Chapter 26 #2
Tate scratches his jaw. “Love just made some. Let me go get the girls and I’ll carry over the drum.”
Sadie leaps. “Ice cream party! Ice cream party! I’ll go get Big Bertha. She loves ice cream,” Sadie says, turning to me, and whispering, “we put her medicine in the ice cream so she doesn’t know.”
Tate sticks out his arm, and Sadie loops hers through his. “C’mon, let’s go round ’em up.”
The two of them head back to Tate’s, and Landry and I are left staring at one another, my camera still rolling.
“You were incredible out there,” I breathe, my heart racing.
He smiles. “You’ve been watchin’ me do that for weeks.”
I shake my head. “But I know I’m only gonna see it a few more times, so I want you to know just how incredible you look.”
We don’t acknowledge what’s not said in that sentence, the way I just reminded us how fleeting we are.
Instead, Landry takes my hand and we tread toward the house.
“Big Bertha’s meds are in the office. Snag ’em for me, and I’ll get the blanket from upstairs, then we’ll meet Tate and the girls on the lawn. ”
I nod, and can’t resist sliding my hands over his sweaty chest, sinking my fingertips into his tired muscles. Stepping on his toes, I give him a kiss and raise a hand to stroke my fingers through his hair. “You did great out there, just want to tell you.”
He winks. “Thanks, baby.” He rolls his neck out as he treads toward the stairs. “The bag is white and on the seat, tucked into the desk.”
I nod and head that way.
Inside the small office, I’m surprised at the amount of gorgeous natural light.
Three large windows eat up most of the main wall, nearly floor-to-ceiling, letting the fiery Texas sun inside.
A photo of Landry from his win six years ago is framed and on the wall, with Sadie’s baby picture tucked into the frame, faded and hanging out.
Dust is on everything, but I’m not all that surprised.
The floors creak as I pass the bookshelves, lined with mysteries and westerns from ages ago.
Spotting the bag on the chair, I make my way to the desk and grab it, but my eyes snag on the opened piece of mail on the leather blotter.
It’s not the insanely egregious number hanging out below the black line, in bright red ink, at the bottom that catches my eye.
It’s the date at the top. Dated nearly six years ago.
This piece of mail—and it hits me then that all the opened letters all around it—are all from that timeframe.
I can’t help but read items from multiple pieces, my mind working overtime to understand what I’m reading.
CLINICAL TRIAL APPLICATION, reads one.
Another, Landry’s signature at the bottom, reads: the patient shall perform all steps required as listed in the trial, with generally accepted standards of good medical practice, as are set forth in Title 9 of the U.S. Code of Medical Regulations.
I think about Tate, and what he said about the farm, and the stack of bills in the kitchen, all of them telling a story about Landry’s struggle after Amelia.
I knew he was struggling. I’d witness the often-bare cupboards, the meals he skips, the bills that come in, and I’ve even wondered how he’s in such bad shape.
I assumed that the burden of being a single father, paired with no longer being in the circuit, led to him being able to produce less, and therefore, slowly sink into debt.
But he’s never touched on being so underwater that he’s going to lose his ranch.
In thirty days.
Another paper catches my eye, and I tug it out from under the others, reading: PERSONAL LINE OF CREDIT EXTENSION REQUEST. Attached to it is what looks like a letter, written by Landry himself.
I know I shouldn’t. My fingers burn at the idea of putting it down, and my gut feels sick at the idea of not knowing what it says. My gut wins out, and I find my hand draped over my face as I read.
FIRST BANK OF TEXAS, brANCH 65.
I know that I have defaulted on my payments on my initial loan, but I am seeking an extension as I pursue other loans in order to continue my wife’s participation in a clinical trial that could save her life.
I stop reading.
The papers fall from my hands, back to the desk. My eyes sting with unshed tears and my heart races. The debt he’s in, it all makes sense now.
But he didn’t tell me.
When we agreed to enter this thing, this fake marriage to get the Montgomerys off his back, we said we’d be honest.
He let me believe that the rodeo and the marriage was for the Montgomerys, to keep Sadie.
With Big Bertha’s medicine under my arm, I leave the office, coming out to find Landry on the lawn, spreading the blanket out. From Tate’s property comes Tate, Love, Petunia, Alice, and Sadie, with baby Lola in Tate’s arms.
That would be me and Landry.
Could it? He didn’t share the debt with me or the reason why he went into debt. We’ve been spending all this time together, long nights in the barn, days in the sun, my camera in his face in pain, in celebration, in frustration.
Yet this huge piece of his story was something he kept to himself. I don’t understand. How can you want a future with someone and not tell them something so big.
Love comes inside, and rests her hand on my arm. I must’ve been in a daze because she says, “Honey, are you all right?”
I nod and ask her to send Landry inside.