Chapter 16
Liz
When I open my eyes, the first thing I notice is the warmth of Camila's thigh between my legs. The sun still hasn't begun to rise, and the Hendersons' rooster is already crowing. Rosa used to say that was a bad sign; she always reminded me it usually meant trouble.
I don't move, because if I did, she'd wake up, and I love watching her sleep. Either way, there's not a single sound outside. The dogs aren't asking to go out yet, the calves aren't lowing for food. Everything's quiet. Maybe too quiet.
I kiss her hair. It smells like lavender with a hint of sweat. She mumbles something in her sleep, I can't make it out, but it brings a smile to my face anyway.
I let her rest a little longer and head down to the kitchen.
It smells like strong coffee; Rosie Henderson is already making eggs, bacon, and refried beans.
On the fridge door, Camila's put up the to-do list. In Spanish and English so everyone can understand it, like she's done every night for the past month.
The ranch hands take their seats at the table. We talk about pasture and cattle. About the lack of water. About old Relámpago's health or the upcoming rodeos.
Suddenly, we hear a car engine. It's still early, but it's not the sheriff's car, or Mr. Henderson's pickup, or T-Lee's Harley.
“I'll get it,” I announce.
A courier climbs out of the vehicle with an envelope in his hand, sweating like he'd just crossed the desert on foot.
“Eliza Harper?” he asks, reading the name on the addressee label.
“Liz, that's me,” I say, nodding.
He hands it over. It's thick, stiff, with a red band on the flap and one of those return-receipt stamps.
“I need your signature,” he adds, showing me a tablet.
“How do I sign on that?”
“With your finger,” he explains, looking at me and gesturing like I'm an idiot.
I do the best I can, but it still comes out awful.
It looks nothing like my signature. I point it out, ask if we can redo it, but he says it doesn't matter, it's just a formality.
He leaves without saying goodbye, slamming the car door way too hard for this place, and, for some reason I can't quite figure out, he leaves me feeling like I just signed a deal with the devil.
Camila appears behind me. She wraps her arms around my waist and kisses my nape. She doesn't say anything, but then she takes the envelope and slowly shakes her head.
“Good news doesn't usually come with a return receipt,” she mutters through clenched teeth.
It's so stuffed with papers that the first ones spill to the floor. The logo of one of the Alamogordo banks sits in the top corner of the letter.
“I don't understand any of this,” I protest, handing the letter to Camila, though some words ring in my head like a nightmare: “LINE OF CREDIT CANCELLATION,” “IMMEDIATE PAYMENT OF THE FULL BALANCE,” and further down, the figure. It's a sickening number. Three more zeros than I can process.
Camila slaps the papers down on the table, and only when she looks up do I see the fear in her eyes.
“It's bad, isn't it?” I ask, lowering my voice to a whisper.
“The bank reviewed the last loan Rosa took out and decided to cancel it unilaterally.
I need to read the terms carefully, but at the very least they should have contacted us.
In any case, they say we have thirty days to pay or they'll auction off the ranch,” she explains, and my blood runs cold at her words.
We fall silent. I knew Rosa had signed that loan; it was three years ago, during the big drought. Every ranch around here had to look for financing. We'd been paying it down bit by bit, what we could, but we rarely fell behind, and they never raised any objections when it came time to renew.
“Is... is this my fault?” I ask, scared.
I open the fridge, though I don't know if I'm looking for a beer or just don't want to meet her eyes.
“No, it's not your fault, Liz. The line was renewed every year without trouble, and the payments were almost up to date,” she assures me as she keeps reading the terms of the contract.
“But is that even legal?” I press. “They can't do that, can they? What about the other ranches?”
“It's legal. It's... aggressive, but legal. It's in the contract. There's a clause that says it's renewed year by year, and, in theory, they can refuse to renew it, though they should've contacted us to find a solution. I'll talk to them,” she adds with a long sigh.
I watch as she talks to several people at the bank, both at the Alamogordo branch and the head office in Santa Fe. Not understanding any of that weird jargon is a bitch, and the desperation on Camila's face and the curses she lets slip every time she hangs up tell me things aren't going well.
I want to scream, smash something, drive to Alamogordo and punch the bank manager in the face, but all I can do is watch her make call after call, only to hear the same thing every time.
“Shit, I think I know what might be going on,” she blurts suddenly, biting her lower lip as she dials a number on her phone.
“Cami, I just heard about your bank. How awful! Are you okay?” Michelle asks on the other end of the line.
“You just heard, huh? Wow, news sure flies from Alamogordo to Chicago. Who would've thought?” Camila says, sarcasm dripping, clenching her fists.
“You know how those small banks are, they never come through. It's a shame. That never would've happened to you in Chicago. But this is how you like life now—wild, right?”
Camila doesn't answer, and apparently Michelle takes the silence as an invitation to keep talking.
“Look, I don't want to pressure you. But my offer still stands.
We can sort out the ranch. I absorb the debt, you walk away with good money, you give something to those cowboys you've got working there, I keep the land.
Anyway, you come back to Chicago, and everybody's happy, right? Let me help you, please,” she adds.
“Was it you?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Michelle, it was you,” she repeats, and what I hear before she hangs up isn't a question anymore, it's a statement.
“What a fucking bitch!” I growl, slamming my fist on the table.
Camila doesn't respond. She just sits in a chair and buries her face in her hands, repeating some version of “I can't believe it” over and over as her eyes fill with tears.
Outside, Relámpago whinnies as Alba leads him off for a checkup. It's a weak sound; he doesn't have the strength he had years ago, but it reminds me we're going to fight until there's nothing left. Because that's what we do in the Tularosa Basin.