Chapter Twenty-Five
Bethany
"Thanks for helping me carry all this back to the house." I gave Brett a sisterly kiss on the cheek after he set down my final masterpiece in the living room of the house.
"It's funny, but I'm actually going to miss lugging this heavy easel and all your painting supplies back and forth around this ranch," he joked, but there was sentiment shining in his eyes.
"And, I'm going to miss your shameless flirting," I teased him back.
"I know I don't have a real chance with you. You and Colton are meant to be together. That's why I know you're safe to practice my game with. I just hope one day I'll find the kind of love that you two share."
"I'm sure you will," I said. Then thinking of Emma, I added, "Maybe you already have and just aren't ready to admit it."
"Now that you're done, when are you leaving?" Brett swiftly changed the subject.
"The sooner the better, I guess." I sighed. "I need to pack my things. I want to present this to your mother and say goodbye to her and your brothers. I need to say goodbye to my father, and I want to have one last visit with him."
"I'm sure you want to spend a last evening with Colton," Brett said. "Probably leave in the morning.
"No. Not really. It will be too hard to say goodbye to him. Maybe I should just leave tonight after everyone comes in for dinner. I can give the painting to your mother, say my goodbyes all at once, and then leave with as little tears as possible."
"If that's what you think is best." He sounded doubtful.
"It is." I was firm. He tipped his hat and left, and so I went upstairs to my room for the last time to pack my things.
The first time I had packed to leave had been in a fit of anger, and I'd just thrown everything in my suitcase without thinking. This time around, the process was much more bittersweet. Every item I folded and placed carefully into my luggage came with a memory.
This was the shirt I'd worn when Colton first took me to the lake and we'd gone skinny dipping. These were the jeans I'd worn the day I told Frank he was my father.
When all my clothes were put away, it was time to start packing my personal belongings, like my toiletries and my art supplies. When everything was done, I gave the room one last look to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. It was a good thing I had, because my sketchbook had fallen underneath the bed.
I picked it up and began to flip through the pages one by one. It was like taking a trip through time, to my first days on the ranch six weeks ago. There were sketches of the ranch from nearly every angle and vantage point.
There was a doodle of Maggie napping on the porch. There was one of Margie working in her garden and another of her baking in the kitchen. There was one I particularly liked of Colton brushing Whiskey's mane. I found one of Travis bucking hay, and one of Brett in his bull riding gear. Everything that was precious about the ranch was portrayed in that sketchbook.
Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I would give these sketches to Margie to replace the paintings she'd paid for that had been destroyed. She told me since it wasn't my fault they'd been burnt in the fire, I didn’t need to replace them, but I didn't feel right not giving her anything for her money. If I'd had the time to repaint them, I would have, but my internship started in just a week, and there wasn't any time. These sketches were the perfect solution.
I went through the book carefully and selected the ones I thought she'd like the best. I paused when I came to a drawing I'd made of my father. I remembered the moment exactly: Frank had been sitting on a bale of hay, staring thoughtfully out at the horizon. He took his pouch of tobacco out of his pocket and carefully hand rolled a cigarette like his father had taught him to do, my grandfather. Then he placed it between his teeth, flicked his lighter, and brought the flame up to the tip of his cigarette.
My sketch had captured the moment perfectly, from the graying hairs on his hirsute jaw to the unique etching of a bird on his father's lighter.
Spontaneously, I pulled my favorite charcoal pencil out of my case and scrawled my signature on the corner of the sketch, along with the date and the words, To Dad, Love Bethany . Then I jogged across the grounds of the ranch. I had to give it to him as a goodbye present.
No one knew where I had gone, but it didn't matter I wouldn't be long. The sun was starting to get low in the horizon, and soon the Hutchinsons would be gathering around the table and I would have my last dinner with them.
I saw Frank leaving the equipment shed and waved to him.
"Can we talk?" I asked him.
"Sure." He put his arm around me. Then he saw the drawing in my hand and pointed at it. "What's that?"
"It's for you. I wanted to give it to you before I left. I'm starting the long drive home to Chicago tonight after dinner."
"This is really good. Have you shown it to anyone else?"
"No, I keep my drawings private, but I wanted to share this one with you. I'm really going to miss you, Dad. I'm glad we got to know one another."
"I'm glad, too. Come back to my cabin with me for a moment."
"I don't really have time. The Hutchinsons are about to sit down to eat, and I don't want to be late on our last night together."
"This will just take a minute." He tightened his grip around my shoulder and pushed me towards the row of cabins across the grounds.
"Okay," I smiled up at him. His blue eyes had become cold and hard as ice. I was surprised by how much my leaving had touched him. We really had grown close this past month. So why did I suddenly feel like I was with a stranger?