Chapter Two
Austin
I knew there was only one person who could make my dad well again. I’d done the best I could to help him walk again but between his pride and my gruff, not much had gotten done.
Dad had a good deal of grump as well about the whole thing – that was until Alma walked in.
There were other therapists, sure. Probably hundreds just in the immediate area.
But there was something about Alma.
I knew she would bring the sun with her.
“Dad, do you need anything?” I popped my head into his room, enough to be able to see him but not enough for him to wrangle me into a conversation about her.
His cologne hung in the air. He’d put on cologne for Alma. He’d even asked for a comb and his old hair oil. That morning, he’d asked me to change his sheets and vacuum.
I did those things already, but he wanted it extra clean for Alma.
He was a sucker for her. Maybe more than I was.
Nope, not possible.
“It’s funny that you think you can just stick your head in here and ask me a flippant question as if the love of your life didn’t just breeze through here like a breath of fresh air. Get your butt in here.”
Thirty years old and still being told to get my butt in his room.
“Yes, sir.”
I stepped in but didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, I sat in the chair next to his bed and straightened pictures and a plant that was already straight.
“Talk to me, Austin.”
I took off my hat and balanced it on my knee. “Nothin’, Dad. She was here for all of ten minutes. It’s not like I fell in love with the girl all over again in that amount of time.”
Dad started laughing but soon it turned into a full-blown chuckle. “If you think for one second that you can actually fall out of love with your first love, you’re kidding yourself.”
That’s exactly what I had been trying to do for years – kid myself, even lie to myself –whatever it took to deny the fact that the one woman I loved in the world was the same one I couldn’t have.
I came from the wrong side of the tracks.
And according to her father, I wasn’t good enough for her.
It took me weeks not to think about her every second. But one day I realized I’d only thought about her once an hour. A while later, I’d only thought about her when I laid down at night.
One day I hadn’t thought about her at all.
Her voice faded from my ears.
I couldn’t remember her lips anymore.
Her face was like a ghost. I knew the shape but the features were lost.
“I have to be out of love with her, Dad. I can’t sit around here pining for her. She’s got a life. I’m sure. Probably a boyfriend, maybe a husband.”
Of course, he chimed in. “Name’s the same. If she was married, her last name would be different.”
I tried like hell not to roll my eyes. Last time I rolled my eyes, I was sixteen and ended up being pushed into a pile of horse manure.
When my dad had enough, he really meant he’d had enough.
“Dad, maybe it means she’s one of those modern women who doesn't change their names... or wear a wedding ring.” I sat up straighter, proud of myself for preempting his next argument.
“So, you were looking for it, huh?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I noticed. That’s all. Anyway, I’m not paying her to start up an old flame. I’m paying her to make sure you walk again.”
His face fell at the prospect. There wasn’t a big chance that he would walk again, but I knew that Alma would make it happen. My dad was a man who needed his independence just like I did. He never relied on anything – or anyone.
He relied on himself.
The only other time I’d seen him falter, other than the stroke, was when my mom died.
I thought the world might’ve stumbled in turning that day.
“Either way, that girl is welcome at my house any day.”
“Dad, she’s a woman, not a girl.”
“You noticed that too, didn’t you?”
How could I not? She used to wear her hair so long that it touched the bottom of her cowboy boots. Her father had forbidden her to cut it. It was shorter now, only to her waist, but with different lengths cut throughout.
Her dark eyes still cut through me.
She was the same yet completely different.
“Stop, Dad. I’m going to take care of the night chores and then cook you some supper. Any requests?”
He patted his belly. The medicine and staying in bed had turned him a little chubbier and a little puffier around the face.
“Shepherd’s Pie. You make it just like your mom did,” he said as I got up and crossed the room.
“Sounds good. Call me if you need something. I love you, Dad.”
“Me too, son. And Austin?”
I stopped at the door. I knew I’d gotten off too easily. “Sir?”
“Her eyes are just the same.”
I allowed myself to smile at that one. “Just the same, Dad. I know.”
Outside on the porch, I’d put my hat back on and whistled for Hewitt. It was his supper time too.
I took the steps down to the yard two at a time and went to the barn. It would take Hewitt a half hour to get to the house. He was the fattest hound dog in the country. He used to chase the horses and run the fields from daylight until dusk but now he just chased mice in the barn and only when they got close enough.
With the barn door now open, I whistled. I’d practiced that whistle for so many years to make it sound just like my dad’s. It wasn’t as loud, but they knew the sound well.
Each horse came and waited for their turn to get into their stables. I threw the locks and turned out the lights. After the horses, there wasn’t much else to do. I had the crops on a timed sprinkler. My dad thought the idea was lazy and ridiculous until he realized how much time it freed up for me and him.
I’d made several improvements over the years that he thought were silly but turned out to be money and time savers, turning our ranch into not only a self-sustainable place but a place that generated income for us.
Times had been tough and many of the farms around us had sold off most of their land and their cattle, but I’d made sure ours was run as efficiently as possible to weather any storm.
I made my rounds, checking the chickens, pigs, and testing the gates that kept the cattle in, just to be sure. It had become my habit to check everything twice.
Better safe than sorry.
On my way back to the house, I heard Hewitt and his signature howl. He must’ve been hungry that night. He made it back to the porch before I did. He was another one that competed with me for our love of Alma.
The dog would’ve left to run the pageant if she’d let him.
Traitor.
“Hey there, Hewitt. You didn’t come out to see Alma? Shame on you. No manners, I swear.”
He barked at me once, probably telling me to hurry up with the chow.
“Here.” I poured some food into his bowl and washed out the water dish, filling it again.
I sat on the swing, knowing full well I should’ve been in the house making dinner but I needed a few more minutes to myself.
I let out the breath I’d been holding since she’d come in. Alma had taken most of my heart with her when she left. We said we would be friends, but it became harder and harder to hear her voice over the phone until the sound seemed like a dream. Every once in a while, she’d sent postcards with shallow messages scribbled in a hurry on the back.
They were pitiful next to the feel of her skin on mine.
Phone calls were cheap when I’d held her all night in my arms.
Nothing compared to Alma in my life.
I had to forget about that once and for all. She was here for my dad and that was it.
At least I could hear her voice again.