he couldn’t see I’d just polished them last night. Toes were just damned ugly and needed all the help they could get.

  “Did
she write you, too?”

  The smile slid from his face like ice cream across the pavement on a hot summer’s day. “So he told you?” he asked hoarsely.

  “About Charlene?” I took another bite of my cake and watched him, giving him time to recover. He nodded, but it looked more like a twitch. Uncle Rowdy and I had a funny relationship. He was almost like my older brother. He liked to tease me a lot and I’d reciprocate no problem, and usually we could talk about anything. Usually.

  Not so much since I’d started my period. And I didn’t care what he’d done to his dad, he was still my idol. Even if he was as much of a tail-chaser as Daddy.

  “She’s not Charlene; she’s your mother. Show a little respect.”

  “For what? I don’t even know her, in case you forgot. ‘Cause she walked out on us, in case you forgot,” I said again. I jabbed my fork into my cake. Respect was earned, by damn. And she was in jail, so it wasn’t like she could ground me or whatever. “I read the letters she wrote,” I replied around a huge mouthful of buttercream icing. I hadn’t decided if I was going to write her or not.

  “He told me he threw them away.”

  “He lied.” I laughed. Dad had lied to Uncle Rowdy. A first, I think. “He gave ‘em all to me. Did she write you, or not?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded, forking up another bite. “She wrote.”

  “That’s it? She wrote?”

  “I’m sure she didn’t say anything different to you than she did me.” He scraped the last of the icing off of his plate and licked his fork, but wouldn’t look at me. He didn’t want to talk about it.

  I shoveled up the last of my own cake at the sound of small footsteps pounding through the kitchen. I set my plate between my feet and turned my back to the screen door as it squeaked. A small body landed on my back hard enough to push the air out of my lungs, and wrapped itself around me.

  “Travis, get off of her,” his dad scolded, stepping out right behind him.