Carly
By the time the blazing orange at the horizon has disappeared, I’m throbbing: my back, from handing food out the window, my feet, from standing all afternoon, my ears, from the techno-punk that Nevada has blasted from the boombox over the grill since Cora left. I asked her to turn it off—no response. I asked her to turn it down, and she complied, sort of. But the bass thump remained, a white noise irritant that I didn’t recognize until my jaw muscles cramped from grinding my teeth.
When the last customer wanders away with hands full of chili dogs, I step outside, lower the metal sunshade, and lock it, transforming the restaurant back to a vehicle.
I take the steps back into the truck. Nevada is cleaning the grill. She looks worse than I feel. Grease-spattered shorts, filthy apron, her dirty blond hair flopping out of her ponytail.
“What do you say we grab a shower, then find something to eat that’s not soaked in grease?”
She grunts, which I’m taking as a yes. “Where is the hotel you and Cora stayed last night? I’ll meet you there.”
She points to the front of the truck. “Maddy’s Motel, a mile that way.”
“Do you have a key?”
“Yeah.”
The spatula scrapes across the metal grill—and my nerves. “I was asking if I could have one.”
“You didn’t say that.”
I sigh loud enough for the passersby to hear. “Did Cora leave her key to the room at the motel for me? If so, where?”
She waves the spatula at the front of the truck. “Console between the seats.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze by, careful not to touch—I’d probably get thorns embedded in my skin. I snatch the old-fashioned plastic key with a flaking “10” in gold paint from the pile of junk in the console. Cora told me that she and Nevada roomed together, staying in cheap hotels to save money, but that I could choose better hotels and get my own room if I wanted. But I’m already beholden. No way I’m going all princess at Cora’s expense. Even if it means rooming with a human cactus.
I climb over the passenger seat and out the door.
Nevada might make it a bit awkward, but this is a tiny blip on my radar—hardly noticeable compared to the massive blip coming at me, bigger every day. I drop my hand to the buttons of my jeans. No bulge yet, but someday soon…A bomb’s tick-tick-tick echoes through me, flash-freezing my guts.
I put on my gaudy helmet, throw my leg over the bike, and fire the engine. Too bad there’s only a mile to go. I’d love to hit the road and have the wind blow my worries away. I check traffic and ease out onto the circle.
Maddy’s Motel is as shabby as its key. Turquoise cinderblock, with a red neon sign out front. I unstrap my duffel and walk to room ten where, for lack of a nail, the “1” has fallen upside-down. I push the door open with my boot and the hot, closed up-smell of cheap smacks me in the face, conjuring ghosts of countless rooms just like this—rodeo-road hotel rooms I shared with Austin. Back then, I hardly noticed the bare lightbulbs and scratchy sheets. Sepia stop-action memories flash: his bare chest, his hands, his boots next to mine beside the bed. I pull in a deep lungful of happier days, and almost choke on nostalgia that burns like a hit of cheap weed.
Lord, I wasn’t asking for a Hollywood career. My dreams weren’t big. Just to have a bunch of kids in a big, falling-down old homestead house, with the man you made for me beside me every morning. Why was that too much to ask?
But even as I think it, I know. God didn’t ruin my dream. Austin and I did. Looking at it from the other end of disaster, waiting another year doesn’t seem that horrible.
But the tail whip of truth follows close behind. It wasn’t the year of waiting. It was being second. I’ve got to remember that, when missing him hurts. I want a guy who puts me at the head of the line, just like I do him. I dump my bag on one of the beds and head for the shower. Nevada will want one when she shows up.
I’m still waiting an hour later when she slams through the door. I turn off the farm report on the TV. “You okay? I was about to go looking for you.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen. I hardly think I need a mother hen to look after me.”
I give her my best rodeo-queen smile, through gritted teeth. “Okay then. Why don’t you hop in the shower, and we’ll find something to eat?” I step to the rickety desk and pick up the cardboard flyer. “Looks like our choices are Friendly’s Chicken or the Pizza Palace.”
She drops a canvas sailor’s duffel on the bed, pulls it open, and paws through the contents. “Already ate.”
“What? Where?”
“Fixed myself a BLT in the truck.”
The irritation that simmered all day boils over. “That’s downright rude. You knew I was waiting for you.”
She takes the one step to the bathroom and slams the door.
Okay, be that way. I snatch my helmet and shrug into my jacket. Friendly’s it is.
* * *
Just before dawn, I’m washed onto the shore of wakefulness by a massive wave of nausea that propels me from bed at a run. Once I rid myself of last night’s dinner, my stomach settles. I’d like to blame it on the greasy chicken, but more likely, it’s thanks to the tiny bean in my belly that demanded I scarf it in the first place.
Might as well get a shower, since I’m up. I’m going to need all the together I can get, because today we travel forty miles to Santa Rosa for the Guadalupe County Fair. And Rodeo.
And Rodeo = Austin. My gut does a backflip and I hover at the toilet, hand over stomach, until it decides to settle again.
Two hours later, I bump over the grass, following the truck to the food zone of the midway: a corridor of trailers, tents, and trucks, whose placards advertise hot dogs, beer, funnel cakes, and fried pickles. I pull in behind the truck, drop the kickstand, take off my helmet, and sit for a moment, inhaling the smell of Rodeo: crushed grass, livestock, and fair food.
How could I have forgotten? The contestants milling, pinning entry numbers on each other’s backs, the vendors calling to each other as they set up, the mic checks, the bustle behind the chutes. An undercurrent of potential builds until the air fairly crackles with it. My body reacts: my blood speeds up, my steps are lighter as my mood rises like the helium balloons the man next to us is blowing up.
God, I’ve missed this.
Nevada rounds the corner of the truck. Today’s T-shirt says, SARC: MY SECOND FAVORITE “ASM.” She stops and puts a hand on her hip. “You going to help, or sit there all day with a dorky look?”
I pull the key. “Cora did tell you I’m your boss, right? It would help if you showed a little respect.”
She gives me a “whatever” flip of her hand and takes the steps at the back door of the truck. Some of my helium escapes.
When I walk in, Nevada is up front, in the driver’s compartment. I grab a couple eggs and two pieces of bread. I eye the bacon, but my stomach says nuh-huh. I’m fiddling with the knobs on the grill when Nevada yells, “What do you think you’re doing?” She barrels to the back and stands hovering. I can tell she wants to push me out of the way, but her fists remain at her sides. “You trying to take my job? Back off.”
Her reaction is so over-the-top, it dawns on me—she needs this job, and she sees me as a threat. Well, that’s an easy fix. “I don’t want your job.” I take a step back, hands up. “I don’t know what Cora told you, but I have a job. My family owns a diner in Unforgiven, and—”
“Cora told me all about your perfect little life.” She flips on the grill, spreads some butter, and cracks my eggs.
“Perfect?” God, if she only knew.
“Oh yeah. Rodeo queen, the town sweetheart, the local stud for a boyfriend. So, I’ve gotta wonder…” She drops the bread in the toaster, then turns and spears me with a look. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m…”
The light is dim because the sunshade is down, but I know she sees my blush when one side of her mouth turns up.
“I’m on vacation.”
She turns back to flip my eggs. “Oh yeah, probably.”
I squeeze past her to retrieve the cash box from the safe, and when I get back, she hands me my breakfast on a paper plate. “Thank you.”
“Just ask from now on.” She bends to check the supplies in the fridge.
I eat, then step outside to open the truck-wall-sunshade.
“Champ!” The voice cuts through the setup bustle.
My heart gives a soft skip at my rodeo nickname—a mashup of my last name and my barrel racing blue ribbons. Especially being yelled by that voice. I turn just in time to be swept up in Shane Dalton’s strong arms. He spins me around, yelling in my ear, “Hot damn, Champ, the place just isn’t the same without you!”
I put my head back and watch the sky go around, giggling like a teenager. “Put me down, you polecat!” Austin’s best friend is one of mine, too.
“Who you callin’ a polecat, you yellow-bellied sheepherder.” He smiles up at me, then sets me on my feet again. It’s a game we’ve played for years, hurling two-hundred-year-old insults at each other. “God, it’s good to see you.”
He ducks his head, hiding his face under the brim of his hat. “What happened, Carly? Austin is slinking around like a stray cur dog.” When he looks up, the worry in his eyes is a jackknife to my gut. “What could’a happened so bad that would break you two up?”
The eggs are staging a revolt and the toast and coffee are joining forces. “Look, Dalton, I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I spin and, my hand to my mouth, run. I make it to the grass behind the food truck before the eggs win the skirmish.
When I hoist myself back into the food truck, Nevada gives me a raised eyebrow stink-eye. To say that the atmosphere in the truck is better today would be an overstatement. But we do find a way to work around each other—a silent dance that gets a bit easier as the day wears on. She lowers the boombox thump a notch, and I’m careful to write legibly so she can easily read the orders.
Cora has a good reputation with the rodeo crowd, and there’s a line all afternoon. I’m grateful because it keeps my mind off…everything.
The loudspeaker is a background drone to the customers’ chatter and the grease pop on the grill until, an hour in, I hear what I realize I’ve been listening for all along.
“Okay folks, next up is a New Mexico boy, who needs no intro, because he made a name on the circuit years ago. Out of chute four, on Broomstick, Austin Davis!”
A roar rises from the local crowd. They scream and cheer for four seconds, then groan, and I swear I can hear their sucked-in-and-held breaths.
“Hey lady, can I get two cheeseburgers? Hey—”
“Shhhhh!” I’m leaning over the counter, trying to hear over my own heartbeat. I hate it when an arena goes quiet.
“He’s okay, folks, just lost his air there for a minute. Let’s give that cowboy a hand.”
“Dude. Ya gonna take orders, or stand there with your boobs hanging out?” Nevada’s grumble behind me makes me realize that the girls are trying to make a break for it.
The guy in front of me looks like he’s forgotten his cheeseburger.
I straighten so fast my vertebrae pop. “Do you want fries with that, sir?”
* * *
Carly
When night falls on a county fair, magic comes out with the stars. The rides are all dressed in fairy lights, and a veil of enchantment hangs over the midway, accented by screams from the Wild Mouse.
The after-dinner rush is over. Nevada didn’t want a break, so I take one. I pull in the cool-air scent: popcorn, cotton candy, and memories.
See, I believe that everyone has a “Time of Their Lives.” You can tell by listening to people talk. Billy Simmons, Unforgiven’s all-state quarterback, still talks about the homecoming game of ’87. Cora’s was the summer she met her husband. Mine? That rodeo summer with Austin, the year I was Rodeo Queen.
I’d fall out of bed at dawn to feed and groom my gelding, Buttwipe. Oh, don’t feel bad for him. Trust me, he earned the name. He was quicker than slicked snot, but he had the personality of a constipated octogenarian defending his lawn. He’d bite, kick, “accidentally” step on me. And I was his favorite person.
I’d meet up with Austin and we’d grab breakfast with our buds, laughing about the night-before bar antics. Then I’d doll up—hair and makeup, bangles and satin—and borrow a flashy paint pony to carry the flag in for the opening ceremony. Then I’d run for the horse trailer, to change for my event. Rodeo all afternoon, dinner on the Midway, maybe take in a few rides, then hit the bar. Drive to the next rodeo—repeat.
Those were the days. I’d hoped those wouldn’t be The Time of My Life. I’d wanted that to be after we were married, and—
“Carly.”
Though it’s quiet, Austin’s voice slams into me, stopping me faster than a tie-down roping horse. I turn on my boot heel. “Damn, Davis, you scared the pee out of me.” He doesn’t need to know I’m being literal.
“Sorry. I just didn’t want you to get away from me again.” He takes off his hat and works the brim.
I hate that, because I know an apology is coming. And I so don’t deserve his regret…I have too many of my own. “Stop.”
“What?”
He looks up, and those green eyes do what they always do—zap my brain like a power surge to a computer, making me forget everything I must remember. I look away. He isn’t mine anymore, a fact we’ll both know—when I get up the guts to tell him.
He drops his hat on his head, then cups my elbow. “I heard you were working Cora’s truck for a couple weeks. Let’s walk.”
You do not want to do this, my more intelligent side whispers. My dumber side says, “I have to get back soon. Nevada’s all alone.” At least walking, I can focus on the fairy lights instead of him.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I have to say it, even if it makes no difference.”
His glance warms the side of my face.
“Could I ask you this one last thing, that you hear me out? Because I don’t know how to live with myself if you won’t.”
Oh, this is going to hurt. For a long time. But I owe him a lot more than to listen, so this is the least I can do. Not trusting my voice, I nod.
“You were right. One hundred percent. I was selfish, and self-centered. I was avoiding growing up, buckling down and starting our business.”
I hear him draw in a breath, and he stops at the edge of the sporadically lit contestant parking area where the dark hulks of pickups and horse trailers look like sleeping dinosaurs.
Here it comes. I tighten my muscles and straighten, to bear the weight.
“It wasn’t because I was having more fun on the road, or because I didn’t want to marry you.” He reaches for my hand, then changes his mind and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I was afraid.”
This is so not what I thought he was going to say that it takes me a second to process. “What?”
He nods. “I’m good at riding rough stock. Always have been. I don’t get the credit; it’s a God-given talent. But what if I’m not good at raising rough stock? The business end of it? We’ll be married, and babies on the way, and there’d be bills, and obligations, and loans…” He shrugs. “It freaked me out. I kept going, one year, then two, and…well, you were there. Every now and again, I’d look around and see the kids on the circuit and realize there were less guys my age every year, and I’d freak out. I’d go home and tell you one more year.”
I thought I was prepared. But this is so much worse than I anticipated. If Albuquerque had never happened, I’d be falling in his arms right now. I’d be telling him it’d be okay—we’re in this together, partners—and there’s nothing to be afraid of, because…
I hear a sound, and realize it’s a sob, and that it’s coming from me. I put the back of my hand to my mouth to bottle it up.
“I had to tell you. See, it’s not you, Carly; it’s me. You were always my first choice. I just didn’t trust that I was good enough to take it.” He searches my face. He knows me as well as I know him; he sees what I can’t say—that I can’t say yes.
I want so badly to tell him why I can’t. I’m not ready. I’m a coward. I just stand there, words clogging my throat, and watch him walk away.