Chapter 20
Liz
Dawn wakes us to the smell of smoke, but maybe something more as well. Solidarity, friendship, fight. Holding on to what’s still standing after the fire has burned through part of the ranch.
The view from the porch is a patchwork of scars: blackened patches and ash, puddled ground, the facades of buildings stained with smoke.
The workers say good morning with a simple nod, with that sad silence that follows calamity.
The southern pastures are a barren wasteland, acres and acres of a future lost, at least for this year.
Not even the few children on the ranch laugh.
All you can hear is the cattle lowing, maybe wondering when things will get back to normal.
In the end, the land can survive almost anything.
I’m not sure I can say the same for the people who work here, waiting in silence for Camila to give us some news about the loan that comes due today.
And her expression doesn’t bode well.
“I’m so sorry,” she sighs as she drops into a chair, her eyes red. “The bank refuses to grant an extension. We have to pay today or they’ll foreclose and we’ll go to auction.”
“Word in town is a fancy lady from Chicago has been meeting with the bank manager. You can imagine who,” I remind her.
The workers curse, spit on the ground, look away. The Ortegas’ grandmother murmurs prayers in a corner. They know nothing will ever be the same.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Mrs. Henderson asks, afraid.
“Nothing, I’m sorry. We’ve lost the ranch,” Camila admits, slowly shaking her head as she wipes the tears rolling down her cheeks with the heel of her hand.
“Wait, wait, y’all, you gotta see this!” T-Lee suddenly screeches, waving her cell phone in the air. “You’re not gonna believe it. Remember Liv? The one who face-planted when the chickens were chasing her?”
“Yeah, the one with the Ferrari. Hard to forget her, even after everything that’s happened,” Camila admits.
“She started a GoFundMe asking for funds to save the ranch. She blasted the videos on her social media platforms, and you can’t imagine the reach that woman has. Well, several people started other GoFundMes, but hers is the biggest and...”
“Will you get to the damn point already?” I protest, slapping my hand on the table.
“I’m getting there, don’t interrupt. Point is, with just what that woman has raised, we can already pay off the ranch’s debt.
With the rest of the money, we can rebuild the losses and even modernize.
We’re saved, damn it. See? All thanks to the influencers’ videos you wanted to kick out of here,” she jokes, showing us the numbers.
“Tessa Lee, I’m not in the mood for jokes right now,” I growl.
“It’s true, Liz,” Camila sighs. “And the messages of support are... hell, I’m gonna cry again.”
“I don’t get it,” the Ortegas’ grandmother protests. “You’re going to save the ranch with memes and messages on that social media thing?”
“With money,” I mutter through my teeth. “Real money. With small donations from thousands of people. Seems that’s how miracles get built these days, Grandma,” I add, shrugging because I can hardly believe it myself.
Faces around us light up one by one. Some people hug, others cry quietly, the Ortegas’ grandmother shakes her head and covers her mouth, as if she’s just witnessed an apparition.
The ranch is ours again.
***
No one wanted to miss the trip to Alamogordo, not even the kids or the elderly, though only Camila and I go into the bank manager’s office.
She looks over the papers one last time before signing the mortgage release while the manager’s face is the very picture of defeat.
“And this is a letter to close the ranch’s account at your bank and the accounts of all our employees,” she adds before we leave.
Camila walks out holding the documents that cancel the mortgage tight against her chest, like a treasure she won’t let anyone snatch away.
Outside, the ranch hands are waiting, bunched up by the pickups, and the moment I give them a thumbs-up, Mrs. Henderson brings her hands to her mouth and starts to cry.
“It’s done!” Camila shouts. “The ranch is ours!”
Main Street erupts in cheers and applause, drawing curious looks from passersby. Diego Henderson lifts his little boy into the air while T-Lee whistles through her fingers like we’re at a rodeo.
But the celebration stops cold.
A black Tesla glides to the curb with an electric whisper. Michelle Pryce steps out with a predator’s purpose, looking at us over the top of her sunglasses.
The mood shifts completely; instinctively, the workers group together, forming a kind of wall around Camila. Mr. Henderson spits chewing tobacco onto the ground with contempt. His sons take their places beside him, arms crossed and eyes hard.
“Well, well,” Michelle greets, walking toward us with the kind of confidence that comes from being used to everyone stepping aside. “Looks like there’s a little celebration here. Are you saying goodbye to the ranch?”
“A very big celebration,” I correct her, not bothering to hide how much I hate her now. “In fact, we’re going to invite all the neighbors to a big party.”
Michelle ignores me completely and fixes all her attention on Camila, as if the rest of us were invisible. To her, we probably are.
“Cami, sweetie. I hope you haven’t done anything foolish. We all know how impulsive you can be. You didn’t cosign the debt or take out another loan, did you?” she adds in a condescending tone she’s probably practiced in the mirror.
“Foolish?” Camila repeats. “You mean paying the ranch’s entire debt? Canceling the mortgage? Stopping you from getting your hands on our land in a rigged auction with the bank manager?”
Michelle’s smile disappears at once, even more so when she sees the Ortegas’ grandmother walking toward her, leaning on her cane and one of her grandsons.
“So you’re that snake from Chicago,” the old woman growls, looking Michelle up and down as if she were a cow with some deformity. “You look like a bitch.”
“Ma’am, watch your mouth,” Michelle protests, though she backs up when the grandmother threatens her with the cane while T-Lee tries to record the scene with her cell phone.
“You wanted to take everything from us,” the old woman insists, having to be held back by her grandson.
“Camila. Be realistic. You’ve managed to pay this debt, fine, but what about the next one?
And when the next drought hits? Or cattle prices fall?
This place is going to ruin your life. The money problems will never end.
I admit I’ve behaved badly. Why don’t we start the negotiation from scratch?
I’m willing to offer you more money and. ..”
“Go to hell, Michelle,” Camila spits. “I thought you were my friend, I considered you a kind of mentor. In the end, I should thank you—you’ve shown me what I don’t want to be.
You’ve made it crystal clear I don’t want your life no matter how much money you make.
See all these people? They’re my family.
The family I choose,” she adds, earning murmurs of approval from everyone.
“Family? For heaven’s sake, they’re your employees, not your family. Business is business, honey. It’s nothing personal.”
“Of course it’s personal!” Camila yells.
“It’s my life! It’s the lives of all these people!
And that shows how little you understand about life despite your money.
Not everything is business. These people taught me, supported me, took me in.
When you and the bank tried to steal our land, they fought beside me.
When the fire threatened to destroy everything, they risked their lives to save it.
That’s not just work, Michelle. That’s family. ”
The Ortegas’ grandmother moves closer. There’s no getting the anger out of her now.
“In my parents’ day we’d have covered you with hot tar and then feathers. Maybe we should do it now,” she threatens, raising her cane again.
Michelle backs away, alarmed, stumbling slightly on the curb.
“You’re a bunch of savages,” she complains, smoothing her suit with her palms before opening the Tesla’s door.
“Dude, you should see your face right now. You look like a deer in the headlights,” T-Lee jokes, setting off a big laugh from everyone present.
Michelle pulls herself together as best she can and speaks directly to Camila, already seated in her car.
“When this pretty rural dream turns into a nightmare, when you realize you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life, I won’t be there to back you up. Stick with your cowgirl and the dirt of your ranch!” she shouts before rolling up the Tesla’s window and disappearing from view.
The Ortegas’ grandmother thumps her cane on the ground.
“Well done, Mija. Rosa would be very proud of you,” she says.
And as we head back to the pickups to start the long drive to the ranch, I know the old woman is right. Rosa would be proud of all of us.