Chapter Thirty-Two
THE KNOCK DOESN’T come to the outhouse for a long time. Long enough that I have time to consider what a big mess I’m in.
“Hey, Cassidy. You in there?” It’s Kaya.
“Yeah,” I say in my sick voice. I’m not faking it.
“Okay, just checking. You all right?”
“I’m sick to my stomach.” I can’t talk to Kaya. I know I’m going to give myself away for sure.
Silence.
“Do you have a fever?”
“Maybe,” I say. “I’m sweating.”
“Have you been up long?”
“Hours.”
“Gotcha,” says Kaya. “We’ll fix you up a little room in the big house. It might take a minute. The men from the BLM are here asking a few questions. You okay to stay in there a minute?”
Nothing could make me happier.
* * *
By the time I come out of the outhouse, there is no BLM truck and the breakfast fire is burning. Kaya keeps a foot or two away from me. “You poor thing.”
I feel bad keeping the truth from Kaya and Mrs. Sanchez. But I let them fuss over me and put me in a room with a cot and a shower down the hall. I can’t say no to that.
* * *
When I wake up the sun is on the other side of the sky. I’m surrounded by walls and a door and a clean blanket. I’m a terrible person. A dirty rotten liar and a thief. But a deliriously tired one. I fall back to sleep. When I wake up the second time there are voices in the room down the hall. I open my door a crack.
“If that beer-breathing jackass comes on my place waving his badge in the middle of the night, I’m going to give him a Wyoming welcome with my Colt.” Coulter’s voice is hard and sharp. “And that goes for his ten-year-old boss, too.”
“I’d like to do some target practice on both of them,” says Darius.
“You two both put your pistols in your pants,” says Kaya. “We can’t let this escalate. You have to talk to Miles and reassure him you had nothing to do with this.”
“Miles,” says Coulter. “Since when did you start calling Officer Hanks Miles?”
Darius says, “Since he bought her drinks at the Grizzly Bar after the rodeo.”
Kaya snaps back. “How is that your business, Darius?”
“You had drinks with Officer Hanks?” asks Coulter.
“My personal life is not the issue,” says Kaya. “We have a real problem here. Riker is a bomb waiting to go off, and if he does, you know who’s going to get hurt.”
“Oh, Riker’s a harmless drunk who talks tough,” says Darius. “He can barely hold a pen to sign an IOU at the bar. It’s that little prick from Washington we need to get fired ASAP.”
“I think you underestimate the damage a mean drunk can do, Darius. My life has not afforded me that privilege.” She looks at Coulter. “Officer Hanks has made mistakes. He’s making one right now. But Riker is hardly harmless.”
“They never proved that,” says Darius.
Kaya says, “People prove what they already believe. I don’t want Riker walking around this camp looking for trouble. Dealing with Officer Hanks is the best option we have for keeping the peace.”
“Is that what you call that now?” asks Darius.
“Darius,” says Coulter coldly, “Instead of asking you to take your dirty boot out of your mouth, I’d like you to go out and make sure all the gates are locked. Head up to the mustang pasture, too, and check on things. We’d hate for horses to get loose after we gave Riker such a hard time about not checking his.”
“The gates are fine,” Darius says.
“Check them anyway.”
The screen door slams shut.
After a pause Coulter says, “I might want to refresh your memory about what happens to plenty of those horses.”
I can see Kaya walking in a half circle around Coulter with her arms folded. “We both know whose fault that is. Riker ought to be put in jail. Whose side do you think I’m on?”
There’s another long pause. I lean forward so I can see better through the crack in the door. Kaya is staring out the window, and Coulter’s staring at her. Finally he says, “We all work hard to keep this place alive. God knows it’s harder than it ought to be. But there’s a certain amount of trust I have to have in people who work for me. I’d like to know you’re on the right side of this thing.”
“There’s no right side to this. There hasn’t been one of those since this country became property. You don’t own this mountain or those horses, Coulter. Nobody owns those horses. And you sure as hell don’t own me either.” Kaya spins and moves out of my view. The door slams again.
I go back to my bed. I lie still and close my eyes. There is a barn full of stuff I don’t know where to stack inside my head. Why is Riker so dangerous? Why would Kaya stick up for Officer Hanks? I saw that mare. The way the BLM treats the mustangs is terrible. It’s wrong. But Coulter can’t run this place without Kaya, and he knows it. I don’t know who is on what side around here or anywhere. I think maybe the adults don’t know either.
Chapter Thirty-Three
TWO DAYS LATER I am covered in flaming-red poison ivy blisters. On my face and hands and everywhere. I have it in places you don’t want to show people. I have welts the size of quarters. Everything on my body itches, including the insides of my eyelids. I have to wear gloves to keep from scratching in my sleep.
Maybe it’s a punishment for lying or letting the horses go. Or maybe it’s the bush I grabbed in the dark when I was out with Justin. Or both.
I sit on the cot in my undershirt while Mrs. Sanchez coats my arms. “You have been working in the heat. This is why it’s spread. But you must tell me, where did you get into it?”
“I don’t know.” I rub my arm.
“Don’t scratch.” Her eyebrows knit crossly at the top of her face, but she continues to slather on the cream. “You sure? We should kill it if it’s in the camp. Is it by the garden?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.” That much is true, in a dishonest sort of way.
“Wear the cream and don’t get too hot. Or you’ll spread it more. You have to be more careful.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Things that don’t get taken care of get worse before they get better. Do you understand, mija?”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be careful.”
It’s terrible thing to lie to someone who calls me mija.
Chapter Thirty-Four
JUSTIN AND I hardly speak for a week. He rides constantly, I’m grounded from horses for not apologizing, and I’m still decorated with welts. At dinner he never even looks up to say hello. I have no idea why, beyond that I’m hideous. Which is to say, him not talking to me is not all bad. I prefer to be hideous without feeling hideous in front of him.
Since I look like scab art, I clean. I polish all twenty-five saddles and bridles in the tack room. I sweep every hard cement and wood surface at the ranch. I wear long-sleeve shirts and a hat. Alice hangs out with me at lunch. Everyone else treats me like I’m contagious.
“Is it starting to itch less?” she asks.
“I’ll live.”
“Charlie, Ethan, and I are going to the pond after dinner. Do you want to come?”
“I’m invited?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.”
“Banner says you got poison ivy on purpose, to make people feel sorry for you. I told her that’s a stupid idea. People already feel sorry for you.” We laugh for a second, and then we sit and frown at the dirt together, which really is nice. I’ve never had a friend like Alice.
After dinner Ethan says, “No offense. But that rash looks nasty.”
“It feels great, too,” I say.
Charlie smiles. “My mother claims a trip to the spa can cure anything for ninety minutes. Could I interest you in a small
surprise?”
We walk up a path that forks off to the trail I went on with Justin. I hate that I can’t tell my friends what really happened. But if I do, then I’ll just drag them into trouble. And I will have to admit to Alice that I am a horse thief, a liar, and a bad friend for not taking her with me.
“Are you still going to try out for the riding spot like that?” asks Ethan.
“I’m still grounded for yelling at Banner, remember?”
“You’re grounded because you won’t apologize,” says Alice.
“You’re grounded because you’re being an idiot,” says Ethan.
Charlie says, “Enough. I’m sick of horses and work and being hot.”
“You can’t stop being hot, Charlie,” I say. “You’ll just have to live with it.”
“I know,” he says. “I know.”
We walk into a patch of trees, and suddenly I can smell the muddy weeds. I step past the pale yellow willows, and I’m standing in a holding pond. It’s not the cleanest water I’ve ever seen, but out in the middle it looks fine.
Alice raises her eyebrows. “Mud is good for itches.”
Before I know it, both boys have grabbed my pant legs and shirtsleeves. I don’t fight that hard because, well, I don’t want to kick them when they’re talking to me again.
“One and a two and a three,” they all chant.
My body lifts up sideways into the air. I feel weightless, and my stomach spins and twists. Then I am in ice-cold pond water, and I don’t think about itching or poison ivy at all. All I think about is getting even. I grab Charlie first. His pant leg is closest. He goes in pretty easily once I trip him from running away.
“You’re mean for an invalid,” he says.
Alice giggles at the edge of the pond to keep away from the splashing. I grab her by the wrist and pull her in, up to her knees.
She yells, “Swamp thing!” Then she tears her wrist away and disappears into the muddy water with a minnow jump.
Ethan jumps in full cannonball. He about overflows the pond. He pops up with his eyes wide and his mouth puckered. “That’s co-o-old.”
We all laugh. I’ll take the cold over the itch any day of the year.
* * *
Things seem to be looking up until the next afternoon, when I get a letter from home. Actually, Kaya brings me two letters right after I finish morning chores. I sit down with the other kids under the trees by the big house. I have a letter from each parent. I know before I open them that this will be either very bad or very good. I open the one from Mom first because she gets down to business.
Dear Cassidy,
It’s taken me a few days to write. There’s been a lot going on here. Your dad has decided to file for divorce. He’s moved on. I’m sorry to tell you like this. I’m afraid I’m not good at talking about it yet. I’m glad you’re away. There is no reason for you to be here and go through this with us. It’s inevitable now, and at least one of us should be happy. I’m glad you’re free and doing something fun.
I’ll be fine. So will your siblings. So will you.
I’m sorry this had to happen. I did everything I could. Your father refused to wait until you got home, and I thought you should know.
Stay strong, sweetie. Ride one of those horses for me.
I love you,
Mom
Dear Cassidy,
I’m sorry to write this to you. I wish I had some softer, more humane way to be with you right now. I’m heartbroken to tell you that your mother and I have not been able to work out our differences. I wish there was a way. I wish I knew how to change her heart. But the heart is a complex and, at times, bitter thing. I hope you will be all right. You call me if you need to. If you need to come home, I think I could arrange that with your mother.
I love you,
Dad
I stand up under the trees and look around me, disoriented. I’m surprised to see people around me I feel so totally separated from everything but the pounding in my head. My legs feel uneven. My tongue feels too big. I go down to the creek with a rag and get it wet and then put the rag on my face. It doesn’t help. I knew they wouldn’t wait. What difference does it make if I’m home? I mean, I’m just their daughter. And my life will only be changed in every way by their decision. My favorite part is how they both signed their letters.
I don’t hear him until he’s standing on top of my boot tips. That’s how far gone I am.
I sit up and shove Justin off my feet.
“What are you doing?” he asks. He sits down in the dirt with his arms behind him, like we’re about to have some great chat after he’s ignored me for days. “You look terrible.”
I can’t even be mad. All my emotions are in overdrive, like, all of them. I just need him to leave. I need everything to go away. I am capable of doing and saying anything. I’m not safe for conversation. “Can we talk later?”
His shoulders hunch over. “I’m sorry, Cass. It’s my fault.”
My brain isn’t able to hold anything. All the space is taken with those two letters. “What are you talking about?”
“You got into this mess all over your skin when you were out with me. That makes it my fault.”
Somewhere in the back of my head I know he’s trying to be nice, and on a different day I’d probably be over the moon about him caring at all. But there’s a full-blown cyclone spinning around in my head right now. “It doesn’t matter,” I say.
He looks up at me from that handsome, wrecked face of his. “You were my responsibility.”
This feels like about the worst possible thing he could say to me. “People aren’t responsible for each other. Nobody is.” I scratch myself hard on my arms and neck.
Justin has the pained look I saw him make when I rode Smokey for the first time. “You’re just going to stay mad then?”
I lift up my shirt and scratch my stomach. I don’t want to explain. There is no explanation. I want to scratch my skin off. “My parents are getting divorced.”
He tips his baseball hat back. His eyes look funny. “I thought they already were.”
“Separated. Implying the possibility of being together again. But that’s past tense. Adios.” I pull on my shirt and scratch the crap out of that spot on my neck.
“I’m sorry,” he says. He looks around, like he’s suddenly as itchy as I am.
“They could work it out. But they won’t. Because neither one of them can admit they might be wrong.” My voice is sailing now, flying out of control.
He puts his hand down to me. “You want to go for walk?”
“No. I don’t want to go for a walk.”
“I have this place. I mean, it’s not really a place.”
* * *
We walk along the stream until we come to a muddy spot where our boots start to sink. Trees and weeds poke out of the mud. Bees and flies buzz. All of a sudden Justin reaches over, picks me up like I’m nothing, and throws me over his shoulder. Then he carries me across the mud. It’s not romantic. It’s like he works for the Coast Guard and he’s rescuing me from a rooftop. I don’t feel like being picked up, but I let him. I don’t feel like being tough or mature or anything but sad right now.
Then he puts me down and shows me this place behind the trees that isn’t muddy. It’s like a spot where animals sleep with pines needles and flattened weeds. It’s quiet. There are white flowers growing under the trees. I just stand there.
“You want to sit?” he says softly.
“I’m okay.”
Justin steps uncomfortably close to me. “You are a lot of things, Cassidy. But okay isn’t one of them.” Then without any more warning than that, Justin reaches over and pulls me next to him. I look up. He’s not working for the Coast Guard now.
“What are you doing?” I ask, pulling away.
He turns his head. His arms
come up behind me and wrap around my back. Those ranch-kid arms I’ve been trying not to stare at all summer. His hands are too heavy. The air between us is too thick to breathe. It’s everything I wanted but wrong. His mouth presses against mine. I feel like I’m being smothered.
I jerk away with my whole itchy body. “What the hell are you doing?”
His face is covered in surprise. “I’m cheering you up. I swear it works like a charm on girls.”
Nope. That is the worst thing he could say to me. I take about eight steps back until I’m right up against the tree. “My parents are getting divorced. I’m not one of your girls. And I don’t want you to cheer me up.”
He stands with his hands on his hips, staring at me. “Are you sure?”
“Pos-i-tive!” My face explodes in weak, horrid tears. And I’m not even sad. I’m so mad I want to flatten something.
“Wait, I’m sorry,” he says.
I sit down on the mud and take off my boots. I’ll never get this out of my clothes, but I’ll be damned if Justin Sweet is going to make me ruin my only pair of cowboy boots. I stand up with the boots in my hands and shake them at him. He actually looks afraid of me. “Don’t you ever . . . kiss me because you’re sorry for me. Ever.” I cross the thick, muddy mess with my boots in my hands and get out of there fast.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I GO TO my tent to clean up, but I can’t cool off. The tent is empty, so I don’t have to explain why I look like a hurricane victim. I huff and puff and clean my damn jeans. I walk myself to the big house and find Kaya inside. “I need to call home.”
Kaya is working on the computer, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even hear me she’s so startled by my appearance. “You look . . .”
“I’m ugly and dirty. I know,” I say, almost yelling.
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