by Emerson Rose
It was a simple open concept 3500 square foot ranch home with one piece of furniture back then, my bed. After five years of updating you could call it a luxury ranch and sell it for over a half a million easy. It has amazing views from every window and every modern accessory known to man. I miss my damn house.
I enjoyed living alone. I liked the quiet and knowing that something would be exactly where I put it until I came back for it again. I liked having the freedom to bring women home and fuck them until they screamed so loud the cows moved to the far end of the field to get away from the noise. I liked cooking for one and cleaning for one and having an entire house instead of a measly man cave.
Now I spend my evenings listening for my mother to go to bed so I can close my eyes and stop worrying about her wandering outside or setting the place on fire. We need help. She can’t be left alone anymore and I don’t want to wait for a catastrophe to happen before we hire someone to sit with her. Tomorrow I’m going to call a health care service and get the ball rolling, with or without dad’s permission.
Then I’ll head to my lawyer’s office in Redwater and have him draw up papers giving the Deardon’s ownership of the land our families have been fighting over for all these years. I’ll have him doctor them up to seem like the land was theirs all along. I don’t want Charlotte’s parents to think it’s a hand out, even though it is.
That land is ours, I’ve taken care of it, built a small house on it and the fact that I can give it away is proof that it’s legally Hill land. I’ve known this for four years when I hired someone to dig deep and get to the bottom of the story. I wanted to build there but not until I knew for sure it was our land. It took almost a year but the investigator uncovered the truth.
I never told my dad or the Deardon’s. There was no reason to stir up the past and no one was actively fighting over it. I don’t think anyone even knows I built the tiny two-bedroom house there, which is ironic since that piece of land is one of the key aspects of the Hill/Deardon family feud.
The sound of ceramic shattering into a million pieces yanks me from bed. Barefoot I halt at the end of the hall when I see my mom standing by the kitchen table surrounded by broken glass.
“Don’t move, Mom. I’ll get a broom.” I take a detour through the living room to the other side of the kitchen, where we keep a broom and dustpan in a closet. I slip my feet into a pair of work boots by the front door and make my way back to my mom.
I keep an eye on her making sure she doesn’t step into the glass but it doesn’t seem necessary. She’s frozen in place staring at me like I’m a stranger.
I sweep around her feet first and help her to the couch. When she sits she looks up with her big green eyes. “Mack, will you get me some tea?” Her voice is weak and small unlike my mother’s strong authoritative tone. She thinks I’m my father. This isn’t the first time she has mistaken me for him. It’s easy to see why when you look at photographs of my father when he was younger.
We look like brothers, same tall stature, same blonde hair and navy blue eyes, same sharp jawline. I definitely got his looks but mom always said I have her expressions.
“Mom, I’m Beau, your son. Mack will be home soon, he’s still out in the pastures.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle and she reaches up to place her hand on my cheek.
“Beau?” She shakes her head and narrows her eyes as if she is trying to understand what I’m telling her. It’s a strange kind of pain I feel when my own mother doesn’t recognize me, her only son. I thought it would lesson over time but it only seems to hurt more every time it happens.
“Yes, Mama, Beauregard Samuel Hill, remember? You named me after your grandpa.” Sometimes talking about grandpa helps to snap her back to the here and now but not always. She always remembers her father. It’s the past thirty years, the only years I know, that elude her.
“Mack it’s not nice to play games. Will you get me some tea?” Her hand falls away and so do her eyes.
“Sure, let me finish cleaning up this glass first.”
“Glass? Did someone break something? I hope it wasn’t one of my antique milk glass vases, those were so expensive and I just got them.”
She’s had those vases for as long as I can remember. I wonder what year she would say it is if I asked.
“No, it was just a coffee mug from the dollar store, nothing valuable.”
“The dollar store?”
“Yeah, it’s a place where… never mind, Mama. I’ll get your tea.” I have to catch myself when I start trying to explain the twentieth century to her when she gets like this.
I sweep up the mess and kick off the boots that are making my bare feet sweat when I’m done. Moving around the kitchen making her tea I keep one eye on her at all times even though she isn’t doing anything, just staring. Fucking Alzheimer’s disease either turns her into a zombie or us into strangers. They say it’s harder on the families of people with the disease but I can’t imagine how frightening it must be to have chunks of time disappear, chunks that get bigger and bigger as time goes on.
Once she lost an entire day, it was Friday and she insisted it was Wednesday. She’d spent the entire day before dazed and confused and it scared the hell out of me.
With warm tea in her stomach I tucked her into bed while she chatted on and on about her childhood. I can’t leave her alone like this. I pull a chair up next to her bed and wait for my father to come home from wherever the hell he is.
Struggling to keep my eyes open I vow that she will never be left alone again, ever.
Tomorrow we hire a nurse.
Tomorrow our families bury the hatchet.
Tomorrow I kiss Charlotte Deardon.
9
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Charlotte
Just because I’m good at lying doesn’t mean I like to do it. Beau and I are getting ready to set up a lifetime of lies. I keep telling myself it’s the only way but the guilt is gnawing at the edges of my morality.
Can I let my parents believe the Hill’s land is theirs? Can I live in Beau’s house and work as the Hill family vet forever? Can I face his family every day knowing they think of my family as a charity case?
I am backed into a corner like a desperate animal with no way out. Either I learn to live with these lies or watch my family fall apart.
I haven’t given a shit about my appearance since I arrived in Redwater. I mean, who cares about your hair when you’re about to be homeless right?
But today is different; today I’m meeting Beau to discuss his plan in detail and I I’m going to get cleaned up. It seems kind of morbid to get dressed up and do my hair and makeup for a meeting about deceiving my parents. I wouldn’t bother if the meeting were with anyone other than Beau.
He is becoming my knight in shining armor, my superman swooping in to save the day, my hero with a capitol H.
Gag, I can’t believe I’ve become one of those girls. The girls who have to depend on a man to bail them out and support them. I went to college so I could be independent and earn my way in life, not have it handed to me on a silver platter. I took advantage of my anonymity and reinvented myself. I kept my head down and studied hard. I purposely didn’t join a sorority or become a college cheerleader. I didn’t date or go to parties and bars. I was a tiny minnow in an ocean of students trudging through each day trying to get an education and it was a relief.
There was no pressure to look perfect every time I set foot out the door. No faking a smile for hours in front of football fans while I froze my tits off. I wore sweatshirts and leggings with my hair tossed up in a messy bun for four years and it was liberating.
But I still ended up at the mercy of a man, thanks to fucking Mother Nature and her stupid tornado and my dad’s crappy financial decisions.
I guess I could bolt, go back to Iowa and take the veterinarian position I was offered six months ago at the clinic where I’ve been working part time. I could give yearly vaccinations to cats and cure dogs
of their dreaded fleas.
I could, but I won’t. I can’t abandon my family and I didn’t go to school to be a vet in a clinic. My dream was to work with the animals on a ranch and Beau is giving me that opportunity.
Mom and Dad walked up the road to the local diner for breakfast at the crack of dawn. Old ranch habits die hard. They’ve been getting up at four in the morning their entire lives.
I however have learned the art of sleeping in while away at college. I got up at the crack of eight o’clock. I showered while Jake Jr. snored in the bedroom, shaking the thin walls of the hotel with every exhalation of breath.
Jake was enjoying not having anything to do, as any idiot would. I don’t think he has worried for one second about his future since the tornado. Must be nice to have so much blind faith, or dead brain cells. He just floats from one day to the next waiting for someone to tell him what to do and where to be. How Cammie can be attracted to a man-boy like Jake Jr. is beyond me.
I dry my hair and pull a few pieces back into a thin braid letting the rest hang in waves on my bare shoulders. My off the shoulder gauzy romper is the perfect balance of country and sophistication. It provides proper coverage of breasts and ass while still accentuating curves and showing a tiny bit of skin.
Being a virgin, and wanting to keep it that way, I learned over the years how to present myself to the world as a beautiful yet wholesome woman. It wasn’t too hard, especially since I was in college where the unofficial uniform is a t-shirt or sweatshirt and jeans or yoga pants. It’s kind of hard to be sexy when you’re essentially wearing a sack.
With a touch of makeup and my freshly cleaned turquoise boots I’m ready. I text Beau and ask where we are meeting.
Beau – The plane hangar in thirty minutes. I won’t be late this time, don’t eat breakfast.
Yeah, sure…
Me – I won’t hurry just in case.
Beau – Fair enough, I’ll wait on you this time.
Why can’t I eat breakfast? I’m starving and I need coffee. There’s nowhere to eat for miles out there. No way am I leaving my caffeine addiction in his hands.
I crack the bathroom door and find Jack Jr. sprawled out on his back in the bed Stella and I slept in last night. Jack Jr. has been sleeping on the floor like a dog for days, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. When we are all gone he crawls into our bed and snores his ass off for hours.
The room is dark as night with the blackout blinds drawn tightly closed. The scent of my coconut body wash mixed with the smell of musty furniture hangs in the air. I wrinkle my nose; these two smells were never meant to mingle.
I shut off the bathroom light and switch on my phone flashlight to pick my way over shoes and clothes to the door.
I glance back when I crack the door and the sun cuts a bright diagonal slice through the room. I sigh at the sight of my families few belongings. I haven’t allowed myself to grieve over the loss of photo albums filled with baby pictures, my parents wedding photos and years of celebrations and holidays that were documented in them. I’ll miss the dozens of antique pieces of furniture that filled our house and the hand sewn quilts on every bed.
Grieving after a natural disaster happens in layers. I read that once. If that’s true then I’m still kicking around in the topsoil. I haven’t had time to consider all the things that are gone. I’m too focused on what’s left, my family.
I softly close the door and turn to face the day, squinting my eyes. It’s a gorgeous day, cumulus clouds fill the sky, a soft breeze blows out of the West, the temperature isn’t too hot yet and for the first time in days I have hope in my heart.
With my purse on my shoulder and my boots clacking against the concrete I set out to find my dad’s truck, coffee and whatever Beau has planned for breakfast.
Pulling up to the hangar I find Beau leaning against his freshly washed truck dressed in black jeans, black cowboy boots, a deep red short-sleeved button down shirt that fits him like a glove and a black cowboy hat.
He is pure Montana perfection. I grip the steering wheel, until my knuckles are white, trying to organize the thoughts in my head and the hormones in my body. Why does Beau do this to me? Whatever this is, I still haven’t figured that out.
I dated in high school, football players, cross country runners, even a computer nerd or two. But none of them, not one, gave me pop rocks in my tummy or held my heart in a vice grip like Beau.
I’m positive that if I had felt anything like this for a boy in high school I would not be a virgin. It was easy to stay away from guys in college, they didn’t have anything I wanted or needed for that matter.
But with Beau it’s different, the way looks at me with his navy blue eyes like I’m the most fascinating person on earth, the effect is knee wobbling.
I pull the truck up next to his, facing the opposite direction and purposely avoid looking out the window at him for a few seconds so I can get my shit together.
My shit collecting is interrupted when he immediately opens the door and offers me his hand.
“Right on time.”
“I was going to say the same to you.” No I wasn’t, I was going to deep breathe for ten seconds but he doesn’t know that.
I take his large calloused hand and he helps me down. It’s a long drop for my five foot one frame but I’m used to it. What I’m not used to is the magnetism flowing from his fingers up my arm, like an IV of warm Whiskey straight to my heart.
I grab on a little tighter when my feet hit the ground. I think I just swooned for the first time in my life. Part of me is disgusted with myself and the other part is intrigued that he has such a strong physiological effect on me. I try to make my mind work, like a doctor of veterinary medicine instead of a lovesick puppy, but it’s useless.
“Whoa there, you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, just short.” My words come out more abrasive than I intended and he steps back letting go of my hand.
“Somebody needs some breakfast.”
“Well it is getting late, a girls got to keep her blood sugar up ya know.”
“Hey now, I’m pretty sure I’m the diabetic here. Do you think you can hold out for another fifteen minutes or so?”
“You’re diabetic?”
“Yes, since I was eight.”
“Type one, that sucks. Good thing I’m a doctor.” I smirk when I refer to myself as a doctor.
“How did I get so lucky?”
“Right place, right time I suppose.” With my balance restored, I turn and grab my purse from the center console in the truck. I have to stand on my tiptoes and I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the gauzy material covering my ass.
When I turn around I catch him staring but he doesn’t jerk his eyes away like I’d expect him to, quite the opposite. He tilts his head to the side and I watch him take in every inch of me, undressing me with his eyes, setting a fire between my legs.
“So uh, where’s breakfast? Are we having a picnic or something?”
He doesn’t answer right away and I look over his shoulder uncomfortable under his heavy stare. When it really starts to feel weird I face him head on and cross my arms over my chest in a fake show of irritation.
“Are you about finished?”
He chews on his lip and slides his hands into his pockets, “No but we can go if you’re hungry.”
I roll my eyes and he chuckles grabbing my hand to lead me across the tarmac. I wish he wouldn’t touch me it’s distracting.
Looking up I notice for the first time a small two-engine plane parked at the end of the runway. I hope he isn’t expecting me to get into that thing I hate flying.
I stop suddenly but he doesn’t release my hand and our arms are drawn taut.
“What’s that?”
He looks at the plane and back at me.
“I thought you went to college.”
“Stop, you know what I mean. We aren’t getting in that tiny thing are we?”
“If you want breakfast we are.”
; “I’m not going to be hungry if you make me get on that plane. You may as well save yourself the trouble and the fuel and take me back to town for breakfast.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure? Breakfast in Redwater is boring and it will take us twenty minutes to get there and another fifteen to order and get our food. I’m diabetic remember? I have to keep my meals on a schedule.” The corner of his mouth rises in a panty-melting smirk and I begin to follow him again.
What am I doing? I’m scared to death of flying and yet I just let this man bamboozle me into boarding a tiny aircraft.
“Who’s the pilot?” I don’t see anyone else around and as far as I can tell there isn’t anyone in the plane.
“Me of course.”
I stop again yanking on his arm. “You? The diabetic who needs to eat?” I shake my head, “You go ahead and fly yourself to get some breakfast. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
“Hush, come on now. I’m an excellent pilot. I’ve logged thousands of hours flying these planes. My dad had me flying by the time I turned thirteen, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Is it even legal to fly when you’re thirteen?”
“Nobody knew, it was a family plane, but I got my license when I was seventeen. I’ve been regularly in the air for eleven years, you’re safe with me.” He drops his chin and narrows his eyes. “You do trust me right?”
I do trust him, I don’t know why, but I do.
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
“You have your insulin right?”
He pats his side, “I have a pump.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out. The fact that he has an insulin pump is a relief.
“We good?”
“No, I hate flying but I have my big girl panties on, I can handle it.”
He smiles a mischievous smile and scrunches up his face with doubt. “You sure? Doesn’t look like it to me.”
“Shut up.” I’m wearing a thong. It’s far from big girl panties but now I’m sure he was looking at my ass and that makes me wobbly again.