Chapter Twelve
Vanessa
Sunday morning brunches had always been a staple in our household, but Dad and I hadn’t had a good brunch since before Mom died. Brunches had been so hard for the two of us since then. I tended to dislike them more than I should but that was only because of the memories I could no longer make with Mom.
I wanted to surprise Dad with a hearty spread, just like old times. I’d gone to the store during the week and picked up all the ingredients I needed for waffles with strawberries on Sunday morning. Dad didn’t use the fridge or the pantry often anymore, so I didn’t expect he’d come across the extra groceries and wonder what the ingredients were for.
He came down into the kitchen just as I stacked the last waffle onto a plate. He looked at the food piled on the countertop, pleasantly surprised.
“Do you need me to make coffee or anything?” he asked, his voice gruff.
I smiled at him. “Coffee’s already made,” I told him. “Just need a little help carrying this all out to the back table.”
He nodded his head and moved automatically to grab plates and bring them out to the table on the back porch. I followed with the mugs of coffee and the silverware. It was a beautiful summer morning with a bright blue sky above us. The sun was just starting to warm up the ranch. A few students were already out in the practice rings. Some merely walked their horses while others were already running through their paces, sailing over jumps or dancing through dressage routines.
“So, what’s the occasion anyway, sweetheart?” Dad asked as we sat down. He shook out his napkin.
I shrugged. “No occasion,” I said, smiling. “I just wanted to make us brunch.”
“Hmm,” he said before falling silent.
Indeed, that was the last that either of us said for a while. Dad finally broke the silence. “So, you really plan to follow through with this idea of yours, for the gallery?” he asked. It came out as a question, but he said it as though he already knew the answer.
I shrugged and continued to pick at my food. “Well, I’m not so sure now,” I said. “I’d love to do the gallery. Don’t get me wrong. But with the bank refusing to give me a loan unless I can put up some sort of collateral, I’m not sure how realistic a goal it is. They want somewhere around twenty-five thousand dollars. Even if I worked a good full-time job, it would be a while before I had that much in liquid funds.”
Dad paused for a moment, chewing deliberately. “They’d accept it if I was the one putting up the collateral,” he said slowly.
It was an idea that I’d already considered and discarded. I shook my head. “You don’t have that much money lying around,” I said. “Unless you wanted to put the ranch up as collateral, and I refuse to let you do that.”
“Why not?” he asked. “What would be the harm in that? I know you’re interested in the gallery. I can see it in your eyes every time you talk about it. And, I’ve read through your business proposal; it seems sound. There’s no reason for me to believe that it wouldn’t take off exactly how you project that it would.”
“I couldn’t let you risk it, though,” I said, shaking my head. “I believe the gallery would become a popular tourist site, but it’s impossible to know for sure. Who knows how things might go? That’s not really my area of expertise, nor is it yours.”
“I’ve talked to some of the renters and out-of-towners, though,” he said. I couldn’t help thinking how sweet he was. He and I might not always see eye-to-eye on my chosen line of business, but he was always there for me in his own way. “Everyone that I’ve talked to says that it sounds like a great idea.”
I sighed. “Thinking it’s a great idea and actually purchasing tickets for a gallery are two entirely different things.”
We were both silent for a moment.
“Believe me, I appreciate you asking around,” I said. “But I still won’t let you put up the ranch as collateral. This place has been in the family for years. I’d hate to think what might happen to it if the gallery couldn’t pay its debts. The bank could repossess our land, the house, the stables, and everything else. And it wouldn’t just be us affected, either. It would affect anyone who leased space in the stables, anyone who came here for a ride, anyone who ever interacted with the place.”
It would affect Trethan, my mind reminded me, as though it was relevant to this conversation.
I shook my head to clear it, banishing the thought. “I really appreciate the offer,” I said, reaching out to grasp my father’s hand where it rested on the table. “But this gallery, I need to do it on my own. It needs to be my project.”
Dad looked like he wanted to argue, but after a long moment, he merely grunted and turned his attention back to his food.
Neither of us spoke again until after we’d finished our meal. “I’ll clean the dishes,” Dad said gruffly, standing up and scooping up my plate as well as his. He paused for a moment, staring down at the dishes in his hands. Then, he spoke, each word deliberate, “You’re so much like your mother, you know. She would have been proud.”
He stalked off without another word, and I sat there for a long time, thinking over those words. Would she have been proud? I wasn’t doing anything worthwhile with my life. I had the idea for the gallery, but without the funding, I would never be able to make that dream a reality. As far as anyone was concerned, I was just bumming around, living at home. Not exactly the kind of life that a parent wished for their child.
“So, what’s this about a gallery that I hear?” Trethan asked suddenly, dropping into a chair across from me.
I jumped in surprise and heat reddened my face. My hands clenched as I tried to figure out some way to tactfully get away from him. I’d been thinking about him more and more since I’d come back, but since our conversation out on the ranch the other day (well, really since I’d seen him out on the ranch the other day and noticed his muscles and the perfect curve of his ass), I hadn’t been able to forget about how much I’d like for him to bend me over the nearest surface and have his way with me.
I shook my head, trying to come back to the conversation at hand. “How did you hear about the gallery?” I asked suspiciously. I doubted he’d been talking to Julie about it. I knew that Trethan and my dad had some sort of a connection now that he the right-hand man around the ranch, but I didn’t think Dad would mention my gallery prematurely before the place had funding.
Trethan grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said. “I just overheard it while you were talking to John about it. You’ve found a job, then?”
“Not exactly,” I said, shaking my head. I hoped that’d be enough to get him to drop it, but he continued to look interested
I shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about curating a gallery here in White Bluff,” I told him.
“We already get a ton of tourists every year. I don’t think it’ll be difficult to sell some regional art to these people. If they come here on vacation, they like the area and the culture. I figure with all the local artists around, I should be able to source pieces. Plus, art from this area has such low representation when it comes to the larger galleries. It would be neat from a sociological and cultural standpoint, just as much from a-” I broke off, flushing warmly enough that I could feel my ears burning. “But I guess you’re not interested in any of that stuff.”
“Why wouldn’t I be interested in it?” he asked, surprising me.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Because you hate art?” I suggested.
“I don’t hate art,” he said. He looked away from me as he said it, though, and I could see the way his hands clenched into fists. “I used to,” he continued, his voice quiet. “Or at least, I used to think that I did. But that was kind of an act. I was trying to be cool, to stay in my persona. Stoners don’t just sit around talking about the finer points of modern art, you know.”
I snorted and shook my head. “You’re still trying to convince me that you’ve changed, huh?”
Trethan didn’t respond to that, but when he looked back at me, his gaze was serious. “That’s really cool, though,” he said. “I like the idea of a gallery here in White Bluff. You’re right; there are a lot of people here who deserve more representation.” He paused. “You’ve really grown from the little girl that I used to know.”
I shrugged. “It’s been years,” I reminded him. “I’d like to think that I’m a little more put together than I was before I went off to college.”
“It’s not just that,” he said. “I can tell that you care about other people. You always did, but it’s even more pronounced now.”
I snorted. “And you don’t?”
He was quiet. “Sometimes I think I might care about my promises more than I care about the people that I’ve made my promises to,” he said cryptically.
I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but my heart evidently had different ideas about what to ask. “Are you seeing anyone?” I blurted out before sense could catch up to me.
Trethan laughed. “Like a girlfriend?” he asked. “Nah.” I must have looked pitying because he scowled darkly at me. “Don’t go feeling sorry for me. I fuck around. I’ve fucked around with half the women in this town. Maybe more than that. And most of the tourists, too.”
“I didn’t need to know that,” I said, wincing.
“Then don’t go asking about my sex life,” he said hotly. “Yeah, I fuck around with anyone I want to. I go down to the Roasted Bison, and it’s like the whole goddamned town is out on display, especially on a Friday night. I don’t go home alone unless I choose to go home alone.”
I stood up, almost knocking my chair over in my haste. That only made him laugh. “Yeah, it’s a real show,” he continued cruelly. “Lately, I’ve been getting on the mechanical bull — I’m actually really good at it. The women watch me, squirming in their wet panties and-”
“That’s enough,” I interrupted, my face practically on fire. “God, I was starting to think that maybe you really had changed. I guess that was just an act, though, wasn’t it? You’re just the same as you always were.”
Trethan looked like he wanted to say something in response, but instead, he just turned away, setting his jaw. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said.
I shook my head in disgust and stalked off.