by D. R. Graham
“Thank you.” She reaches behind her for the container of potato salad and grabs two forks. Then she pauses and looks around. “Do you think mountain lions like potato salad?”
“No. But I heard they go crazy for fried chicken.”
“I’m serious. Is it stupid to sit out here eating in the open when a beast is on the lose somewhere?”
I pat the rifle next to my leg. “If we get any visitors bigger than an ant I’ll protect you.”
As we eat, the sky turns to dusk and the wildlife sounds come to life—the screech of an owl, a coyote off in the distance, and a noise I can’t identify. She scans the environment, then frowns at me.
“I’ll protect you.”
She smiles as she opens a bottle of water and passes it to me. “I know you probably feel like a beer or a glass of wine after working so hard all day, but your dad came shopping with me at Crystal’s store, so I wanted to respect him.”
“Water’s good.”
“Tomorrow, will you teach me how to shoot a rifle?”
“Sure.” I tip the bottle back and relax as the stars start to appear.
“And at some point I should probably learn how to steer a horse properly, too.” She pops a celery stick into the corner of her mouth like a cigarette as she uses both hands to attempt to open a jar of veggie dip.
“I’m happy to teach you whatever you want to learn about ranching.” I reach over to open the jar for her, then turn the lantern on.
“I might pass on cow insemination.” She hands me another piece of fried chicken.
I laugh. “I thought you didn’t hear that.”
“Oh I heard you. However, I determined that the shock of a mountain lion attack took precedence over cow sperm curiosity.”
“Yes. According to the rancher’s handbook, you’re correct.”
“I’m totally going to study that handbook and end up a ranching expert. You know that, right?”
I nod and smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” After finishing two more pieces of chicken, I say, “This is nice. Thanks for coming out for the weekend.”
She leans her upper body forward to kiss me. “My pleasure.”
“You have no idea how much I’m going to miss you after you leave tomorrow.”
“Not as much as I’m going to miss you. I’m going to cry all the way back to Palo Alto, and if we talk about it now I’m going to start bawling, so maybe we shouldn’t talk about it. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I sit up and pop the lid off the container with the apple crisp in it. After fishing around at the bottom of the picnic basket I find a spoon. She leans in and lets me feed her the first helping, then we alternate, taking turns until it’s all gone. She stacks the container back into the picnic basket.
“Della.”
“Yeah?” She spins around to face me and uses her thumb to sweep her hair away from her eyes, then tucks it behind her ear.
“I love you.”
Her face lights up and she digs her upper teeth into the flesh of her lip. Then she presses on my shoulders to make me lay down, folds her arms on my chest, and rests her chin on the back of her hand to study my expression. “I love you, too. But you probably already knew that.”
“I had my suspicions.” I hug her close, then turn the lantern off so we can watch shooting stars.
“My sister is really smart,” she says in a dreamy way. “And I’m not wearing any underwear under my skirt, in case you were wondering.”
Definitely love her.
Chapter 23
Della
My mood is foul. Partly because I miss Easton. And partly because my period just started—bloated, crampy, pimply, and irritable. And I have a test this morning that I’m really not prepared for. BJ is already sitting on a barstool, eating oatmeal, when I shuffle into the kitchen and turn the kettle on to make tea. “Fair warning, I’m not going to be good company for a couple days.”
“Noted,” he says as he loops his neck tie and pulls a knot.
“Why are you all dressed up?”
“I have an academic probation hearing this morning.”
“But you passed your exam.”
He shakes his head with restrained frustration. “I did, but now they’re saying I needed to get seventy percent.” He shoots back some orange juice and then clears his dishes to the sink. “I got sixty-eight.”
“Oh, my gosh, they’re being ridiculous. Two percent. Really?”
“It’s Cavendish. She’s chair of the committee, and she hates me.”
“Why?”
He winks but doesn’t smile. “In my first year, she had too much to drink at a faculty function and tried to take me home. Even though she’s hot, I turned her down. Because, believe it or not, I have some morals. And she’s been screwing me ever since.”
“That’s sexual harassment. You could file a report.”
“The timing will look suspicious now. And it’s my word against hers. But at least they’re letting me plead my case before they make their final decision.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Pray.”
“Here.” I reach up to straighten the knot on his tie. “Don’t forget to mention how you’re doing this to support your sisters and provide them with a better future. That will play on the committee’s heart strings.” I wrap my arms around him for a quick hug and then pat his shoulder like they do when they are about to ride their broncs. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” he says, sounding less than optimistic. He grabs his bag and then leaves.
It’s so unfair. I can’t believe Cavendish would be so malicious about something that happened years ago, especially since it was inappropriate for her to make an advance towards BJ in the first place. Maybe if Easton ever dumps me I’ll turn into a mean witch like Cavendish. I’ll fire employees willy nilly from my imaginary future engineering firm because they are late to meetings, or my tea is too cold or something. Probably not, though. I really can’t imagine wanting to ruin someone else’s life simply because I was bitter and jaded. But never say never, right?
I sit down at the table to eat a plain piece of toast as I stare out the window in a hormonal brain fog. Chuck runs through the kitchen, wearing only his underwear, and cannonballs into the pool before swimming a few laps. “What’s my assignment for today?” he hollers at me from outside.
I don’t answer because I don’t have the energy to participate in a conversation that requires shouting. Eventually, he climbs out of the pool and comes back inside.
“You’re dripping on the floor.”
“It’s only water.”
I turn my head just enough to glare at him with a scary amount of disdain that’s surprisingly easy to produce. Probably evidence that I could become a bitter and twisted Cavendish if someone catches me on the wrong day.
“Whoa, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” He crosses his fingers and holds them up like a crucifix warding off evil. “That time of the month?”
I roll my eyes and stand to leave.
“I’ll take that as a yes. What’s my assignment?”
“Don’t ever talk about a woman’s menstrual cycle. And three random acts of kindness. If you don’t know what one is, Google it.” I slip my feet into flip flops because I don’t feel like bending over to put on proper shoes. Walking to school is out of the question, so I head to the bus stop. So lazy. Or depressed. I don’t know which. The bus driver does a double take as I board, so I must look even worse than I feel.
One good thing is that Easton is coming back to go to Cavendish’s class on Wednesday. And if he can get a lot done at the ranch today and tomorrow, he might stay straight through until next Monday. I’m trying to be cool and not get my hopes up too high just in case it doesn’t happen. I’m going to be freaking cartwheel level giddy if it does.
My first class is Atmosphere, Ocean, and Climate, which I actually like, but I don’t feel like making small talk with anyone, so I sit at
the back of the room. If I had my way I’d go home and crawl into bed. Unfortunately, my test is next block.
Walking like Eeyore, I cross the campus and sit at the back of the room to take my exam. Grr. On any other day this test wouldn’t be that hard, but my brain is sluggish and my irritability makes my tolerance for frustration non-existent. Is that clock faster than normal? Other people are already finished and leaving. I’m not even half done yet. Why did I want to take engineering again? I can’t remember anymore. Do baristas need to take stupid exams? I’m pretty sure I’d like to work in a hip café. Then again, what do I know? I thought I’d enjoy classes on structural integrity. Come on. Della. Focus. You need to prove that girls are smart enough to do these idiotic questions. Time’s up. Great.
Two other women from the class are standing outside on the front steps of the building. They wave me over as I exit.
“How do you think you did?” Kate asks me.
I shrug, honestly not sure. “I definitely screwed up the fourth question on variance reduction techniques. And I didn’t have time to finish the last question. At least it’s only worth five percent of the whole grade.”
“Thank God, since I blew the whole thing,” Lizzie says. “The project is way more important. Do you want me to pick you up for our group meeting tonight?”
Oh right. I forgot about that. “Sure. Quarter to seven?”
She nods and Kate raises her eyebrows at something behind me. “There is a very sexy man across the street, staring at us, and he’s not waiting for me.”
Lizzie looks and smiles. “Not waiting for me either, sadly.”
I spin around, and after the initial surprise wears off I mutter a quick goodbye to the girls. I run down the steps, carefully since everyone is watching and it would be an epic fail if I tripped. Easton’s hair is tied back in a neat ponytail at the base of his neck and he’s dressed in dark grey trousers and a tailored, form-fitted, white dress shirt that make him look like he just stepped off the runway. He lunges forward to catch me as I launch myself at him for a hug. He squeezes me tightly before lowering me back down to the ground. “You look very handsome. I thought you weren’t coming for another two days?” I lean back to admire his snazzy outfit.
“That was the plan.” His forehead creases and he reaches to hold my hand as he escorts me across the grass, away from the audience of my classmates. “I’ve got bad news. Do you want upsetting, crushing, or shattering first?”
“Uh.” I glance sideways at him. He’s not joking. “None of the above.” I stop walking and face him in an attempt to predict the content of the impending blows before he delivers them. My heart races, and since my blood pressure is already low from my period, I’m suddenly light-headed. “I need to sit down.”
Easton leads the way to a bench and digs my water bottle out of my bag to offer me a drink.
“Am I going to cry?”
He blinks slowly and sits back against the bench, then inhales deeply as he massages the tension in his temples. So, that’s a yes, obviously. Just the thought of what the news might be causes pressure to build behind my eyeballs. He drove four hours to tell me in person, which is a bad sign. My nervous system fires with an intense impulse to get up and run away so I don’t have to face whatever it is. His hand tightens around mine as if he can sense my irrational desire to bolt.
“Okay. Just do it.” I close my eyes and brace for impact.
“There was a special academic hearing this morning that I only found out about in an email last night.”
“The one for BJ? What did they decide?”
“He was expelled. And, even though I’m getting over ninety percent in all my classes, Cavendish also kicked me out of her class.”
“What? That’s not fair. Why? If you’re getting great marks what difference does your attendance make?”
“She argued that it shows a lack of professionalism and that she can’t in good conscience pass someone who doesn’t respect the time of fellow students who made the effort to show up.”
“Is she joking? I’d much rather work with someone who can attend half the classes and still pull top grades over someone who never misses a lecture and is barely passing.”
“Yeah, well, she didn’t appreciate it when I made that point.”
He looks so deflated, which makes me want to confront her and maybe accidently spill a coffee on her laptop or something. What is her problem? Why make things more difficult for students when they are already hard enough? “Did you turn down one of her sexual advances at some point?”
“No, but when BJ rejected her she decided she hated all of us.”
I tip back the water bottle and drink nearly all of it. “Luckily it’s only one class.”
“Except I can’t take next term’s classes without her course as a prerequisite, so I have to repeat hers next term and put all my other credits on hold. Which means I’d graduate later than I’d hoped.”
That’s definitely a wrench in his plans but not as tragic as BJ’s verdict. Thank goodness. “I know this sounds selfish, but the bright side of you having to stay at school longer is that we’ll graduate at the same time. It’s kind of a silver lining on a less than ideal situation.”
He scratches the back of his neck. “I’d be happy about that part, too, but I haven’t budgeted enough money to be a student and carry the rent at the Palo Alto house for that long. I’d have to fit work in somewhere, either by taking a term off or by taking fewer credits and working part-time as I go. Either way, it delays my graduation even more. You’d be done before I am.”
My eyes narrow as my brain absorbs the gravity of his tone.
“Ready for the shattering news?”
Terrified, I shake my head, and as soon as he notices my eyes water, his start to too.
He takes a deep breath to compose himself, then leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and stares at the ground between his feet. “So, the one piece of good news is that we do own the mineral rights. But I just found out that my dad took out a reverse mortgage and deferred our property taxes to pay for the medical expenses that aren’t covered by his insurance. The lawyer thinks the reason the commodities company targeted our property is because they somehow knew we owed the bank. And we got a notice in the mail that the bank is going to force us into foreclosure if we don’t come up with all the late payments and penalties in thirty days.”
“That’s not much notice. How much do you owe?”
“Close to three hundred thousand. And they did give more notice. My dad just failed to tell me about it.”
Both of us are quiet as I feverishly generate solutions. “You could take another loan.”
“I can’t. I’ve already tried. There’s too much debt.”
“How about we set up a Go Fund Me campaign?”
He almost winces before he shakes his head. “I’m not taking charity. I’d rather lose the land than beg for money.”
“It’s not begging. It’s asking for help.”
“Asking for help would kill my dad. He’d more likely walk off the land penniless just to save his pride.”
“Stupidly stubborn, but okay, if there really is gold on the property just dig it up and sell it yourself.”
He responds quickly, so obviously it’s a possibility he’s already considered. “It requires specialized equipment and costs a lot of money to extract minerals. Even if I could set up contracts to have someone come in, it wouldn’t get done in thirty days.”
I sigh and fidget with the empty water bottle as I brainstorm more options. “Chuck’s family is apparently rich. Maybe they would loan you the money?”
Easton hesitates long enough to consider it but then shakes his head. “His dad cut him off financially. If he were ever to change his mind it wouldn’t be to bankroll one of his rodeo buddies.”
“It doesn’t hurt to ask.”
Again, he takes his time to mull it over. “Even if we could get a private loan from someone to cover what’s due right now,
I’ll still have to work to pay back the loan on top of paying all the on-going expenses we already have.”
I clench my eyes closed to force back the tears. It doesn’t work. “So, either way, you’re not going to be able to keep going to school next term?”
He doesn’t answer, but I can tell by the way his jaw muscle twitches that the answer is not what I want to hear. I don’t know what to say. This is devastating. To him. His Dad. Us. I wish I had a brilliant idea that would solve everything. Unfortunately, I don’t. Overwhelmed and scared, I slide closer to him and wrap my arm across his shoulders. “When are you going back to the ranch? Is there anything I can do?”
He shakes his head and kisses my forehead, holding his lips against my skin for an extra beat. “I need to leave right away. I have a meeting with the bank tomorrow morning to request an extension until after we can sell the cattle. And my dad has a treatment scheduled in the afternoon.”
“If you won’t be coming to campus for Cavendish’s class, you don’t need to waste money on rent at the Palo Alto house. Are you going to move your things out?”
Pain etches across Easton’s face. “I haven’t figured out all the details yet. It’s complicated. I don’t know what to say.”
I examine the darkness in his eyes, and I can see what he doesn’t want to say. What I don’t want to hear. “This is us breaking up, isn’t it?”
He hugs me into his chest, heart thumping. It takes a long time before he finally says, “I’m sorry, Della.”
Ow. That hurts. Like being shot in the back or t-boned by an eighteen-wheeler. Only hours ago we said “I love you” to each other for the first time. How can everything change so quickly from “I love you” to “We’re breaking up?”
To maintain composure, I nod and swallow hard. An emotionally immature, primal part of my brain wants to freak out and blame him for everything. But the more evolved part of my brain knows that none of it is his fault. And dumping all my heartbroken pain on him is the last thing he needs right now. Come on, Della. You’re a big girl. Suck it up. He needs you to be strong. Say the right thing.