Five
Fiv e
Tait
One air fryer kissed goodbye, an Uber ride, three flights, and two layovers later, I’m in Idaho. Last minute flights are never the most ideal, so my flight path was wonky to say the least. I’d planned on brainstorming the name plan during the time, but the anxiety has my thoughts in disarray. A tangled mess of avoidance.
I can’t go with Taitum. That’s too suspicious and might stoke an ember of a memory that’d have them looking too closely and spotting a resemblance. Responding to LeighAnn might be doable, but that presents its own issues. Picking a fake last name is making me want to scream.
Mentally setting it aside, I chose a less productive path and indulged in some in-flight cocktails in an attempt to calm my nerves. But as I’m riding the escalator down to the baggage claim area, I’m wishing I’d had about three more. The edge I had attempted to take off has been firmly put back on, and I’m no more settled on details .
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and scan the drivers with signs.
It takes about a millisecond to find mine. Viking-cowboy-Thor is a head taller than the rest, even without the cowboy hat. He’s wearing a baleful look on his face, haphazardly tapping the Deacon Publishing sign against his thigh, other hand firmly planted in his pocket. He looks about as excited as I feel at the moment. I’m not shocked that he works for the ranch, since, even from his brief debut, it was blatantly obvious that he wasn’t meant to be working in television. I am shocked, however, that he’s been sent on this particular errand rather than being put to work back on the Range—surely they have other staff for this kind of thing now?
Like calls to like as they say, and his eyes lock with mine. I feel my features arrange themselves into my typical resting bitch face, hardening, shielding over. I refuse to be the first to break eye contact, and manage to make my steps determined. His gaze turns from bored to stern, which only makes mine sharpen.
Right as I’m approaching the proximity that I’ve mentally prepared to greet him in, a ponytail whips me in the face.
“ Oh my god. I totally recognize you. You were in Dollar Mountain weren’t you?” Ponytail exclaims.
He nods and smiles tightly. Of course, the Neanderthal is mute. I decide to leave them to it and beeline for the luggage when I see one of my four bags dropping down the chute onto the conveyor belt. I grab the first bag and wait. Try to breathe through my nose and gain control of these anxious butterflies. Instead, to my shame, tears prick the backs of my eyes. I see the bag with my more precious camera equipment and step closer so that I can get it as quickly as possible.
Part of this anxiety is from the typical worry that everything made it safely, I decide. Feebly.
A hand shoots in front of mine to grab it, but before the expletive escapes me, the owner of the hand says, in a gravelly voice, “Deacon Publishing?”
Ah, I see he managed to escape his fangirl. I sniff. “Oh—yeah, thank you. Nice to meet you.” I think I forget to smile, and turn for the other bag.
“Nice to meet you too… Tait?”
My head whips around so fast I feel something pop in my neck. “Ouch—what? How did you know my name?”
He gives me a bored look and replies, “The luggage tag.”
Fuck.
Christ on a fucking cracker. At least they are very old tags that still say Van Rijckevorsel, I think? He doesn’t ask about the last name, so I don’t mention it.
“I’m Henry. I’ll be driving you out to the ranch. I’ll take these two bags out to the truck and then come back for you, alright?”
I manage a nod.
As soon as he turns to leave, the panic surges. My heart hammers in my throat and the tears threaten to spill over. I’m not going to get to avoid any of this like I’d hoped. I feel like a marionette with my strings being pulled. I’m being played in something that I am not remotely prepared for… Why didn’t I prepare better?
I’m tired and the combination of the cocktails and residual flight anxiety is just getting to me, I decide. After all, I have done nothing wrong here. That family—the one who didn’t care enough to even remain in touch—should be the ones afraid of me. And Charlie… his actions are the foundation for all of this. I am not the one at fault. I am not after anything from them. I’ve made a successful, amazing life for myself in spite of the people who left me. A life I will uphold and cling to with every fiber of strength in me. I’ve got this.
I toss back my head to knock the tears out of my eyes and decide, in that very moment, that I’m here to do my job— one that will result in awe-inspiring photos, and one hell of a story, and there’s no reason for anyone or anything to get in the way of that.