4. Everett
Everett
It’s been a couple of days since I saw Violet at the café, and I’ve replayed that interaction at least a dozen times already.
The way she looked up when I said her name. The split second when she recognized me. Like she had opened a door she didn’t expect to find.
I thought time would make things smaller, that memories would blur the way they do when distance settles in.
But standing in front of her felt like something snapped into focus instead.
She doesn’t just belong here. She fits here. Like every part of her grew roots and decided to stay.
That café isn’t just a business. It’s her. The light, the flowers, the quiet warmth, it all feels intentional in a way I don’t think she even realizes. Or maybe she does. Like she built a space the way some people build a life. Carefully. With meaning in the small details.
And somehow she’s still the girl I remember.
The girl who brightens up a room when she walks into it.
But there is something else now, too.
A quiet weight behind her eyes.
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck, leaning against my truck, waiting for Henry to meet me to get some work done on the ranch.
Back in high school, Violet always felt untouchable in a way that had nothing to do with being popular. She just knew who she was, where she belonged and about what mattered.
I remember thinking that she deserved someone who wasn’t halfway out the door of Lavender Creek.
So, I told myself to stay away. To keep my distance.
The truth is that I was protecting myself too.
Because even then I knew that if I let myself admit that I wanted her and made it known, that leaving would have felt different. It would have been heavier. It would have felt like walking away from something real.
And now there she is.
She’s not a memory. Standing behind a counter in a town I came back to because I was tired of running in circles.
Seeing Violet didn’t feel like meeting someone new. It felt like seeing something important I had ignored before and being given a second chance.
Today I must focus. Henry asked if I could help him do some chores on the ranch. So, we are driving around, fixing up any holes in the fence, and checking up on the cattle.
My parents have 2000 acres of land. There is the main house, where we grew up, and my parents still live, a couple of barns for the horses, a shed that is as big as the main house for tractors and equipment, there are a couple of creeks that run through the property as well and rolling hills and tons of land for the cattle to roam.
Growing up here was so fun as a kid, living with cows and horses, I knew how to ride a horse before I started school.
It was a great place to grow up, with all the land to run around and be free, never feeling trapped, always something to do.
I remember getting in trouble a few times with Dad, nothing serious, mostly me sneaking the tractor out for a joyride or moving a few cows around.
Dad would shake his head, mutter something about “Boys and their antics” and Mom would just roll her eyes.
I still have the memories of realizing ranch life wasn’t for me.
It wasn’t that I didn’t care about the land or the family legacy; it was just never my dream.
I wanted something I could build on my own, a life I could truly call my own without anyone handing it to me.
Something I earned, not just because of my birth order.
I didn’t know exactly what that looked like, and maybe I still don’t.
But I did know it wasn’t cows, fences, and endless chores.
That realization hit me hard because I also knew it would upset my parents, Dad especially.
I could see it in his eyes that he expected me to follow the path that had been laid out for me.
And me not doing that was letting him down.
I’ve seen Dad a couple times since I got back, mostly during the early morning chores or when I swing by the main house before heading out to check on the fields with Henry.
There is a routine to it. He is usually in his old work boots, leaning against the fence, coffee in hand, watching the cows move through the pasture, deep in thought.
I nod, he nods back. Sometimes we exchange a word or two about the weather, the fences, or the animals.
“Looks like rain later this week,” he’d say, looking up at the sky.
“Yeah, looks like it,” I’d say back.
Simple, but there is a weight in the air, something unspoken that neither of us is ready to hash out yet.
There are also the quiet moments, those ones feel the heaviest. Like when he passes me a bale of hay and doesn’t look at me, or when he mumbles something, I can’t understand and then walks away.
I am not used to this careful, measured version of him. It’s cold, but more so like he is holding back, judging whether I’ll stick to the work or if I am going to take off again like he thinks I might.
I keep my tone light when I respond, but it is also impossible to shake the tension beneath.
I can do the ranch work; I am not a stranger to hard manual labor, long hours, and dirt under my nails.
But I feel like he is watching me, not just my effort, but going over the choices I have made, the path I am on, and maybe if I will ever measure up to the Callahan men before me.
I don’t need to win his approval right away, but I hope one day I will.
Maybe once he sees me creating something that is mine, something that I am excited and passionate about.
Until that day comes, I will continue making decisions that make me happy and focusing on creating a future for myself that I am proud of.
I’m in the stables, running through the motions of saddling up my horse, it’s something you never forget how to do. I am hoping a little head start will impress Dad. Ten minutes later, my horse is ready, and I hear footsteps behind me.
“Got a head start on us, I see. Trying to impress me, son?” Dad says, eyes barely leaving the stall door.
I shrug my shoulders and try to sound casual. “Well, I was up, I figured I might as well swing by, see the horses, and take my time.”
He mumbles something under his breath. Part of me wants to say something, but I know better, so I leave it.
“Morning, Henry,” I say, turning to my brother.
“Hey, bro, thanks for helping us today. I know you’ve got the theater to deal with, so I really appreciate it.”
“Hey, someone has to make sure you don’t set the barn on fire,” I say, laughing.
Henry laughs. “Yeah, okay. I’ve seen you ride. The last time you were on a horse, you almost ended up in the pond.”
“You’re missing the details, dipshit, you and your horse almost pushed me into the water,” I say, also laughing.
He shakes his head and laughs again. Henry has always been my anchor. He called me about the theater going up for sale, and he knew it would be the perfect reason for me to come back. He has always been able to read me better than anyone.
I glance at Dad, who is pretending to inspect the horses but keeps an eye on us.
He is still distant, still measuring everything I do against some standard he has.
I can feel the tension, the weight of unspoken conversations.
Today, though, I don’t want to think about it.
Today I just want to focus on getting the work done at the ranch, so maybe I have time to swing by the café before closing to sneak in a conversation with the one person I can’t stop thinking about.
We lead our horses out of the stables and into the morning air. The gravel crunches under the hooves, birds chirping in the distance, and I can’t help but notice how different Lavender Creek feels when you’ve been away for so long.
Henry nudges his horse ahead of me, grinning. “Race you to the creek?”
“Are you serious? You’re on, loser buys lunch.”
I urge my horse forward. The wind hits my face, and for the first time in a while, I feel completely alive. Henry’s competitive side hasn’t changed a bit. We weave through the trails, laughing like we did when we were kids sneaking around the ranch.
“You always thought you were faster than me, but remember that time you tried to jump the fence and landed in the mud?” Henry shouts, looking back.
“I was uh, practicing my dismount. Perfect technique, really,” I yell back.
Henry laughs, shouting back, “yeah, okay, whatever you need to tell yourself.”
We reach the creek, and Henry slams on the reins, stopping quickly. “Ha! Beat you fair and square!”
I slide off my horse, laughing. “Okay, you win. But don’t get too cocky, next round is mine.”
We tie our horses to a nearby tree and sit on the bank for a few minutes, skipping stones into the water. Henry pulls out some homemade jerky and hands me a piece.
“So, how is the theater stuff going?” he asks.
“Nothing is really happening yet. I still have to do a walk-through with the realtor and sign papers. Everything is in limbo until that happens, but I am excited for the challenge, to build something that’s mine.”
Henry nods, agreeing. “That’s the Everett I know, you always wanted something that was yours.”
I glance at him, then turn to look at the creek. “Yes, ranch life was never mine. I loved it growing up, but I want to make my own mark. Something I can build without anyone telling me it is right or wrong.”
“Well, you’re making a good start with the theater. I can’t wait to see you turn that into a place of your dreams.”
We sit at the creek a bit longer and decide we should get to work on mending the fences. Dad would be pissed if we don’t do our job and cattle escape through the holes.
As we hop onto our horses and head out, I realize that no matter the tension with Dad, the little moments, skipping stones, joking with Henry, and feeling the wind on my face, those are the things that make this town feel like home. And maybe, just maybe I can make a life here on my own terms.
It’s nice seeing Henry so happy; he seems to really like it here. I wish I did. It would have been easier in a sense. Staying and doing what I was brought up to do.