Chapter 46 Lucy
By Thursday, I still don’t have a plan to take to Indy, and I’ve not been able to see Reese. We talk every morning and every night, but it’s not the same. I’m starved for his touch, completely smitten with him, and not scared about it one bit.
I’ve already made all the desserts for the diner, and everything seems to be runnin’ smoothly since Briar and Sydney are on shift.
So I duck out early and call Indy. I’ve got to check on her.
She wasn’t herself at the market Saturday, and then when I called her about my night with Reese, she was clearly still in a funk.
Her phone rings and rings, but she doesn’t pick up. Instead of waiting for her to call me back, I head over to their ranch. Some bestie time may be in order.
The long driveway is covered in trees with thick foliage, creating a canopy that covers their driveway. Their house sits first, with a circle gravel drive where they park their vehicles out front. Indy’s truck is here, along with her Dads.
Parking my truck beside hers, I walk up the porch steps to the front door that’s standing wide open, the screen door squeaks when I open it.
“Well now, Lucy,” Indy’s Dad says from the couch, putting down his beer and newspaper. “It’s been a month’a Sundays since I’ve seen you. You doin’ alright these days?”
“I am Mr. Turner,” I smile, allowing him to wrap me up in a hug. After my parents died, the Turners really became like second parents. Even though I was older, they still showed up when I needed them since mine couldn’t, and never minded when I was always at their house.
“Indy’s ‘round here somewhere,” he says, waving his hand around. “I’m just takin’ a break while Mama’s out.”
“It was good to see you,” I tell him, with a wink and he chuckles. Heading out the back door, I walk until I can hear the sound of buzzing.
Indy’s in her bee suit, with the smoker. I guess she’s still harvesting. I love watching her work, the way she moves slowly and sings softly is so peaceful. She’s always been an animal whisperer, someone who could calm anything on God’s green earth.
It’s no surprise she took up with the bees.
After watching her for a solid ten minutes, she notices me and stops. Walking away toward the little shack she uses to extract the honey, I join her. Peeling off the suit, she’s sweaty underneath, her farm t-shirt soaked through.
“What’re you doin’ here, Buttercup?” She asks by way of greeting. It’s so cold I can’t help but feel like she’s trying to brush me off.
“Somethin’s off with you, Goose,” I watch her face, waiting for a change. She remains indifferent, so I continue. “Are you alright? Please talk to me.”
She sighs, it’s heavy and filled with meaning. But she doesn’t say anything, instead she goes about setting up her work station and hanging the combs up for spinning.
“I’m worried about my parents,” she whispers, hands still occupied by the combs she pulled from the hives. “If we don’t have the camp, they’ll stop goin’ to–” She sighs, “You know what that was like for me. And I’m not ready for that.”
“Goose,” I start, reaching out to grab her arm. “I’m still tryin’ to figure it out–”
“Buttercup,” she cuts me off, “you don’t have to save the world.”
“I’m not tryin’ to save the world, I’m tryin’ to save your world.”
She smiles, it’s small, and she tries to hide it, but I can see it. “I’ve been wrackin’ my brain, you know.”
I nod, understanding, because I have to.
“Mama’s workin’ hard this year, bringin’ out all the stops for the kids we’ve got here now, hopin’ they’ll come back.” She sighs and turns around, “But if we don’t have the funds to run it, what would they come back to?”
“We’ve got time,” I promise, even though I know how much goes into planning an event like this.
“I don’t know if that will even be enough,” she presses her fingers into her eyes and twists her mouth to the side.
“How much?” I ask, knowing the turmoil on her face personally. I remember how the ranch and the diner struggled before the rodeo made Goldspur a permanent mark. If it wasn’t for Uncle Scott and LuAnna, our family wouldn’t have stood a chance.
“No, Lucy,” she scoffs, turning back around and refusing to look at me.
“I want to help!” I shout, “This is what family does.”
She turns, leaning her hands against the small counter of her shed. “You have your own things to worry about, I’m not givin’ you a number.”
“Fine, then I’ll guess,” I pull my phone out, and she smacks it away.
“Stop, Lucy.” She grits her teeth, “I won’t take any of your money.”
“I know you don’t want to accept this, but I’m more than willing to help. I’ve got money saved, and who knows, maybe one day you can repay the favor.”
“I said no, Buttercup. You know I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Like I said before, you’re not askin’ I’m offerin’. Now how far behind are you?” I ask, feeling my stomach sink at her blinking back tears.
“Not far, I’ve been able to keep us afloat, skimmin’ on things here and there,” she sighs. “But it won’t last, and the campers this year are pretty hard on the horses.”
“Heath’s become pretty adept at shoein’,” I tell her. “Material’s can’t be too bad, and Heath’s always willin’ to help.”
She wipes her eyes and smiles, “I’ll take him up on that if you’re serious.”
I nod and step toward her, pulling her into my arms and hugging her for a long time.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs into my shoulder. “I’m happy for you, you know. You and Reese, you deserve to have that in your life.”
Laying my head on her shoulder, we share a moment of silence and she offers me a pair of gloves.
Pulling them on, we work on the combs. I don’t know all the logistics, and she only allows me to pour the golden liquid into jars, but it’s nice.
Enjoying time with someone in silence is sometimes the best medicine.