Chapter 9
Camila
The alarm clock doesn’t go off, because you don’t need one on the ranch. Not when every morning the Hendersons’ rooster crows like he’s getting paid good money for it, followed by the cows’ protesting moos and, lastly, Canela’s hysterical barking as she chases something only she can see.
I pull the pillow over my head and want to scream, but I take a deep breath, yawn, stretch, and suddenly a strange idea pops into my head.
“If you don’t send Diego to fix the windmill this week, he’s going to start thinking he’s on vacation,” she reminds her.
My arrival barely registers; it’s become routine. There’s a smudge of something on Liz’s chin. I know because her mouth is slightly open, and I can’t stop staring at her lips.
“Liz. Can we talk for a second?” I ask, sitting down beside her.
She looks at me, surprised, her fork still halfway to her mouth.
“We should throw a barbecue,” I blurt. “Here, on the ranch. Like Rosa used to do, only bigger. I’m talking everyone: the Hendersons, the Ortegas, the neighbors who helped us on the day of the floods, even the sheriff.”
Liz lowers her fork, slowly, and you could hear a pin drop in the kitchen.
“And you want to do this... when, exactly?”
“Saturday,” I announce, maybe too fast. “No, wait. Friday night would be better. Rosa always said the ranch only survives if the neighbors help it survive. We can bring in a band, or at least someone who can play guitar and sing. I’ll pay. For everything,” I add.
Mrs. Henderson is the first to give in. She lets out a laugh, shaking her head and pressing a hand to her forehead.
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all week, Liz. We could use the distraction, and it’s only right we do something to thank the neighbors for lending a hand. Besides, Rosa’s barbecues were a real tradition.”
Liz finally looks up.
“Are you sure about this?” she asks. She doesn’t want to say yes, but she’s already halfway there. I’m starting to recognize when she’s just putting on a tough act.
“Absolutely sure,” I answer without hesitation. “It’ll be good. For the ranch. For everyone.”
Liz glances over at the Hendersons, who nod, and then she huffs.
“All right, go ahead. But I don’t want it to interfere with the ranch work; we’ve got a lot to do. Oh, and you’re in charge of everything,” she adds, pointing at me with her index finger as she lifts her eyebrows.
By ten a.m., I’ve got all the tasks organized thanks to Mrs. Henderson, who even puts me in touch with the only mariachi band in the county, half of whom work at a pizza place in Alamogordo during the day.
***
When Friday arrives, the ranch is a hive of activity. All the cowhands hustle to finish their chores so they can help with the preparations. Diego and his little cousins help get the coals ready and set a line of trays piled with meat next to Mrs. Henderson.
They assign me to hang the lights. There are boxes of them. Most are old and mismatched; they’ve probably seen a whole lot of celebrations like this.
The sun has barely finished bleeding out behind the mountains when the first wave of pickups and SUVs appears, all dust-caked. Soon, the night comes alive, thrumming with energy, maybe with hope, or maybe it’s just the memory of all the other nights like this my grandmother once hosted.
Every surface not reserved for food gets used as a seat, including bales of hay. On the makeshift stage, the mariachi band tunes their instruments while they drink beer.
A little girl, perhaps eight, comes up to me.
A few smaller kids trail behind her, all of them already sticky-faced from something sweet.
She slips a piece of paper into my hands and smiles.
She doesn’t say a word. There’s a drawing of a cow, a huge sun, the mountains, and two stick figures holding hands.
They giggle and run off before I can ask what it means.
“It’s supposed to be you and Liz,” explains Alba, the vet, lifting her beer bottle in a toast.
By ten, there are at least fifty people. Some I know by sight; many I’ve never seen in my life. Alba points people out: the man who fixes our tractors, the woman who sells the feed, the family my grandmother let stay on the ranch for five months when their house collapsed because of a tornado.
Sheriff Colton comes up to me with a plate of ribs. He’s been arguing with Mrs. Henderson about how to get them just right and wants me to taste both to decide who cooked them better.
“Many of these families depend on the ranch one way or another. You’re doing a good thing for these folks, same as your grandmother did. The town appreciates it, even if they’re as stubborn as mules and don’t say a word.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He smiles, sets the plate of ribs on the table, and I’m left with a strange feeling in my chest.
Everyone’s enjoying themselves. Really enjoying themselves.
It’s the kind of night that makes you believe in a better future.
These people put their lives on the line every day doing a very hard job, and they make me remember Liz’s words when I arrived at the ranch.
“We’re cowboys, Camila. It’s a way of life, not a damn job.
But you wouldn’t get it in a million years. ”
I think I’m starting to get it.
But my joy ends too soon. I can almost pinpoint the exact moment everything seems to stop. It’s completely out of place, like a pink cow or a horse with wings. Michelle shows up in heels and one of her tailored suits, and my heart sinks.
As soon as she finds me, she gets straight to the point.
“You were supposed to call me,” she says quietly, stepping up beside me.
I try to smile, but I don’t think I manage it.
“I’m sorry. It’s been...” I glance around at the watermelon rinds and spilled chile on a table while I search for an excuse that makes any sense.
“I just wanted to see you before I leave for Chicago. You were really weird at the Santa Fe conference, and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she announces.
Then, tipping her chin toward the mariachi band as they start a slower song, it gets worse.
“Dance with me? For old times’ sake.” It’s a command dressed up as a question, because she takes my hand and practically drags me onto the floor.
She moves with confidence, not caring in the slightest that everyone is watching us. It should feel almost familiar. We’ve done it plenty of times. Instead, it feels like an audition for a part I don’t want anymore.
“Why does that cowgirl hate me so much? The ranch foreman?” she asks, leaning in to whisper the words against my ear.
Liz is standing, leaning against a post, hands in her pockets, and if looks could kill, Michelle would be on the ground writhing in pain.
“I think you can do a lot better, Camila,” she adds with a contemptuous click of her tongue. “I’m sure that woman stinks of sweat.”
The song ends, and Michelle drops my hand.
“The cowgirl’s waiting for you,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “I’ll be fine; I just wanted to see you before I go.”
I don’t hesitate. I don’t ask if she’s sure. I cross the yard and take my place beside Liz.
“Well, I see you survived,” she snorts.
“By the skin of my teeth,” I sigh. "Wanna dance?” I ask, holding out my hand for her to take.
Liz gives me a puzzled look, lifts her eyebrows, surprised, but steps onto the dance floor with me.
To say she dances badly is an understatement. She moves like a duck, with an almost endearing clumsiness, but the way she holds my hand feels infinitely better than with Michelle.
I close my eyes and let her sway me off the beat. She says something about how she dances better to country music, but I barely hear her; I’m too focused on the brush of her hair against my cheek and the way her thumb makes soft circles in the palm of my hand.
When the song ends, we stay still. People applaud the mariachis, though it sounds far away.
“You can stop pretending, you know? I know I’m a terrible dancer,” she admits, shrugging.
I want to make some smart remark, but the words are gone. Instead, I put my hands on her waist and kiss her.
It’s not fireworks or the crash of cymbals. It’s a simpler, better kiss. A return to our clumsy, secret kisses from that summer years ago. The certainty that this place is worth fighting for. And when she kisses me back, it’s like the last piece of the puzzle suddenly clicks into place.
I hear cheers and applause. A few whistles. Someone shouts, “About time, boss!” I hide my face in her neck, kiss her, and laugh.
Over her shoulder, I see Michelle walking away toward her car.