Chapter 11
Austin
For a guy who hadn’t been to a store all week, I had a lot more stuff leaving than I’d brought.
Not just the socks and sweats that Seth insisted I keep, but a hoodie and work gloves from Colby, a throw blanket from Tiffany, ropes and emergency supplies, a set of the long jumper cables John refused to take back, and a bunch of food in containers from Davis.
“I’m going to feel stupid if Mr. Bowen asks me to stay,” I muttered to Davis as I packed the containers in behind the seat.
“Would you stay if he does?”
“Hell, yeah. I think.” Ninety-nine percent of me was hoping for the offer. One small percent wondered what I could do on my own, without help.
Davis nodded. “He’s not a man to change his mind, but I’ve suggested he give you a chance when I’ve talked to him.”
“Thanks, dude.” I turned away so he wouldn’t see me choke back my gratitude. Support from a man like Davis meant a whole lot.
“You could’ve waited to pack,” he suggested.
“Nah. If he says I’m gone, I want some daylight to drive those roads.” That was an excuse. Packing after Mr. Bowen threw me out, knowing everyone was looking on with pity, would kill me. I’d get it over with while I could still keep a poker face.
“Makes sense.” Davis stepped aside as Seth came up behind him.
Seth shoved a pillow at me. “Here. In case you end up sleeping in the truck or some fleabag motel.”
I didn’t hold the pillow to my face to see if it smelled like him, though I wanted to. “Thanks.” I tucked the pillow between my now-bulging backpack and the back of the seat, and closed the door.
My poker face was nothing compared to Seth’s. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
We all turned at the sound of an approaching engine. A monster of a dark SUV came rumbling up the drive toward us. Mr. Bowen waved as he drove past, opened the garage door, and steered inside. Instead of heading into the house, he came out and walked our way.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Getting ready to head out, sir,” I told him.
“Unless you think the ranch has room for one more man,” Davis noted.
“Ah.” Mr. Bowen shifted his gaze from Davis to Seth to me. “I suppose you’d all better come inside, then. This way.”
Mr. Bowen led us through the garage, stopping to open the back of the SUV.
I grabbed his suitcase to carry inside. He nodded my way and took his smaller bag.
A tray inside the door appeared to be the place to leave our muddy, snowy boots, and we followed on in sock feet, the hallway tiles cold under my toes.
“Leave it there,” Mr. Bowen told me, pointing to his suitcase and the foot of the stairs, “and come on in my study.”
When we reached the study, Mr. Bowen walked around his desk, set his carry-on on the floor, and sat down. He looked tired, and I said, “Sir, we really don’t have to do this now, if you’d like to unwind first.”
Mr. Bowen raised an eyebrow over one weary eye. “But you’re waiting impatiently to hear what I have to say, right?”
I glanced at Seth. “I guess. Yessir.”
“Right. So.” He folded his hands on the desk. “I ran the numbers again yesterday. I’m sorry, Austin, we’re working on a razor-thin margin, and I just don’t need another winter hand.”
I’d known that was coming, but it still felt like a gut-punch. I hoped my flinch didn’t show. Fuck. What now?
Mr. Bowen continued, “I credited you with eighty hours worked this week, for all the extra time you put in with the storm and all. That gives you over a thousand net, even after I take out basic taxes.”
A hard swallow didn’t dislodge the lump in my throat. I managed, “Thank you, sir,” through numb lips. A thousand dollars was a lot more money than I showed up with, but it wouldn’t last long.
“I’ll add a hundred-dollar bonus for saving Ebony. Seth told me you were the one who caught on to her milk fever first.”
“I don’t need a bonus for doing my job,” I told him.
“Nevertheless, I’m grateful.” Mr. Bowen pulled his laptop close and opened the lid. “Do you have a bank account? PayPal?”
“No, sir. Not anymore.” No bank account, no home, no job, no Seth. The emptiness inside me made my knees shake but I gritted my teeth and stood tall. “I will, when I get settled.” When. If.
“I’ll give you your salary in cash. That way you don’t have to worry about cashing a check.
You’ll sign a receipt.” Mr. Bowen tapped his way through some forms, then the printer on a stand hummed to life.
“Here.” He fetched the pages and set them on the polished surface of the desk in front of me, tapping one with a thick forefinger.
“Your pay stub with all the deductions. I had to take out Social Security and such. A receipt for the cash.” He handed me the second page. “Don’t sign that till I pay you.”
I heard Seth shift his feet beside me, but kept my eyes on Mr. Bowen as he went to a safe in the wall and hid his motions to tap in a code.
He swung the safe open, removed a brown envelope, and brought it over.
“One hundred, two hundred…” He counted out the cash, adding small bills from his wallet and rounding up to the nearest dollar.
I didn’t argue about accepting the pennies.
“Sign there.” He pointed at a line on the receipt and handed me a pen.
I signed, my hand steadier than I expected, and put the cash in my wallet. “Thank you, sir.”
Mr. Bowen eased back down in his chair and looked up to meet my eyes.
“Call me Kendrick. All the regular hands do. If I had a place to offer, you’d have earned it.
I’ve heard nothing but good about you, and not just from Seth.
John speaks highly of you. So does Davis.
But I’m not a sentimental man. I can’t afford to be. ”
I didn’t point out that keeping a seven-year-old beef cow in a box stall was a bit sentimental. I liked that there was an exception to his rule, even if it wasn’t me.
“Come back first of March, if you want to,” he directed. “That’s when I start taking on hands for calving season. The folks who’ve worked for me before get first consideration, and I’ll put your name high on that list.”
“I’ll do that, sir.”
“Kendrick.”
I managed to come out with, “Kendrick.” Dad would’ve popped me a good one if I called his friends by their first names.
He pulled open a lower drawer and slid my receipt into a file folder. “Where will you go now?”
“I’ll start with Tolberg,” I said, not looking at Seth. “See if there’s work in town. If not, I’ll head on down the highway and keep looking. Cost of living’s probably better out here, farther from San Francisco.”
“That it is. California, I tell you. I love my state, but it ain’t cheap.” Kendrick stood and held out a hand. “Good luck, son. Fill that truck of yours from our tank. One last bonus. And keep in touch. Seth said you don’t have a phone number yet?”
I shook hands, my palm damp against his dry one. “No, s— No.”
“Let me know when you do.” Kendrick swept his gaze across the other guys. “Now, I’m going to go unpack and then take a look at Ebony. Seth, ask John to meet me there and he can brief me on the herd. Davis, you got plans for our lunch?”
“Haven’t been to the store, so I figured chili and fry bread.”
“Works for me.” Kendrick nodded to us in a way that could only be considered dismissal.
I backed out of the room and headed for the boot tray, then carried my wet Durangos to the front door.
Seth and Davis followed. In the entry, Davis stopped me with a hand on my arm.
“I’ll say goodbye now, but I wasn’t just shining Kendrick on for Seth’s sake when I said you were worth keeping.
You’re green, but you work hard and you’ve got critter sense.
Even the dogs like you. Come on back when you can.
And Austin?” He peered into my face, his gray eyes intent.
“Don’t be a stranger. Don’t blow Seth off for the sake of independence, you hear me?
It’s okay to lean on your friends if you need to, and we’re your friends. ”
“Okay,” I managed, my throat tight.
He clapped his hat on his head and tugged me into a fast hug. “Don’t get stupid, the pair of you. ’Bout time this ranch had a happy ever after.” Davis swung the door open, letting in a blast of winter air, and ducked out, shutting Seth and me back in our warm space.
I turned to Seth, wondering if he’d heard Davis. Not that it mattered now. “I guess I’m off.”
“We’ll fill up your truck first.” He didn’t look at me.
“Yeah, but…” I wanted to say goodbye without folks around. He’d refused to let me get the word out that morning.
“Don’t.” Seth laid his palm against my cheek and finally met my gaze.
“Just remember you’re coming back, right?
You go into the first big box store you find and get a burner phone and call me so I have your number.
Here.” He grabbed my wrist, pushed my sleeve up to bare the underside of my forearm, and pulled a Sharpie from his pocket.
“This is me. Don’t forget.” He wrote a string of numbers on my skin.
I felt a bit like a kid being sent off to kindergarten, but also like I wanted to get a tattoo of that black scrawl. “I’m not likely to forget.”
Behind us, we heard Kendrick’s footsteps climbing the wooden staircase to the second floor. I got the nerve to lean up and kiss Seth, fast but hard.
He caught the back of my head and kissed me back like I was oxygen and he was drowning. But then he stepped away and began shoving his feet into his boots, so I did the same.
“Chili for lunch,” I joked. “Guess I won’t be the only one getting gas.”
Instead of laughing, Seth said, “You could stay for lunch, I’m sure. Kendrick wouldn’t make you leave unfed.”
“Nah. I want to get on the road.” I tugged my sleeve down over his number. “Now I have to hope Tilly starts after a week off.”
“Right.” Seth unearthed his gloves from his pockets and put them on. “Okay, gas, and a jump if you need one.” He pulled the door open.
“Sounds like a plan.” I squared my shoulders and followed him into the bright white outdoors.
Everything we did felt saturated in a halo of white, layering an air of unreality over something as mundane as the smell of gasoline and manure. I refused to let myself think last time. Enough pouting. I’d be back in March. I had a plan.
Sometime later found me standing beside Tilly as her engine ran, warming for the drive. Colby and Tiffany had stopped to say brief goodbyes. John had waved from the tractor as he trundled hay out to the steers.
Seth stood at my elbow, peering intently at Tilly as if he could see through her rusted hood. “Sounds a little rough. You might get a tune-up when you have the chance.”
“Sure thing.”
“You drive careful, now. There’s always some ice after a storm like that.”
“I will.”
“Those tires look pretty bare.”
I couldn’t deny that, but also couldn’t change them. “I’ll be cautious.”
“Well.” Seth dragged his gaze from the truck to my face. “Call me.”
“For sure.”
He held out a gloved hand, then pulled me into a hug instead. “Be safe.”
“I promise.” I squeezed him with all my strength, my face against his neck, his scent still warm there despite the winter breeze. Then I pushed gently.
Seth stepped back, one pace, then two.
I swung up into Tilly’s seat, closed the door, and buckled in.
Not looking anywhere but forward, I nudged down the gas and drove out of the snowy barnyard toward the lane.
To my left, several of the dude horses bucked and played in the drifts behind the fence.
I could name them all now. A hundred yards further on, we reached the end of their pasture and they whirled away, spraying snow.
The drive curved and descended, icy and rutted enough to force me to concentrate. Up ahead, near the road, the Star & Bar sign swayed from its posts, snow blown into the letters, half-obscuring them. Passing it should’ve seemed momentous but I just felt numb.
Fifty feet beyond, I reached the turn onto the blacktop. I checked my rearview then, once, but the barnyard was too far behind to see if Seth still stood where I’d left him.
No more looking back.
My bald tires slewed sideways as I pulled out onto the county road, then caught traction. I picked up speed and drove west, leaving the ranch behind.
That interminable distance I’d trudged after my failed hitchhiking attempt passed quickly. I flicked on my turn signal and took the entrance to the highway, taking a glance at the signage.
“Tolberg 12 Miles”
“Sacramento 77 miles”
“San Francisco 192 miles”
Someday, I’d go all the way to San Francisco and the ocean.
I hadn’t come this far not to stand where America ended and the sea began.
But for now, I’d start with Tolberg, though my online search on Seth’s computer hadn’t been promising.
If I found nothing in Tolberg, then Sanderville, fifteen miles beyond, and if not Sanderville, Blue Vista, and on down the line.
I’d find a job, pay my way, and bide my time till spring.
I wished the radio worked in this old ride.
Music would’ve been a distraction from the what-ifs, from the memories, echoes of last time it was me and Tilly and an uncertain future that wanted to fill my brain.
I needed pounding lyrics, metal, hip-hop, pop, or even a boring country song about a guy and his truck to pull my thoughts away from the look in Seth’s eyes as he stepped back from me.
Singing should’ve been an option, with no one to hear how off-key I was, but I couldn’t force a note through my tight throat. So I just kept driving toward my next three months, with the sun off the snow making my fucking eyes water.
Yeah, I’d blame it on the snow.