Ben watches all the men, arms folded and legs spread, rocking back on their heels, as they watch Renny eye the chicken. He watches her too. Watches her scowl at it as she says, “There’s some cinnamon rolls in that tinfoil. What’s Jess up to?”
“Full,” says one, and “Thanks, but no,” says the other, and then adds, “Sorry about the chicken. It’s always something. Jess is riding her horse. From our house here, actually.”
“Isn’t she supposed to be doing her homeschool work? Does she actually ever do anything? Shouldn’t she be doing something useful?”
Del smiles at Renny, calm as ever. “She is. She’s riding her horse.”
Ben sits down in the kitchen chair. Renny faces him. “Well, we might as well tell him.” Renny nods from Del to Ben. “Ben, I know this is complicated, and it’s hard to understand. But you might remember us talking about it. Del and Carolyn are too cash-poor to buy this ranch, and besides, if they bought it outright, we’d have to pay capital gains taxes and that could kill us. Del and Anton have a new plan. They’ll put a conservation easement on the place, which means Del and Carolyn can buy the land for its agricultural value. Not its commercial value. But one strip of land, over by the county road, we’ll sell to Anton, who will buy that for development. He’ll buy it from Carolyn and Del, which gives them the money to pay us. And lord knows we’ll need the money for these years ahead. Okay?”
Ben feels hot and he looks around for the source. He will not let this ranch be sold to pay for his care. He will not gut this ranch like a fish.
Anton raises his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “I think that plan honors your work here, Ben. A few houses on the south side, but the rest conserved. Everyone wants to do right by you. And of course, you two keep living here as long as you want to.”
Renny walks up to Ben and so he is forced to stare at her. “If we die, Ben—if we suddenly die—Carolyn and Del will lose this place. Estate taxes. We need to sign the papers now, even if we plan on staying.”
It is too hard, this crush-crush that goes on in his heart. Surely he knew he would not live here one day. Surely he had prepared himself for that? Surely he had known that the orange willow branches and the bald eagle, that all of it would pass to someone else? He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember considering it. There’s no remembering in his brain. “Not those branches,” he says.
The three of them regard him silently.
So he tries again. “Not the orange branches.”
Again, they are silent, until Renny says, “Oh, the willows?”
“Willows,” he says.
Del and Anton regard each other until Del says, “You’re wanting us to leave the willows? They’re farther north than Anthon wants to build anyway.”
“I’ll leave the willows,” Anton says. “Sure. I’m thinking of putting five houses along the county road. Sell the lots to rich people who want to live out here in the country. But not big ugly houses—nice regular-people ones. That’s not even near the willows, is it?”
Ben clears his throat. “I told Renny already, I’d like to be . . . that thing, when you are put into the ground—buried— here. She’ll make arrangements with the county. Right Renny? Won’t you?”
“That’s a long way off, no need to be thinking of that—”
“No, he’s right to talk about it.” Renny gazes directly in his eyes. “We’ll bury you here, Ben.”
Then he watches Renny’s sea-green eyes go soft, blink, sees how she folds for a moment into a sadness. She reaches out to straighten Ben’s glasses, brushes her fingers along his temple as she does so. “We’re heading into town to visit Rachel’s grave. Today was her birthday. Are you ready Ben?”
Ben’s tongue won’t work and his mouth hangs open and he has a sense of a hope, some words floating in his brain, something about how he hopes she can catch his eyes too and will understand the truer part of him, will understand what he must do and why.
But now Del is clearing his throat. “Carolyn and Jess went over there this morning.”
“It’s the hardest thing,” Anton says quietly. “I’ve got a funeral to attend in town myself today. The grandmother of one of the deputies.”
Renny gathers her down jacket, ripped from barbed wire and stained with manure, and her purse, the same leather one she has had for years, and the dead chicken. She turns to Anton. “I’m sorry to hear that. About the grandmother. I hope she went quick?”
“No, actually, she didn’t.” He glances around the kitchen, then rests his eyes on her. “Cancer. This dying business isn’t easy. Seems like when it’s drawn out . . . Seems like with animals we do a better job. Seems like we haven’t figured out how to do this right in this regard, when it comes to our own dying.”
Ben looks past them, out the window, and that dog is trying to play with the chickens and they stare at him in response. He clears his throat. “My body’s doing great, but my mind isn’t what it used to be. Still, I know that the irrigation ditches need to be . . . cleaned up. The fence posts are . . .”
“Rotting?”
“Yes, rotting.”
“Yes.” Del scratches his jawbone. “I know. Carolyn told me you were concerned about them. I know what needs to be done. I could sure use your help, though. Always. Always, I could use your help.”
“You’re committing your lives to a certain hell,” says Renny, who is telling the truth and making a joke, Ben knows. He knows Renny means that she considered living on this ranch like a hell, even as it was a heaven. And because their ranch’s name, for a long time, has been Hell’s Bottom Ranch, since they bought the place the year they were married, and the first time they had walked the place there had been a flood on the river and stuff was scattered everywhere and Renny had said, It looks like the bottom of hell. But she didn’t mean it. Because even in that mess, it was heaven. They fell in love with each other and with this valley below the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Hell’s Bottom, Colorado, that’s where we live. That’s what Renny used to say. And Ben used to joke that it was named for the place from whence Renny came, her being so ornery and all. And she would joke that it was where she was going. Renny liked being known as a tough woman. Most women did, he supposed. She liked being the type of person who was a little hell swirled in with heaven. She used to say, Ornery enough to keep everyone on edge, intriguing enough to keep them around.
Now she says, “Ben, you ready? We’re stopping by Rachel’s grave, okay? I’ll throw Fred out the window on the way. Save the fox from going to the trouble.”
“I could use a bite to eat,” he says, and she hands him a cinnamon roll. He wishes she would make him two eggs, because he does not like sweet breakfasts such as cinnamon rolls; he prefers two eggs scrambled up on top of a piece of buttered toast.
The dog, he sees from the window, is sitting in the snow, staring at a chicken that is bok-bokking at it. The dog scratches her ear. And now the chicken cocks her head at the dog. He thinks of his own mother and father, their sugar beets and their onions and their cattle. His parents were busy, always busy, and they didn’t have too much time to give him attention, but they were good, and he misses them. He liked to go visit their graves, back when he could drive, because it made him feel that perhaps they were on the same spinning planet as he, and he seeing their graves helped him feel less alone.
He should have told someone how much he missed Rachel. That his heart ached and ached and even after he asked it to stop aching it ached anyway. He never spoke it and it ruined his mind. He could not forget his daughter, even though he wanted to. He remembers thinking, We don’t have memories, they have us. Perhaps if he could have spoken, his brain would not have rotted.
He takes the glass of milk Renny is handing him. “Oh,” he says, remembering something very important. And he wants so badly to go write it down. When he gets a moment to himself, he will write a list:
Tell Carolyn good-bye
Tell Renny good-bye
Tell willows good-bye
>
Tell ranch good-bye
Tell grandkids good-bye
Especially Jess, he thinks. He’s always loved her extra-much, as she used to say when she was young. Extra-much.
He needs to speak it. He needs to hurry. Today, he will visit the grave of his daughter. He will put his plan into motion. He will tell everyone good-bye. He repeats it over and over, Tell them good-bye, so that he does not forget. He won’t be cheated of that again.
RENNY
It seems it will never end. At the post office, from her PO box, she pulls a letter with a return address: County Road EE, Greeley, Colorado. Ray’s scratchy handwriting, which she has not seen for more than a year now. Her heart skitter-scatters, just like his blue pen on white paper.
She rips open the letter. Would like to come visit, would like to see you in person and apologize. Can certainly be in the presence of a police officer. She scans the phrases quickly. Legal. Earned time, automatic deductions, parole eligibility date. Paid my dues. Visit? If you allow. May I? She feels the volcano of anger rise from her stomach to her face. And a P.S. Rachel’s birthday was around now, wasn’t it? Can’t remember the exact date. Embarrassed that I can’t remember. I’m sure that’s hard on you.
She throws the letter in the trash, thinks twice, picks it up. Throws it back again. What a bastard. Can’t even remember the birthday of his wife, of the woman he killed. February 16. February 16. February 16! Renny stands there, staring at the trash bin, trying to get the upper hand on her heart, which is racing now, racing. She’s going to have one of those panic attacks, those horrible things she had after Rachel died, and so she stands there, breathing, in out in out, calm calm.
Her hatred of Ray doesn’t need to go away, she decides. No, that she can keep. Because it’s justified and appropriate. Damn-for-hell. Enough is enough. I’ve had it. I’ve goddamn had it.
The ding of the post office door rouses her. A rancher walks in—she doesn’t know him, but he tips his cowboy hat, as he always does. Ruben the vet is right behind him, handsome as ever, liquid brown eyes and still the smile of youth, beat-up ball cap that he also tips, and she manages to smile at him.
“Hey, Renny.” Ruben holds up his PO box key and tips it in a hello to her. She looks from his face to the rest of him, startled to see he’s dressed in overalls splattered in blood. “Can I talk to you for a minute? It’s important.”
“Looks like you had a tough call today. Hang in there.” She keeps moving. She knows exactly what this is about, the missing pink juice, and she can’t deal with that.
He touches her shoulder. “Renny? I really need to ask you something important—”
She throws her arm out fast and sure, whacks him across the chest. “Step back, Ruben!”
“Whoa-now. Jeez, Renny.”
She stares at him full on. She sees he is startled enough to have pulled himself up, shifted from the young man that he is into the fuller man he is becoming, and she realizes that this is precisely the time in his life when this upheaval is occurring, that this very moment and situation might be the tipping point.
“Goddamn Alzheimer’s. If only I had some. And be particular about its influence. The memory of Rachel’s death, for instance. I’d like to lose that one. Okay? Get the hell away from me, Ruben. I can’t talk right now.”
She pushes the door open and stands out in wide white world, blinking back tears. She sees herself, cooking for Ben, while he read to her from the newspaper. She remembers how she heard three blasts of Rachel’s truck. How she glanced up, to look out the kitchen window. Irritated. Here was her daughter being loud and obnoxious once again. But then, something about the way Rachel jumped from her truck. The wave of her hair. How Rachel, running into the house, turned around and looked over her shoulder. How she must have seen Ray’s truck pulling in the driveway. How Rachel burst through the door then. How Rachel was screaming, and Renny was so angry—god, weren’t her daughters ever going to quit needing her with such ferocity?—and she started to yell at Rachel.
This is the moment that has become slowed down in her mind. Why didn’t she lock the door, then? It would have taken three seconds. Three. If only she had done that. Because the next minute, Ray was in the door, raising a pistol, and Rachel was screaming, and there was blood everywhere. And Ben leapt up from his kitchen chair and ran after Ray, to tackle him, and Rachel was in her arms, dying. She had one small chance to save her daughter, and instead she yelled. And it takes everything she has not to yell now. To punch and scream and kick.
“Renny?” It’s Ruben’s quiet voice behind her.
She turns, breathes in. “Ruben, good to see you! I’m so sorry about that. I just . . . well. Haven’t done that in a long time. We’re late, Ben and I, to go visit Rachel’s grave. Call me later, how about? I’ll talk to you later. I really will.” She says this while she walks to her truck, the last bit from the driver’s seat, and before he responds, she shuts the door.
She throws the mail on the dash, where it lands on top of Ben’s already-faded pink Valentine’s Day card. “Here we go, then,” she says. “Here we go, then.” She must calm down, and the best way to do that is to talk. “I wish you’d taken me to Mexico,” she says. “Just once. One vacation that you planned for me.”
Ben doesn’t say anything, but looks down at his hands, rubs his fingers together.
Renny backs the truck out, nearly hitting white-haired Violet in her Cadillac, who is just pulling in the parking lot. Then she takes a right at the stop sign onto the highway that will take her into town. On the way, she throws still-frozen Fred out the window and watches the red-feathered chicken go careening through the air and land on the snow. “We’re going to pick up some flowers and visit Rachel’s grave. Okay? Got it? That’s our plan.”
“I could use a bite to eat,” says Ben. “Mexico,” he says later.
She says nothing. Otherwise she will spew out every real thought she has ever had. There is no well of patience left. It’s dry. Today is Rachel’s birthday; she would have been forty. The very least she can do today is be kind. She’s got to get a hold of herself. She’ll be kind for just a bit longer in honor of her daughter, who was, come down to it, probably a kind person. It’s true Rachel didn’t have her act together, it’s true she dated horrible men and married a horrible man, it’s true that she had two children sired by different men, and it’s true that no one was ever clear on who those men were, but come right down to it, she was in fact a kind person, if she’d just had more time, it would have shone through, which is probably something Renny forgot to mention to Rachel because she was too busy telling Rachel that Rachel didn’t have her act together. She sighs. She remembers the few times she lost her temper—really lost her temper—and Rachel was usually the brunt of it. She’s sorry and has been sorry and wonders if she will ever not be sorry.
“I could sure use a bite—”
She breathes in, deeply. Begs herself for a steady calm voice. “Remember, Ben. When we’d first walked the place? The year we were married?”
“The river had just flooded.”
“Yes. All that junk everywhere. Branches and debris. A wallet. A cow’s skull.”
“A beat-up canoe. I kept that.”
“No, you did not keep the canoe, Ben. We hauled it to the dump. With the old fence posts, rusted barbed wire. But remember? That’s when I said, ‘Looks like the bottom of hell,’ but I didn’t mean it. But you’d said, ‘Hell’s Bottom Ranch it is then. Our heaven.’”
“Yes.”
“It’s been a little of both, no?”
“Oh, sure,” he says. “It sure has.”
“I thought after Rachel died that I was as close to hell as I’d get. If that’s not hell, I don’t know what is.” Except this, she almost says, but does not.
He doesn’t seem to hear, and although she glances at him twice, she sees no sign that he has anything to say to this, if he has any response, if he has any emotion to a dead daughter and the aftermath that it caused.
If only he could hear her, hear the important things, and respond, but instead, he says, finally, “When is Carolyn coming by next?”
Renny sighs. Someone, anyone, to tell these things to. That’s all she wants. “She’s in Mexico, Ben. Now we have their dog, and they’re flying to Mexico. When they get back, we’re all meeting with a lawyer. To transfer the ranch. Because we’re going to die, Ben. Okay?” She’s so tired of explaining things to a two-year-old in a grown man’s body. “I wonder if she should get the test. For Alzheimer’s. She says that if it’s positive, her health insurance might kick her off. I guess there’s not much she could do, anyway. I’m going to lose it, Ben. I know you don’t know what I mean, but I’m going to lose it.” At this, she looks sideways at Ben, searches his face. She realizes, with a start, that Ben has tears snaking down his face.
“She’s gone?”
She turns back to the road, drives. The pressure of her sorrow is breaking her eardrums. It’s breaking her heart. They drive through the ugly part of town—the strip malls, the Greyhound station, the used car lots.
Later, he says, “Carolyn left already. But Jess is here.”
“Oh, Ben,” she whispers. “I’ve sunk as low as I can get. All the sudden. Today,” and then says, more loudly and firmly, “You knew that, Ben. That she was going to Mexico with Del. For a vacation. Isn’t that nice, that they’re smart enough to take a vacation? I think it’s nice. They need something fun together. Jess is fine, old enough to stay alone. Billy is in Europe. Jack is in San Francisco, studying to be a lawyer. Leanne is at college. The dog is with us. Anton’s taking care of the cattle.”
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