23. Hailey
Hailey
I head to Cedar Falls with Dean for the second time, this time to pick up groceries and look for a new feed supplier.
It's been a couple of days since I burned my hand—the pain's gone now, but I'm still off manual labor.
In the meantime, Dean and I have been handling logistics, cleaning up the mess left behind by his last accountant.
Their usual feed store recently hiked their prices, so today's mission is to shop around.
As we walk through town, I can feel eyes on me.
Cedar Falls is small—around a thousand people, if that—with a single main street of about a dozen retail stores, a café, a couple of bars.
Behind this, cul-de-sacs curve into neighborhoods, and ranch-style homes sprawl out along the edge.
It's got a frontier charm, but not like the mountain.
The mountain feels wild and open. This place feels tight-knit and closed in—orderly, but not exactly welcoming to strangers.
We visit a few feed stores and collect quotes. Then we stop at the medium-sized grocery store in the center of town for supplies.
As I push the cart down the long aisles, I feel the stares getting sharper. They're not just curious anymore—they're cold. A couple of women openly sneer at me. One huffs and turns away when I meet her gaze.
Well. This is new. It wasn't like this the last time I came here. Sure, people stared then—but it was more curiosity than anything else. This time, it feels actively hostile. Cold. Judging.
Maybe word's gotten out about the sheriff showing up to arrest Reed—and me stepping in. Small towns love their gossip, and I doubt many people like seeing an outsider interfere in what they probably see as local justice.
I don't say anything, trying not to get self-conscious as we finish our shopping and load up the cart. But the tension in the air is thick, and I definitely feel it.
Once we're out in the parking lot, I finally ask, "Is it me, or do people not like you in this town?"
Dean smirks as he walks around to open the door for me. He's got about eight grocery bags in one hand, and even though I offered to help, he refused. Still has a hand free to open the door for me. Gentleman through and through.
"You noticed that, huh?" he says as I slide into the truck.
"I mean, it was kind of hard to miss. Some of those people looked like they wanted to murder me where I stood. Quietly. Politely. Small-town style."
Dean looks amused as he opens the back door and starts loading the groceries. "Let's say… we're not exactly beloved around here."
"Why not?" I ask. "You guys clearly do a lot for the town.
I've seen the books—you supply tons of produce and livestock, and at prices you could easily hike if you wanted.
You're not greedy. That should count for something. And you shop at the local stores — food from the supermarket, animal feed from the farmer’s merchants, fencing and timber and stuff from the hardware store… "
Dean shrugs, sliding into the driver's seat and buckling in like it's just another day.
"Bunch of reasons," he says, starting the engine.
"First off, the guy I bought the ranch from was a known piece of work.
Scammed a few people. They thought he'd go to jail, but when I bought the place, he used the money to hire a slick lawyer and settled out of court.
Suddenly I'm the bad guy because he walked free. "
He pulls out of the parking lot, glancing at me as he turns onto the road.
"Then there's the elected head of the town council—around here folks call him 'the Mayor,' although in fact he's just the council chair. But being wealthy, he’s popular.
Weal. Made some big donations over the years—single-handedly kept the school open for a while before the state chipped in.
They practically worship him. We didn't exactly kiss his ass when we moved in—and Reed definitely didn't help matters by sleeping with his daughter.
And, allegedly, his wife… though personally I think that's probably bullshit, having seen her.
If you believe the gossip, Reed's been with half the female population of this town. Then Lennon’s wife—who was the only one of us they did seem to get on with and have any time for—goes and dies of cancer?—"
"But that’s not his fault!" I interject.
"Of course not. But that’s not how it works, is it?
People around here—well, they know full well how she died, and that it ain’t hardly the fault of Lennon, nor anything to do with little Grace, but that doesn’t make for a good story, does it?
People like a good story. One with a villain in it, by preference.
So they turned it into something suspicious, into something people like to whisper about behind our backs. "
I nod slowly, seeing his point. People prefer interesting gossip to boring truth. I’d seen it myself, both at the accountancy firm I’d worked for, and even at the school in Sudan.
"And finally," Dean concludes, "we’re big and tough and mean looking, and we don’t back down, or take any shit from anyone. So yeah… take your pick."
"Wow," I mutter, forcing a small smile—though there's a hollow stone settling in my stomach.
Not that I didn't know Reed had a colorful past, but still…
hearing it spelled out like that? Yeah, it stings a little.
Assuming it's true. But is it true? As Dean has pointed out so clearly, these small towns love their gossip—sometimes it's hard to separate fact from legend.
"That's a lot."
"Yeah. Lennon's the only one of us who tries to get along with them," Dean says. "Mostly for Grace's sake—despite the whispers about how Georgia met her death."
We drive in comfortable silence for a while.
I roll down the window, close my eyes, and take a few deep breaths—letting the wind wash over my face, the scent of pine needles filling my lungs.
There's something about the air up here.
Crisp. Clean. Pine-scented. It's one of my favorite parts of these trips—the sense of freedom, of space, and of endless possibility.
"Looks like you're enjoying yourself," Dean says after a moment.
I open my eyes and turn to him. "I am."
Through the hard labor, I haven't complained once, because truly, I don't have much to complain about. The work is tough but honest, and I'm trying to show him that I'm not joking about running my farm. I want to prove it to him, and myself, that I'm capable of doing this.
It's become more than that, though. It's become something…
something much bigger in my life than I had anticipated it could ever be.
The place feels right. Those summer vacations with my parents all those years ago are still some of my most precious memories.
Being here once again has brought those memories back in much more vivid detail.
I realize that I feel closer to my parents here than I ever felt in Aurora or even when travelling.
My parents loved to travel. As an anthropologist, it was my mom's work that took her abroad so much.
My father was a lawyer, had his own practice in Aurora, but he had been a keen amateur anthropologist himself.
That's how my parents met, in fact. They had both attended a conference on the Ute tribe where a leading expert was giving a lecture on social and spiritual aspects of Ute tribal art, crafts, and ceremonies.
Apparently, they had been sat next to each other at the lecture, and it was pretty much love at first sight.
Their mutual interest in the Ute tribe and their love for Ute tribal art had been what drew them to vacation in the San Juan County area of Colorado, which had always been a sacred area for the Ute.
At some stage they had somehow acquired the True Heart property, presumably selecting it because its location associated it closely with the Ute.
Now, having come back and spent a few weeks here as an adult, having slept here, swum in the lake, breathed the fresh, pine-scented air, enjoyed the peace and quiet of the countryside that is such a contrast to busy downtown Aurora, or even to most places I've traveled to, I have begun to understand why they loved the place so much.
Why they wanted to make it their home. And now, this connection to my lost parents makes me all the more determined to make things work for me here, come what may.
Besides, there is a mystery here that I have yet to solve.
A mystery that is bound up in the land, in the Ute tribe, and in something that happened to my parents here, twenty or so years ago.
I have received hints in my mom's letters about something that Mom and Dad buried here, it seems, but I have still to unravel its meaning.
At the very least, I cannot go until I unravel this mystery.
And then? And then there are these three boys next door, and darling Grace too.
Could I make a life for myself here? Could I have found the home that my soul has always longed for?
I am not yet sure… but more and more, I feel the pull of the land, calling to me, exactly as my mom had said I would.
As we drive past my own little cabin, en route to the guys' lodge, I spot Reed heading toward it with a tool bag slung over one shoulder.
My heart gives a little flutter. He's been finishing his chores early the last few days so he can work on repairs at the True Heart property.
I've told him more than once that he doesn't have to—that I could hire someone—but he refuses to listen.
Says the contractor I was considering is ripping me off.
Says he wants to help. Says he likes making me smile.