Chapter 17 - Rust
RUST
“Are you in there?” Tally’s voice drifts from outside the barn.
Christ! I should’ve spent less time searching the chaotic shelves in the back for my on-the-go toolbox and more time hiding the evidence of my obsession with my wife.
She made her no-feelings-policy clear.
What will she think if she sees my old Ford F150, the same truck that we shared all our firsts in?
The first time I confessed my love to her and kissed her with only the summer rain as a witness.
The first time I took her on the bench seat, a sudden, mutually desperate surrender to the tension we’d been fighting for months.
I rush to grab a large tarp and fling it over the truck as the barn door creaks open. Tally strolls inside, purse slung over her shoulder and armed with a pout.
“I thought you were packing the truck, but I saw our bags still out on the porch.” She studies the space, eyes dangerously sharp. “What’s goin’ on in here?”
“N-nothing!”
I gesture wildly, trying to stall for time while I untangle the knot in my tongue. That’s when I lose my footing.
Fuck, I should’ve cleaned up that oil spill from last week.
My boot slides out from under me. Hollering, I flail and make a valiant—and vaguely painful—attempt at the splits before I catch myself on the tarp.
“I-I was looking for my tools,” I choke out. “No mechanic goes on a road trip without emergency tools.”
Tally’s eyes widen to saucers. A beat of silence stretches until I realize she ain’t looking at me. She’s staring at the bright red paint peeking out from under the tarp.
Fuck. Me.
She points. “Oh my God, is that Yolanda?”
My stomach tightens as I brace myself for her reaction. “Yep, it’s the old girl herself.” I pat the polished front fender and pull off the tarp.
One corner of her mouth ticks up. “I can’t believe you kept her!”
A flash of heat crosses my face. “I mean, she’s a classic. An investment. Dad bought her back in 1993 and they don’t make ‘em like this anymore. Great resale value for a collector!”
Tally snorts. I’m pretty sure she sees right through my pathetic excuse, but she gracefully plays along.
She walks up to the passenger side and opens the door, climbing in. I’m glad she’s keeping far away from the driver’s seat cause I doubt she’d appreciate finding my half of our wedding polaroid stuck to the sun visor.
I stand in the open door, watching her.
“We should take Yolanda on one last adventure,” she says, stroking the bench seat like a kitten.
“You want to go on a road trip in my old truck?”
“Why not? She looks like she’s in great shape. Not even a speck of dust anywhere.”
I puff my chest out. “I’ve taken perfect care of her since Dad passed her down to me on my eighteenth birthday.”
A faraway look comes over her. “I admit I’m a little jealous.”
“You’re into cars now?”
She shakes her head sadly. “I just wish Momma left me more to remember her by than a trailer full of empty bottles. I didn’t even go to her funeral cause I didn’t know it was happenin’!” She lets out a thin, hurt laugh.
My ribs pinch. “I’m sorry, Trouble. I had no idea Kim passed on.”
“I didn’t know she was sick in the first place. Cancer, I was told. Hell, I only found out she died when the guy running the trailer park called me to collect outstanding payments,” she whispers, voice thick with grief.
I swallow the lump of emotions sitting like a brick in my throat. “Breaking off contact was her decision. Not yours.”
“I know…” she says flatly.
A memory blazes to life in my head. I was there the day it happened, when Tally packed for Nashville and her mama lost it.
‘You’re just like your good-for-nothin’ daddy, leavin’ me all alone. If you walk out this door now, you’re dead to me, Tally. I never want to see you again!’ Kim shouted.
Tally curled up in the passengers seat, back convulsing with sobs as we drove away and my hands gripped the wheel so tight I thought I’d rip it out. That was when I realized there was a kind of pain I couldn’t protect her from.
I still can’t.
The best I can offer her is one week in the cab of this truck and my company.
She wipes at her eyes. “Did you know Momma moved to Florida so I couldn’t find her? I had to hire a PI to track down my own mother!”
“I only heard that Kim left Redbird Creek a while after I came back. Must’ve been around the time your debut single released.”
Her chin trembles. “I tried to be a good daughter, but I was never good enough for her. Not even when my name lit up billboards and my albums topped the country charts. She never responded to my letters or picked up my calls. I sent her money, too, but she returned my cheques.”
I squeeze her arm. “You were a good daughter, even if she couldn’t see it.”
A lone tear rolls down Tally’s cheek and the hurt in her eyes is a blade through my chest.
“It took me until after her death to realize that she was sick long before the cancer. I mean the drink and her anger,” she says, voice small.
“You did everything you could,” I try to reassure her, but it feels like my words fall short. Nothing I say can mend that hole in her heart.
“To Momma, being born as my daddy’s daughter was my gravest sin. Having his eyes. His smile. His love for music. My existence was a constant reminder of the man who broke her.”
“None of that was your fault.”
She gives a fragile smile. “No, it wasn’t. But I also can’t blame her for hurtin’.”
I exhale a heavy breath. “You can’t help somebody who doesn’t wanna be helped.”
“You always know what to say. You’ve always been like that. Do you still remember what happened at our first gig in that horrible dive bar off the highway in Lexington?”
I nod. “You were so nervous you forgot the lyrics and my hands shook so hard I couldn’t get a single chord right. They booed us off the stage.”
“I sobbed until I hyperventilated. But you bought me ice cream and said we gotta fail before we can get better. You cracked stupid jokes until I finally laughed.”
An inward gasp catches in my throat. “I can’t believe you still remember that.”
“I remember every time you were my rock and I’ll remember today, too. Thank you for letting me vent. Comin’ home has dredged some shit up, but it feels good to finally talk about it.”
I tap my chest. “Being raised on a ranch means I’m an expert at shoveling shit.”
“Speaking of the ranch, where are your folks? Did they move elsewhere to enjoy their retirement?”
An involuntary, miserable noise leaves me. Its echo spreads like ice through my bones, numbing me.
Tally stiffens. “What’s wrong?”
I consider sugar-coating things with nice euphemisms and gentle metaphors, but she deserves the truth. My parents were practically her family, too.
“One night, Dad didn’t come in for supper after mucking the stable. I found him face first in the hay. Heart attack.”
Her eyes turn glassy. “Oh fuck.”
“And Mama…” I grit my teeth, swallowing the grief threatening to take away my voice. “The doctors called it early onset dementia, but I reckon she couldn’t handle life without him.”
“Rust, I—” A sob cuts her off.
“After Dad was gone, I sold the animals to focus on caring for Mama. I couldn’t work and burned through our family’s savings, but it was worth it to be there for her. She went downhill fast. In the end, she didn’t even remember who I was. She kept calling me by Dad’s name.”
Tally flies against my chest, embracing me. “I’m sorry you had to carry all that pain alone.”
The warmth of her soft body melts the frost inside me, pouring life into my veins. I press my nose into her soft curls, inhaling her sweet perfume as my hands wander over her back.
“It’s alright, Trouble. I did what I had to. I took care of Mama and that’s what matters.”
She glances up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “You always take care of everybody, Big Guy. But who takes care of you?”
It’s a simple question, yet suddenly, I’m breathless. God, I need her to stop looking at me like that—not with judgment, but with understanding like she sees right past the smirks and the jokes.
I force a smile. “Come now. I’m a grown man. I don’t need nobody taking care of me.”
Tally huffs and I know she doesn’t buy it. I’ve had similar discussions with Caleb, but he never pushes me when I put up my defenses. No such luck with her.
Her voice comes out rough. “It’s not right! I should’ve been there for you and for them. Fuck, I’m so damn sorry I wasn’t here!”
My ribs tighten. I can’t let her feel guilty for living her life.
“Tally, you have nothing to apologize for.”
“No, I should’ve been at Walter’s funeral and I should’ve been here to help you care for Frankie when she got sick!”
I cup her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “You listen to me now, alright? What they went through, what I went through—it was just life. It wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t your job to pick up the pieces.”
“But I owed them. Your parents did so much for me,” she says weakly.
“They helped because they wanted to and because they could. But my folks didn’t expect something in return. You had dreams to chase and they were so proud of you for achieving them.”
Tally’s brows arch. “They… were? They didn’t hate me for leaving?”
“Mama bought every album you released. And Dad recorded every holiday special, every talk show appearance. Any time you were on TV, he taped it like it was still the 90s. If you look in the cabinet in the living room, you’ll find a shrine to your career.”
She hugs me tighter, trembling. “You’re not just sayin’ that?”
“They wanted you to be happy, even if that meant a life far away from here and from them. I never told a soul what happened in Vegas, but they gathered that we broke up. None of us expected you to set foot on this property again.” I laugh.
“Guess I need to send a thank you card to ‘Uncle Barry’ in the afterlife. His involuntary sacrifice brought you back to me.”
“You think this is fate?” she asks.
“I ain’t got a clue. Maybe it’s part of a grand plan we’re too small to see.”
She sniffles. “Not sure I believe that.”
“Me neither. But I’m still glad you’re home.”