Chapter 13 Bittersweet Memories
Bittersweet Memories
Wes
Isit by the large pond on the west side of the property, watching the leaves on the trees drift to the ground in droves.
This was always my thinking place during my summers here.
Not that I did a whole lot of thinking back then, but when I did, it was always out here with the pulsing music of cicadas and katydids blaring from the trees.
It’s too late in the year to hear their song now, but the crickets still chirp and a bullfrog joins their chorus from about ten yards in front of me.
I glance down at my phone to see I have two full bars of service right here as opposed to none at the house, and there’s a text message from my sister, Quinn.
Quinn
Dad says Pops has you confined to the ranch for eight weeks. Are you going to survive that long?
It’s not so bad. We did it every summer when we were kids.
You getting cold feet about selling? Coming to my way of thinking?
My sister was the only one of us who fought for Pops keeping this place, but in the end, her soft heart couldn’t beat our logic. Pops just couldn’t do the ranch on his own anymore, and it was better to sell it now rather than be rushing to do it if something tragic happened.
Pops wasn’t getting any younger, and I’ve seen firsthand how much longer things take for him now. We were lucky to have Tripp here. To have a large enough herd to pay him to be here full time. It’s time for the old man to retire, but I know it’s a bitter pill for him to swallow.
You agreed that selling the ranch made the most sense.
I agreed it was logical, but I still think we could have spent more time coming up with another plan. He loves that place. Not just the house, but the land, too. He had a story for every piece of it.
A knife twists in my gut and my fingers find the keys in the lingering light of dusk.
You’re not making my job easier.
Good.
This task wasn’t as simple as I thought it would be. It’s not cut and dry, especially since Pops threw a wrench in my plans to be in and out of here in under a week. Still, I want him to see the sense in selling. I don’t want him lamenting the loss for the rest of his life.
How’s the ranch?
I can smell the cow shit from here.
Delightful.
You’ll miss it when it’s gone.
Ha! Right…
A pirate bug lands and delivers a sharp bite. I slap my arm and wipe the bug guts off on my jeans. Those suckers are tiny, but damn, do they hurt.
I stay by the pond until the moon is high in the night sky, bright and orange, thinking about the ranch and what might happen to it when it gets sold off to a stranger.
Will the land get broken up into pieces? Will there be anything left of the old farmhouse I knew as a child? Would I ever be able to come back and walk these same fields and say I remember when...
So many of the best memories from my childhood happened right here on this property.
Pops used to drive us around in the old army jeep he had restored for fun one year. He’d floor it through the pasture, Quinn and I squealing and giggling as we bumped along.
Tripp and I threw a party in the field that the creek runs through and lit a bonfire that almost torched the whole pasture. We spent the next two weeks shoveling shit and scrubbing down the stalls, not just at Dawson Ranch, but at every ranch in the vicinity as our penance.
I got a blow job in the back of the blue chevy on the back road that runs by the pasture to the east and I thought it would always be my favorite spot on the ranch, but then the next summer I lost my virginity under the weeping willow in the height of the unbearable heat of summer.
This place holds a lot of memories for me, but I know it holds even more memories for Pops, and I should bear that in mind when I talk to him.
After my long walk back to the house, I find Pops on the porch, sitting in his favorite rocker in the dark. Despite the day being warm, the night breeze lends a steady chill that bites through my thin T-shirt.
I walk slowly, not eager to have this conversation again. This time, I’ll tread more carefully. When my boot hits the step, Pops’ face creases into a smile and he gestures to the chair next to him in silent invitation. “Where’d you wander off to after supper? I thought you got lost out there.”
I shoot him a deadpan stare that makes him chuckle. I’ve been wandering this place since I could walk. No matter how much time passed between visits, I’d always be able to find my way back to the old farmhouse.
“Maybe just lost in thought then,” he says, shifting deeper into the rocker and closing his eyes. The old chair creaks as he pushes it back and forth.
I lean back and clasp my hands behind my head, taking in the night sky. “Maybe,” I murmur.
“You gonna share what’s been on your mind? Got another message to relay from that son of mine, maybe?”
I glance back over at Pops. He feels my gaze and cracks an eye open. His mustache twitches, but he doesn’t say anything else, just sits patiently and lets me gather my thoughts.
The words I want to say keep getting all mixed and muddled in my head. I’ve never been one to talk about feelings, to know the right words to say when it comes down to it.
Maybe that’s why Hannah left. Any words I had for her were always inadequate.
Suddenly, I feel wrong for the task my father gave me. I don’t know what to say or how to say it to make Pops see things our way. That’s obvious by how easily he roped me in to staying here the first time we talked.
Inadequate perfectly describes how I feel now.
I swallow the gravel stuck in my throat. “We know how much you love this place, but with your health not being what it used to be, selling the ranch is in your best interest.”
Pops’ eyes are still closed, but his lips are turned down into a frown and the chair continues to rock. The familiar creaking of the chair going back and forth soothes my nerves, and I trudge on.
"Being out here, working with you this last week, has reminded me how physical this job is. Are you even supposed to be out working cattle at all with your health the way it is?” I don’t wait for an answer, but trudge on.
"It’s not something you can do anymore, even with Tripp’s help. You have to take care of yourself.
"I know what it means to you. This place is special. There’s no denying that. But it’s time for you to be closer to us. Where there’s a good hospital and family nearby."
When I’m finished speaking, silence falls.
The only sound is the wind crinkling the leaves, slowly discoloring in the trees and the lowing of the cattle in the distance.
The rocking chair has stopped its creaking, and I glance over to see Pops’ chest rise and fall with his deep breaths.
His eyes are still closed, and his features have gone slack.
I’m about to nudge him when a low snore rumbles through his nose and out of his mouth with a gentle pah sound.
I groan as I lean back and shake my head. So much for airing it all out tonight. The old man is fast asleep.