"I don't know, man," Sam said glumly, "you ever think that maybe that's just what your father let you see? Now that you're a dad yourself?"
“I don’t follow,” Finn answered, although he was pretty sure he did.
“I’m just saying, you don’t know what kind of mess your father put up with when you weren’t looking. And from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t seem like there’s an easy way around this. That look in your eyes tells me you might feel the same.”
Finn had no idea what kind of answer he was supposed to give to that, making him grateful when somebody across the arena called out and got the kid's attention. But the damage had been done. Because now, he realized that he had always harbored a seed of doubt in his mind about how this was all going to play out. What he didn't know was whether or not he was going to be able to put it to bed again. One thing he knew for sure, and that was that he missed his little girl.
Twenty-Three
“This is impossible. It’s like they’re multiplying or something.”
Callie's voice reverberated off of the bare walls of the lovely old house she now had the privilege to call home. The place was even better in person than it had been in the pictures, exactly the kind of historic, regal home she had always imagined herself living in one day. Everywhere she looked, she saw rich wood and thick, expensive drapery she felt privileged to be allowed to touch. The kitchen sported an old cast-iron sink so big you could bathe a child in it, and the two bathrooms both had clawfoot tubs. The landlord had taken particular pride in informing her that all of the floors, both the wood planks and the tile in the wet areas, were original. It was the kind of house she could imagine a whole life of living in, making it all the more difficult to understand the dull unhappiness she felt throbbing just below the surface of her skin.
“Who’re you talking to, Callie?” Wendy asked from the deep leather club chair she was draped across. Her legs were slung over one arm of the chair while one of her arms dangled limply by her side.
“Um, myself,” Callie said with a sheepish laugh and shrug. Wendy tore her eyes away from her tablet, looking at Callie with perfectly arched eyebrows, the kind of look Callie would have expected from other grown women. Seeing it on a little girl’s face was simply too much. She burst into peals of laughter that rang through the halls of the house like invisible friends. All the while, Wendy stared at her, mouth hanging slightly ajar.
“Are you going crazy, Callie?” she asked, her tone painfully serious.
"I'm fine," Callie giggled, her eyes starting to water. "I've just got a case of the sillies. I think it's from all the unpacking. Don't you ever get those?"
“I dunno,” Wendy answered listlessly. She was smiling, so there was that, but the smile wasn’t quite meeting her eyes. As Callie watched, her little charge turned back to her tablet, the blue light reflecting onto her face and making her look about a decade older than she was.
The sight sent a jolt of painful panic through Callie's heart. Her laughter, which had seemed to her as if it would go on forever, dried up in less time than it took to blink. All of a sudden, there didn't seem to be anything to laugh about.
Callie did a slow turn, taking in the mess in front of her. She and Wendy had been living in the beautiful old house for almost two weeks, but from the looks of things, they might as well have moved in yesterday. Everywhere she looked, she saw boxes. For a person who didn't own many things, she felt as if she was drowning in a sea of unopened boxes full of items that needed to be put away. While she had always loved the idea of moving, now that she was at the tail end of the experience, she was realizing it was one of those things she liked better in theory than in practice. But for some reason, she couldn't seem to make herself get down to business and put her new life in order.
It might have been okay if she had been on her own, but she wasn't. She had Wendy to consider, and the poor little girl deserved something resembling a settled existence. She had already been through far more upheaval than a child her age should have experienced. Losing her mother, then trailing after her father to try and gain his undivided attention, and now she’d been moved across the country with not a single scrap of family to call her own. Callie had asked Finn if they should invite Stacy to come along, but Finn was relying on his in-laws to help his foremen keep the ranch running while he was away. It was just Callie and Wendy, and Callie feared that she was failing her little friend miserably. The tablet alone was proof of that. Callie was sure Wendy had spent more time on that stupid device over the past several days than she had in the entire two months Callie had lived with them on the ranch. It wasn't good for her brain, nor for the spark of intelligent creativity that made the little girl such a wonder. Callie had been through her share of struggles over the course of her life but never with her job. She had always been good with children, had known what made them tick and how to reach them. Never in her life had she seen a kid looking so bored and discontented. The sight made her flush with self-directed anger, and she shook her head quickly as if to physically clear away the doubts that were holding her hostage.
“Okay,” she said decisively, her mind suddenly settling on a course of action with laser focus, “that’s quite enough of that.”
“Of what?” Wendy asked in a voice painfully dull and lifeless coming from such a vivacious girl. “You talking to yourself again?”
“Nope, not this time,” Callie said, settling onto the floor and grabbing her sneakers. “Get your shoes, my friend. We’re going out.”
“Out?” Wendy repeated, making it sound like the most ridiculous idea she had ever heard. “What do you mean, out?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Callie laughed, jumping to her feet and hurrying over to Wendy so she could ruffle her hair. “It’s time for us to get out of this house!”
"But you like the house," Wendy said, furrowing her brow. Beneath the lingering tan of long Texas summer days, Callie noted a parlor she didn't care for at all. Just another piece of evidence that she hadn't been doing all she'd promised to keep Wendy happy and healthy.
Callie thought of what Finn might think if he were to show up out of the blue and get a look at his daughter. A wave of guilt washed over her. She needed to shake things up for both their sakes, and fortunately, she had the perfect idea for how to do it.
“You’re right, little bug,” Callie smiled. “I do like this house, and I like us being in it. The thing is, we can’t stay inside all the time. We just can’t.”
“But why not?” Wendy whined testily. Hands on hips, Callie frowned at her. Wendy had never been much of a whiner, for which Callie had been grateful. If there was one thing she couldn’t abide, it was whining. Her parents would likely have tolerated it with no questions asked, considering how sick she had always been, but even when she was little, Callie hadn’t had any patience for that kind of thing. It never did anyone any good, and it usually just made everything worse.
"Because, party pooper," she said, sliding her hands under Wendy's armpits and tickling fiendishly, "we're outdoors people. I'm pretty sure that's what's been getting us down. We're not getting enough sun vitamins, and I know just the right way to see that we do."
It only took a couple more minutes of tickling and the promise of sweets to get Wendy out of her chair and on the move. Callie had been improvising when she’d pulled out all that sun-vitamin stuff, but after they had been on the sidewalk for a while, she started wondering if it might actually be true. Not only for Wendy, either—it was good for Callie. Truth be told, she had never really been much of an outdoorswoman, spending the majority of her childhood indoors will do that to a person. Her first days on Finn's ranch had been brutal in that regard. When she hadn't been looking, though, she'd gone and developed a taste for it, and now that she was in New York, she missed it. She found herself waking up from a deep sleep with tears swimming in her eyes and the scent of the warm, sun-kissed grass on the ranch lingering in her nostrils. For the briefest moment, she would believe she
was back there with Finn, looking out over his sea of land and wondering if she'd ever seen anything so beautiful. The streets of New York weren't the same, not by a long shot, but they were certainly an upgrade from being holed up with nothing but a tablet for company.
“Where are we going?" Wendy asked, practically running to keep up with Callie. Some of the listlessness lingered in her tone, but something else was growing, too. Callie thought it sounded a lot like excitement, and with it, her own spirits began to lift.
“It’s something some of the other teachers told me about,” Callie said brightly, hurrying the two of them to the large park situated next to the school. She felt every bit as giddy as Wendy was beginning to look, and now that they were finally out doing something, she couldn’t get to that park fast enough.
“Whoa!” Wendy exclaimed when they finally made it to the park’s entrance. “What’s this stuff?”
“This, my friend, is a beginning-of-school carnival!” Callie said triumphantly. She looked down at Wendy’s face expectantly, one hundred percent sure of what she would find there. But instead of seeing a look of pure delight, she thought Wendy’s expression could best be described as trepidation. The closer Callie looked, the surer she was that Wendy was on the verge of tears.
"Hold on, bug!" she said gently, crouching down so that the two of them were at eye level. "What's the matter? I thought you would like all of this."
“There’s so many people,” Wendy said in a small voice, her eyes far too big. “There’s so many people in New York.”
"That's true, but this is going to be fun," Callie insisted, looking over her shoulder as if she was going to find some heretofore unknown support waiting for her in the bushes. She was doing her best to keep a happy, brave face on, but inside she wanted to cry. She wanted Finn. Admitting it, even to herself, made her feel so terribly weak, but that didn't make it any less true.
If Finn were there with them, she thought, he would know exactly what to say. For a moment there, a stretch of time that was really nothing more than a snapshot, the two of them had been a unit, in synch on these kinds of things, aside from the occasional minor bump in the road. Now, Finn was living his dream, which didn't seem to include either Callie or Wendy, and she was failing to pick up the slack.
She swallowed hard and reached out to smooth Wendy's wind-tousled hair out of the little face.
“I’m not going to know any of them,” Wendy whispered, wringing her hands in a gesture that was achingly similar to something a world-weary adult would do.
"You know what?" Callie said brightly. "Neither do I! Some of these kids are going to be my students, and I've never met a single one. It's not going to be like it was back home. I won't have seen these little guys running around since they were just learning to walk. I think it would help me out if you were here to get to know them with me. Do you think you might be willing to do that?” She paused and, not getting an answer, asked more gently, “Do you think you could help me out?"
“Okay,” Wendy said after a tense, thoughtful moment, “I guess I can. But will you get your face painted with me?”
“Of course,” Callie smiled, “you know I will.”
“Can we do unicorns?” Wendy pressed, the seriousness of the question changing the smile into a full-fledged grin.
“Whatever you say, madam. Your wish is my command.”
“Okay,” Wendy said decisively, her face set in a look of grim determination. “Let’s go.”
Callie stood upright and took Wendy's hand, grateful for the little girl’s upswing in spirits. As the two of them moved deeper into the before-school carnival crowd, though, she couldn't shake that now too-familiar gnawing sadness. Because even in the midst of all of this New York splendor, the place she'd been trying to get to for what felt like all her life, she wasn't so sure it was what she wanted anymore. Yet she couldn't think clearly enough to answer that dilemma for herself. Every time she tried to get down to thinking, all she could see in her mind’s eye was Finn's face.
Twenty-Four
Hanging up the phone, Finn had felt a sense of knowing. He would realize that later, when the dust began to settle. Hearing the joy in Wendy's voice had been like a knife stuck straight into his gut, whether he liked to admit it or not. That conversation had been at least a week ago, and he couldn't get it off his mind. It was there with him as he went through his drills, preparing for his last chance on the circuit. It was there while he took his meals and while he tried to get a bit of shuteye.
It was there with him while he tried to convince Sam that it was possible to have a happy family and a life in the rodeo at the same time. The more he tried to convince himself that he was making a mountain out of a molehill, the heavier it weighed in his own mind. By the time opening night rolled around, he felt like a walking shadow of his former self. Sam must have been able to see it in him, too, because the look the younger man gave him when they met each other in passing was a mixture of pity and concern, plain as anyone could see. Finn bristled to see that, his jaw clenching as he cracked his knuckles one by one. He wasn't accustomed to being looked at with pity. Even after Alexandra's death, he had worked hard to make sure nobody looked at him that way.
Sam, though? Sam wasn't fooled, and Finn didn't like it one bit.
“What’s the problem, Sam?” he asked gruffly, with only a sideways glance. “You got something on your mind?”
“Nah,” Sam quickly, kicking the toe of his boot in the mixed dirt and sawdust on the ground, “not so much, I guess. Except…”
“Except what?” Finn pressed when he could see that Sam wasn’t planning on voicing the rest of his concerns. “I can see you’ve got something weighing on you, boy. Maybe best you just come out with it. I’ll see if I can put your mind at ease.”
“All right,” Sam said, his delivery quiet despite the rowdy atmosphere of the arena, “if that’s what you want. I think it’s dangerous, what you’re doing, that’s all. Going out into the ring with the world on your shoulders. I can see the weight of it. You go out there unfocused, you’re liable to get yourself killed.”
Finn clenched his jaw, hard. He didn't like to think of himself as an overly proud man, but it had been a long time since somebody had tried to take him down a peg or two. The only person who'd done that as of late was Callie, and she was a hell of a lot prettier than Sam was.
“I know what I’m doing, Sam,” he said, careful to keep his cool despite the heat rising up the back of his neck. “I’ve done it before. I was doing it when I was your age. Before that, even.”
"So then what happened?" Sam asked. His voice sounded devoid of feeling, but there was a challenge there.
Finn couldn't be sure if it was real or perceived, but in the end, he figured it didn't matter. The end result was the same. His hackles were up, no doubt about it. "Things got complicated," he said, not wanting to admit that he'd bowed out when he'd had his own kid on the way, "but I'm here now, and we're going to put on a good show. Deal?"
“Deal,” Sam agreed, shrugging his shoulders in an oddly helpless gesture before walking away to find his place and his horse.
Sam’s parting gesture didn't sit well with Finn. He considered calling the kid back and asking to switch slots with him, telling him that a prickle of superstition had gripped him. Instead, he stood watching with every nerve ending standing on end. He watched Sam swing his leg over his bronco, feeling for all the world like he'd swapped bodies with the kid and he, Finn, was getting on that horse. His throat felt filled with lead, making it hard to breathe. There was no reason for this sudden fear, but that didn't do anything to remove the rock in the pit of his stomach. When he heard Sam's voice announced over the loudspeaker, he had to fight the urge to run out into the middle of the arena and wave the kid back into the chutes.
The next few seconds seemed to stretch out forever and then snapped with shouts and calls of alarm from the crowd.
“It’s all right, folks! These kinds of things happen, don’t
they? How’s about everyone go and grab a hot dog or two, maybe a nice cold beer to wash it down? Just a little bit of maintenance here, and we’ll be right back on our way.”
Less than ten seconds. That was how long it took for the whole shebang to go awry. The time began when Sam left the gate on his horse and ended with the young bronc-rider on the ground, his horse’s feet raining down upon him. Finn jerked right along with every convulsion of Sam’s body. He felt that boy’s pain in a physical sense, and the only thing he could think about was the wife and unborn baby waiting for the boy who was being trampled as the rodeo clowns ran out and tried to pull him to safety.
There was no question in Finn’s mind as to whether he would stick around to do his own events. Getting back into the thick of the rodeo didn’t seem like all that big of a deal, considering what his young friend was facing now. Finn climbed into the back of the ambulance and sat himself down beside Sam’s limp, bruised body before anyone could stop him, the look on his face daring the EMTs to ask him what right he had to be there.
The waiting game was the worst of it. The last time he’d been in a hospital, he’d sworn he’d never do it again. Sitting in another anonymous room beside an unconscious person hit too close to home for comfort.
By the time Sam opened his eyes again, Finn felt like he was only half a step away from going legitimately crazy.
“Finn?” Sam croaked, his voice a cheap imitation of the baritone he’d been sporting before. “What are you doing here, brother?”
“What am I doing here?” Finn asked, on his feet before he knew what he was doing. “Jesus, kid, that’s a question to ask. I’ve been sitting here, worried that you were never going to wake up. What were you playing at out there? And after giving me a lecture like that, to boot?”
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