65. The Marshmallow Gelatin Thing
THE MARSHMALLOW GELATIN THING
ELIAS
I arrive at the ranch on Friday after sitting on the news that developers will challenge the land trust.
I have to talk to Braxton. And I need to see Brighton. I haven’t had enough time to do the research I want, but I’m not willing to let it slide because my OCD isn’t satisfied with what I’ve learned so far.
I had no time after the funeral so I spent the last two days in my office buried under mountains of data trying to sort out how the dispute would work, on what grounds the deed could be contested, and what options the Rangers might have to challenge it.
I have next to nothing of substance.
The deed restriction was reaffirmed after Texas joined the U.S.
, so that part is set. I’m missing something and need to figure out what that is, because no developer would spend the kind of money they are to challenge the validity if they didn’t have a legitimate expectation that it would pay off in spades.
I checked Braxton’s house first only to see him striding from the office towards his dad’s house.
I catch up with him, but before I can ask how anyone is doing, Brighton runs from the barn like her ass is on fire straight for us.
Exton is hot on her heels. They both look like deer in headlights as they halt, almost comically, in front of us, just as Mr. Ranger bounds down the stairs of his home.
Surely he’s seen this scene hundreds of times, though I expect not from his adult children. This is a kid’s battle in adult bodies.
Bright passes something to Exton before dropping a Bright-bomb—“Exton is seeing someone.” She bounds away knowing exactly what’s she’s done, and the fallout she’s caused, and adds, apropos of nothing, “I need some water,” before heading up the steps to the big house.
“Happy for you, Exton.” I turn for the porch, while Brighton continues to discuss her thirst for some reason.
I take the stairs two at a time and let myself into her childhood home.
“Brighton.” I stalk toward her.
“Elias,” she returns coldly, staring out the window watching her brothers in the yard.
“You’re not even going to look at me?”
She gives me a cursory head-to-toe before returning her gaze to the scene outside.
“Bright.”
Nothing.
“You’re going to ghost me? I’ve known you for—” I do the mental calculation “—hell, sixteen years. That alone warrants something. Or it should.”
“I met you seventeen years ago this May.” Her voice turns quiet and soft. It holds none of the power it usually does. “You and Brax had decided to get an apartment for your sophomore years. I was twelve.”
“So, sixteen, almost seventeen years. I’m friends with your brother, practically part of your family, and you won’t look at me?”
She spins, her gaze pinning me to the spot. The defiance in her fiery eyes is unmistakable. Without another word, she grabs a glass of tea and slides past me and out the front door.
She’s infuriating.
The woman is not shy. She doesn’t hold her words. She lets shit fly and is usually verbose. But since Monday, she’s had nothing to offer. To me, at least.
When her dad comes inside, it’s to find me looking out that same kitchen window to see Exton and Brighton. She’s toe-to-toe with him, not quite in his face, but certainly no wilting damsel in distress.
“They keep me young but are sending me to my grave at the same time,” Mr. Ranger says.
I extend a hand, and he shakes, heading for the refrigerator. “How are you, Mr. Ranger?”
“Call me Kimp, Elias. You’re too old for this Mr. Ranger shit anymore.”
I nod. It’s not going to happen. I’ve known him since I was a kid and I still feel like one on this land. Or, at least, I feel like I did then… fewer worries, less weighty. I certainly didn’t realize how little I knew back then.
“This place has always brought me peace,” I say, mostly to myself.
“It has that effect for sure.” He offers me a glass of tea.
When Brighton and her brother head back our way, I don’t leave the view. Spring is beginning to bud. The barn looms in the distance. The comfort this place has always afforded me isn’t gone.
I turn when the front door latches home and I hear my name.
“Elias?” Exton calls. “Join us for lunch?”
He looks between Brighton, Kimpton, and me before heading to the fridge and looking inside.
“Looks like every casserole known to man, sandwich tray, fruit, veggies, and some weird gelatin mold. God bless country folk who suspend stuff in Jello. This one looks like nuts and fruit with marshmallows.” His head pops around the door. “Pick your poison.”
“Well, obviously the marshmallow gelatin thing.” I wave my hand dismissively. “I’ll have whatever y’all are having.”
“I’m going with casserole. Living it up while I’m here. I never get this much cheese in meals in D.C.” He turns to his sister. “Bright?”
“Pull out the sandwich tray and fruit? I’ll grab paper plates. What do you want to drink?” She heads to the pantry while Exton fills the counters with half the contents of the fridge.
“I’m covered.” I lift my glass to her retreating back. “Looks like you’re the only one who needs something.”
We eat and chat. Brighton studiously avoids looking at me, and her comments in my direction are limited and generalized.
“Well, I better get back to work. Great ride this morning, Ex.” She claps him on the shoulder as she catches my gaze.
“Elias.” My name on her lips is dismissive.
And so is she. She drops a kiss on Pop’s forehead and leaves the house.
Her long chestnut hair blowing behind her as she heads to the barn.
“I hate to eat and run.” I stand and take my paper plate to the trash and set my glass in the sink. “Not what I wanted to do, but I need to find Brax.”
“Come anytime.” Kimpton says as Exton offers, “Good seeing you, Eli.”
“Same.” I nod. I call neither by name, since I can’t bring myself to call him Kimp.
I let myself out and head back to my car. I’ve accomplished absolutely nothing. No conversation with Brax, no forward progress with Bright. I’m exactly where I was when I arrived, only I’m pissed off and now have a belly full of cheese.