28. Sutton
28
SUTTON
Wells’ words hang in the air, laden with unspoken pain. I stare at him, my mind racing to grasp the weight of what he just said.
“I don't understand,” I finally utter, my voice barely more than a whisper. “What truth?”
Waiting for Hank to be the one to confess, Wells stays quiet. All he does is place a hand behind my back, nudging me toward our father, still huddled under the canopy of pines.
Hank takes a shaky breath, and I see a vulnerability in his eyes that I've never witnessed before. “I have ALS.”
He says the words so simply it takes a moment for their true meaning to register. My mind whirls with disbelief and denial, but my father's blank gaze tells me that this is no cruel joke.
I take a step closer, saying the first stupid question that comes to mind. “Dad... Are you sure?”
Wells finally speaks, his voice filled with the grief he's been shouldering. “He was diagnosed six weeks ago, but he’s been showing signs for a long time now. ”
My mind races, trying to make sense of the reality crashing down around us. My father, a pillar of strength and resilience, is now faced with something that will tear down that core center of his being. Within seconds, the ranch, the legacy, everything I thought I knew shifts. Things click into place.
The rushed wedding.
My mother’s and sister’s insistence that I come.
Wells’ unpredictable emotions.
My father gone so often for “appointments.”
His shakiness.
The dropped pie.
His exhaustion.
His anger.
My throat constricts as I look between Hank and Wells. My father’s words reverberate through my mind. Our legacy is in your blood. I suddenly realize the true meaning of that. He wasn't just talking about the ranch. He was talking about our family, about the burden he can’t bear alone.
My voice breaks as I promise, “There has to be something you can do. Maybe a clinical trial or—”
“Sutton,” my father says, cutting me off, “I’m not going to spend the last of my time on this earth in a hospital. I won’t do it. I’ll go to my checkups. I’ll do my physical therapy. If it gets bad enough, I’ll pay a nurse to help me around the house. But I’m spending as much time as I can on this ranch. With my family.” The resolute stubbornness in Hank’s gaze is as solid as ever.
Adrenaline, still slick and hot in my veins, surges through me. They kept this from me. My family has been suffering in silence while they kept me in the dark, outrageously oblivious, outrageously self-absorbed.
A bitter taste fills my mouth, tasting far worse than the blood, and I feel the pounding of anger—no, defeat—rising within me. I step away, raking a hand through my soaked hair. “How could you not tell me?” I continue, my voice shaking with frustration. “I could have been here. I could have helped.”
Wells, still as amped up as I am, laughs sharply. “Right. Like how you were so helpful after Duke died.”
His words hit me in my gut, more painful than any of his punches.
“Wells,” our father says, his monosyllabic warning enough.
The anger inside me flares again, and I grumble back at Wells, “Don't bring Duke into this. I was already a year into NYU when he died. You think I should have just abandoned that to come back?” I flex my hands as if I can force my frustration out through my fingertips. “I’ve spent years trying to build a life for myself, to find my true place.”
Wells' gaze is harsh and unforgiving. “I changed my plans. I was going to go to college too, you know. But I knew I had to be here for Frankie, for Mom and Dad. I was only sixteen, and I knew I would stay for them. Taking on Duke's responsibilities, working hard, I never once considered leaving this family.”
“How was I supposed to come back? I came home to find you sleeping with my girlfriend in my truck,” I snap, scrambling for anything that can even out the argument I know I’m losing.
“You left because I bruised your ego?” Wells’ loud, biting words bounce off the mountains.
“You know that wasn’t the only reason I left. I was never meant to stay at Silver Ridge.”
Wells paces in tight circles. “Don’t give me that bullshit . You were raised on this ranch same as me. You learned to rope, to ride, to rodeo. From the time you were born—from the time we all were born—we knew this place would be a part of us. You just chose to shut that part of yourself out.”
“Fine!” I throw my arms into the air, spiraling further out of control. “Maybe I did. But I couldn’t be here, couldn’t bear to look at this place. And it wasn’t just about school, or Cassidy, or my dreams. Really, it was about how all I could think about when I was here was Duke . Everywhere I looked, there was another reminder that he was gone. His room, his boots still at the door, his stupid horse! It was like losing him over and over, day after day.”
“Coward,” Wells hisses.
Hank tries to mediate, his voice anything but gentle. “Enough, both of you. What’s done is done.”
It feels like someone has hollowed me out. I sag to the ground, guilt dampening the fire that was roaring within me. For a few minutes, we sit in silence while I grapple with all this new information. No matter how I look at it, though, there’s only one way forward.
“Wells is right,” I eventually say. “I was being a coward. I couldn’t face the loss of Duke. Maybe I still haven’t.” I pause, trying to fight my way through the mental static in my ears. “I should have been here. But this time, it’ll be different. I'll stay. I'll be here for the family.”
Hank’s expression doesn’t soften. “I don’t want you to resent the ranch. I don’t want you to come back and be miserable and angry.”
“I was miserable knowing that I missed out on the last year of Duke’s life,” I say. “I’m not making that mistake again with you. That would be misery.”
Wells' ever-furrowed brows lift with a mixture of tentative relief and surprise. Hank nods, just once, in approval.
“What about Laine?” Wells asks, still unconvinced that I’ll actually stay this time .
I try to set my jaw the same way Hank does. “What about her?”
It takes hours for the lightning to let up and the rain to slow enough for us to make the trek back to the house. Below me, Duke’s horse is still skittish from the weather, and his hooves slide around a bit in the thick mud. I’ll have to work more with him from now on.
From now on.
Even though the storm has subsided, there is still one stirring within me. In my mind, the life I thought I was working toward has shattered. I cling to the pieces, trying to make a new, complete picture. But it’s no use. I know what I have to do. Beyond that, I know what that means I can no longer have.
No New York.
No becoming an editor.
No her.
I can’t bear to think of her name, even though it whispers in the back of my mind, boring into my skull. That perfect, vibrant color of her lipstick clouds my vision, painting my world in a beautiful, terrible wash of red.
Before her, my life in the city was all work. Long hours. Internships. Letters of recommendation. LinkedIn updating. Ambition and goals and drive.
After her, it felt like I could live again. Her presence eased my guilt about leaving my family, and I could laugh and breathe again.
No matter how hard I try to stop it, mental snapshots of the last four months shuffle by, as clear as if I were seeing printed photos. Her pink hat on the first day of class. Her smile at the date auction. Morning coffee runs. Late-night study sessions. Literature discussions with Cyrus and art lectures from Althea. Thrifted red cowgirl boots.
Hank, Sutton, and I ride in silence all the way back to the barn. After putting Duke’s horse away, I shuffle back to the house, each step taking mindful effort. The stairs inside look as long and steep as Everest, so I take them one by one, dreading the inevitable.
I stand for a long time outside the guest room door. Then, unable to go another second without seeing her, even if it kills me, I open the door a crack.
Laine left one of the bedside lamps on, allowing me to see her splayed out on the bed, on top of the messy covers. She still has makeup on, and it’s a bit smudged. Her short black hair and bangs are just as wild, and her brows are knit, even while asleep. Beside her on the bed, my worn copy of Peter Pan sits face down, only a few pages left.
I wince at the sight of her in my sweater, already knowing I won’t be able to stand wearing it again.
After a mere look at Laine, I feel my will crumbling. Everything in me wants to join her, to tuck her under the covers with me. I could kiss along her neck and draw lazy circles on her arm as she drifts deeper into sleep. Maybe she would stir enough to smile up at me, and everything else could fade away, even if just for a moment.
But if I go to her, I won’t be able to tear myself away.
Even unzipping my bag to find a pair of sweats and a fresh shirt would risk waking Laine. So, after retreating to the hallway and closing the door behind me, I walk to Wells’ room and knock at his door. When he opens it, I see Cassidy on his bed behind him, under the covers, her cheeks pink. Her smile fades when she sees me, sees the layer of blood and mud across my clothes.
“Uh, sorry,” I stammer, shaking my head and averting my eyes to the floor. “I was just going to see if I can borrow some clothes to sleep in.”
“Yeah, of course,” Wells says, ducking back into his room before reemerging a moment later with a small stack for me. He doesn’t hand them over right off, though. Instead, he holds them under his arm, raising an eyebrow. “What happened to the clothes you brought?”
“They’re in the guest room.”
Wells’ silence tells me that wasn’t enough of an answer.
“I can’t go in there tonight,” I mutter.
Coward . I hear Wells’ voice echo back through my mind. Coward. Coward. Coward.
“Wells?” Cassidy calls from the bed. We both look at her. Those familiar emerald eyes are wide, questioning. “Does he…”
“Yeah,” Wells says, “he knows.”
She looks at me then, years of friendship and love clear across her face. “I’m sorry,” she says, barely loud enough for me to hear.
No response feels right, so I just give them a weak nod and shuffle to the bathroom. After peeling my muddy, wet clothes off, they fall to the ground with a heavy thump.
In the shower, my body tingles, thawing from the rigid, cold hours we spent on the mountain. The water runs dark for five minutes, cutting slowly through the blanket of dirt and blood. I scrub my entire body, wash my hair three times, and finally, when the water comes off clear, I dress in Wells’ clothes. All the while, I think about my father.
With Laine in the guest room and my old bedroom still full of storage boxes, I’m left with no choice but to lie out across the living room couch and pull the wool blanket over me. I rear back at the smell of Laine’s perfume, all too familiar, laced into the fibers. I throw the blanket to the ground. Before setting my phone down for the night, I pull up a new email, typing and sending it to Imagineer Books without bothering to mull over the right wording or even check it for errors.
I regret to inform you I must turn down the offer to work at Imagineer Books, effective immediately, due to unforeseen family matters. I am grateful for the offer. If the situation was different, I would be eager to join the team.
Sutton Davis