Chapter 15
Griffin
Didn’t matter where I lay my head in the world, I used to sleep like a baby.
Here in the Pass, I’m wide awake at five in the morning, cursing at the dark sky beyond the curtains.
It’s too early for this. Groaning, I put my feet on the floor and hunch over, rubbing my eyes.
Seems I have no choice but to get up since I’ve lain here for the past hour staring at the ceiling.
My body has fallen back into the rhythm of ranch life without my permission.
My mind is groggy despite my muscles itching to start moving, stretching with the day as night becomes morning.
I stand, grabbing my phone from the nightstand to check for messages that came in overnight.
It’s clear, and I’m surprised by the disappointment that floods my system as the little chirp races to the forefront of my groggy mind.
A quick pit stop to the bathroom doesn’t help with the exhaustion.
Splashing cold water on my face revives me somewhat, but it will take some caffeine in coffee form to really get me moving.
I bypass the closet, knowing nothing from high school or even college will fit me anymore.
I’m a few inches taller, and my shoulders aren’t shrinking despite playing ball a lot less over the years.
Sliding on a pair of jeans, I kneel to dig through a box of clothes I shipped from St. Louis when I was sent packing.
I pull a solid light blue cotton shirt with pearl snaps along the front from the box and slip it on.
It slides easily over my bicep, and I know I’m good to go.
It slips on, so I snap the front closed and tuck it in, remembering one of the golden rules when working around farm equipment: loose shirttails lead to losing limbs.
After digging out an old pair of socks from the dresser, I reach over the sneakers to grab my old boots that are as well-traveled as I am. The leather has softened, but the form still holds strong.
Standing in front of the wall with hats that range from Little League to pro ball caps, I shift to the cowboy hats.
Black felt is too hot, and my beige one is too formal.
I pull the lighter summer straw cowboy hat from the wall and set it on my head.
It’s snug but fits the way it should. It’s identical to the one I gave Cricket four years back.
Wonder what ever happened to that hat. Broken in just right, soft around the band, but the brim still stiff and holding its shape.
I don’t regret giving it to her because damn, she looked so fucking incredible in it, but I do miss it.
I leave my room but stop when a flashback of the sun flooding this landing, the curtains my mom made hanging wide open, comes back.
She always put special touches around. I wish I had paid more attention when she was around.
I can still feel her in the details—floral curtains at the top of the stairs, a teacup on the side table my dad never put away, the blanket she handmade using all my jerseys from my childhood draped over my desk chair.
Dropping my head back, I close my eyes and soak in the memory, letting the comfort of being near her again wash through me.
Mom may not be here, but I know she’s watching over us.
And sometimes I can even still hear her voice calling me downstairs for breakfast, in the creak of the steps when she used to come wake us up in the morning, and through the calm breeze after a passing storm.
I open my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s good to be back as I breathe a little easier, feeling more attached to this life with each passing day. My mom’s death was a catalyst. Maybe being home can tether me again.
Heading downstairs, I pause when I hear the TV. The volume is the lowest, just above silent. I continue down, quieter this time, and see the top of my dad’s head over his recliner. “Can’t sleep?” I ask, entering the living room.
I hadn’t realized he was actually asleep. His lap is covered in a blanket, and an empty cup sits next to him. I walk more carefully into the kitchen, but I know I can’t make coffee without waking Dad. So I slip out of the house and make my way through the first spot of light to the barn.
The large spotlight hanging over the entrance shines bright, so when I open one of the doors, the horses start to softly neigh as if I caught them off guard.
I walk to Sunrise, my sister’s horse, and open the stall.
Letting her mosey out, I know she’ll stay close.
She’s always been a good horse, not one for trouble like Nightfall has found himself in a few times.
I take a brush to her coat, allowing her to get used to my presence.
My sister is a lot lighter than I am, so I’m not sure how she’s going to appreciate the extra weight, though she’s more than built for it.
And since Nightfall is the bigger horse of the two, my brother-in-law rides him most of the time.
Sunrise rubs her head against me, causing me to smile. I rub her nose and then fit her with a bridle collar and headgear. There are options of saddles, but I go for the one my dad used to ride when he was running the place.
It doesn’t take long before I’m riding again.
Learning to harness the power beneath me, the ways in which the horse listens to commands or reacts, and speed will come when I’m ready to let her loose to run.
She gallops down the grassy knoll and heads straight for my sister’s house.
It’s a good reminder of who’s really in charge around here.
When she stops about twenty feet from the front porch, she starts to graze, and nothing I do—from asking politely to trying to lead her in the other direction—deters her from her current mission. So I sit and wait.
The front door opens. My sister pushes open the screen door with my new niece in her arms. She doesn’t say anything at first, the grin getting her amusement across loud and clear. But then she says, “Looks like you’ll be here a while. You’re welcome to join us for breakfast.”
Leaning forward, I ask, “She’s not going anywhere, is she?”
“She’s loyal through and through.” Christine steps to the railing of the porch and holds her hand out.
Sunrise comes without a command to get nose rubs.
My sister leans forward and kisses the bridge of her nose and then holds her baby up and whispers, “Look at the pretty horse, Julie Ann.” Looking off to the trees in the east, she smiles. “Sun’s coming up. Come on in.”
I hop off, not bothering to tie Sunrise to the railing.
She’s got a mind of her own and seems to do as she pleases.
I follow them inside the house and get a cup of coffee before taking over scrambled egg duty while Christine changes the baby.
I pull the bacon from the oven and plate up the eggs, lining the sides with toast. I cut them on the diagonal, like my mom used to do.
By the time I get some company, breakfast is served.
My sister says, “You didn’t have to finish—”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind earning my keep.” I pull out the chair for her and tuck in under the table.
Tagger walks into the living room to find us sitting down. “Morning. You’re here early?” Though I suppose it’s not a question, it still rings as one.
“I’m ready to be put to work.”
He kisses the top of my sister’s head as he walks to the other side of the table to sit. “I have plenty of that this morning.”
We eat but don’t take long. With the sun rising, it will only get hotter.
Fortunately, Sunrise is more compromising now that she’s had her visit with Christine and takes directions as I follow Tagger around to the far field where the cattle have been.
We round them up and drive them to undeveloped back acreage.
The wildflowers are in full bloom out here.
Bluebonnets and prairie fire splash the green landscape with swaths of color.
Cricket Dover shouldn’t come to mind, but there she is, making an appearance with a smile so bright that I can’t stop thinking about her.
Tagger and I stop the horses shy of the fence line near the cliffs and look out across the land. “You played like a pro yesterday,” he says.
I glance over at him. Unlike my brother, who always seems to have something up his sleeve, or an idea that he’s testing for reception, Tagger is straightforward. “I miss it.”
He nods. “Sometimes I miss hearing sirens.” Chuckling, he says, “Who would think I’d be missing New York and the constant noise of the streets?
” Sitting back in his saddle, he looks over at me.
“I go back occasionally for a meeting or to visit, and that’s all it takes to cure me. It’s heaven out here in comparison.”
Picking up what he’s dropping down, I get the unsubtle hint. “My body couldn’t handle playing pro ball anymore.” I look out ahead at the view, adjusting the brim of my hat higher on my forehead. “So I don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“You always have a choice. You’re just choosing not to go out in flames.”
I chuckle. “I did that the first time.”
“You ever going to talk about what happened?”
“Talking about it never did me any good, Tagger.”
Nightfall sidesteps, anxious to get going again.
Animals are in tune with humans, so he’s probably feeding off my energy.
Even with a trusted friend by my side, someone who only wants the best for me, I don’t sit in my discomfort for long.
I usually book a plane ticket and get out before the feeling has time to settle.
“Did it do you any harm?”
“Drudging up problems from the past and opening old wounds doesn’t sound like a good time to me.” I back my horse away from the view, turning to face the cattle in the distance, chewing on wildflowers and tall grass.
He turns his horse around, sidling closer.
With his gaze locked ahead, he says, “One day, you’ll find out that running away from your problems only landed you right back in the middle of them.
You can face up to them now or later, but the toll will eventually have to be paid.
” He and Nightfall take off running, leaving me stuck with his advice.
He’s probably not wrong . . . I know he’s not. But why’d he have to be so right?
We finish up and return the horses to the barn for water and hay, but once that’s done, Tagger says the ranch hands have the rest covered for the day.
If I thought baseball was hard, this is about to break me.
I forgot how hard this work really is, so I take the opportunity to shower and clean up.
I pull on a clean tee, slip my dusty boots back on, and grab my hat before heading out.
I’ve been running away for years, but for the first time, I feel the need to run toward something instead. I get in my truck to see a girl about a date, and if I’m lucky, another kiss in Dover County.