Chapter 21 Everett
EVERETT
Yesterday feels a bit like a dream.
Carter Mallory has been a sleazy, well-dressed thorn in my side for long enough that I’d given up on making him eat his words.
Watching him splutter insults through hose water and seethe at Mary was something straight out of a fantasy.
I had a hard time falling asleep last night because I couldn’t stop laughing about it.
As if the hilarity of the situation wasn’t enough, Mary also looked so furious.
The thought of her protecting the ranch like that makes me feel warm all the way down to my toes. Maybe she really does want to take this thing between us seriously, if she’s willing to step up to bat and put herself in the middle of it all.
I could use a shoulder to lean on if we’re going to try to turn all this around.
Hell, I could use more than one. If I can convince Mary to stay and manage to scrounge up something resembling a good relationship with my daughter, I’m willing to do damn near anything.
Jenny is probably going to take more effort than Mary, considering we’ve got almost a decade of arguments to work past.
I guess the best thing to do is just try. It doesn’t matter where I start, as long as I start somewhere.
With that decision made, I pull down two plates and two cups from the cabinet. Mary sleeps in later than Jenny or I do, so we’ll have some time to chat. Just the two of us, just like old times.
I rustle through the pantry to gather ingredients, memories of birthdays and graduation celebrations long past swimming in my head.
French toast was always Jenny’s favorite, and it was one of the few recipes Laura ever bothered to write down.
I’m not a disaster in the kitchen. I picked up enough tips during the cancer years, but I’ve also made some frankly awful meals when I’m on my own, so it’s better to stick with something that has guidance.
Besides,it’s comforting to pull out the well-worn scrap of paper from the drawer and know that this recipe is truly ours. I run my fingers over Laura’s sloping handwriting, smiling softly to myself.
After I’ve gotten deep into the French toast process, Jenny steps into the kitchen. She peeks over just as I’m piling an extra piece onto her plate. We both pause for a moment to stare at each other, and she looks taken aback, but doesn’t say anything.
It’s probably as positive a reaction as I can hope for, so I turn to dust powdered sugar over both of our plates.
She always likes more than Laura ever put on her plate, and I positively douse her stack with sugar before turning toward the table.
Jenny has already taken her usual seat, staring down at her coffee like she’s not sure how to react.
“I only have blueberries,” I say, “but I know you don’t like them, so I figured I’d keep things plain.”
She looks startled when I slide her plate over to her along with a fork, but I can’t tell if it’s because of the offer of breakfast or because I remembered she hates blueberries.
Only took me her whole life to get that through my skull.
“Thanks,” she says hesitantly. “Syrup?”
I nudge the bottle closer to her as I take my own seat across the table.
She pours a ridiculous amount of syrup over her stack before passing the bottle back to me.
It’s hard to keep a smile off my face at the thought of us sharing breakfast. Sure, the air is thick with tension, but this is the first time in years that we’ve actually sat down for a meal together.
I suddenly wish Wayne was here, too, but I don’t know if I’ll ever see my son at this table again.
“What we talked about the other day…” I say, keeping my eyes on my own plate. “I was serious. I want to fix things around here. I want to fix things between us.”
She watches me for a long moment, almost like she’s waiting for me to say I’m joking. Her eyes are untrusting, but hopeful, and I hope she can see the tentative hope on my own face. I’ve never been great with words, but I need to be serious right now.
I need her to understand that I’m serious.
“How do you plan to do that?” she asks.
I expect the words to be sarcastic, but she sounds honestly curious.
“I… I don’t know,” I say honestly. “It’s not something I can figure out on my own. I don’t expect you to take charge, but I don’t know how to do this.”
Her lips twitch, edging toward a frown, and I rush to explain myself. I can’t lose this chance. It’s likely to be the last one I’ll ever get.
“I want you to enjoy being around me again,” I say.
“When you were a kid, we’d go ride on the tractor, and you’d tell me all your plans about how you wanted to run the ranch when you grew up.
I want to hear those stories again. I want to make them real.
” I take a deep, wavering breath, meeting her eyes firmly.
“You said you wanted me to act like your dad again. That’s what I want to be.
I want to be your dad, and I want you to be my daughter. ”
I can’t outright ask her for help, but she can read between the lines. She’s known me long enough to know exactly what I’m saying.
“Alright,” she drawls, nodding as she sits back in her chair. “So you’re open to suggestions? You’re not going to tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about, or that I’m oversimplifying things? Or tell me that I need to listen to my dad, even if I’m the one who is right?”
I grit my teeth against the instinctive frustration that starts to build. She’s right, and letting myself get annoyed over her telling me the truth won’t do any good. It’s time I start admitting to myself that she’s right more often than not, too.
“Yes,” I say, and the word comes out with a sigh of relief. While some of the tension seems to fade from her shoulders. “I trust you, Jenny. I want to do things right this time.”
She hesitates again, and I can see her trying to decide whether to believe me. All I can do is wait and hope that she can find it in herself to trust me.
“If you want to do things right, we need Mary’s help,” she says, staring me down.
“She’s right about her approach. We sat down last night, and what she’s got is really good.
If we can develop good relationships with retailers and local markets again, we’ll see a huge upswing in sales.
Duffy Jr. completely reworked the business, and he’s supplying national chains from local farms. It’ll be uncomfortable, but we should go talk to him. ”
I wince at the thought. As much as I would love to get the ranch back to its former glory, it’s just unreasonable.
“We only have three months,” I remind her. “I think trying to get those ideas up and running in that time span is too much work. If we downsized, even just a little—”
“Absolutely not,” she says, frowning heavily. “We can talk to Duffy Jr. and go from there. He’s got good connections. We can make enough to keep the bank at bay for a bit longer and then focus on more permanent solutions.”
I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face and holding on to my patience.
“Jenny, I wish it was that easy, but we can’t just run into this blindly,” I argue. “We should get things to a manageable size and figure out how to prioritize the things we need to focus on.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, and I can feel the tentative peace that was between us beginning to dissolve already. Both of us are annoyed, and we’re both too stubborn to give an inch. If I was smart, I’d step away so both of us could cool down.
“Or we can stop bullshitting around and actually do something,” she says witheringly. “I’m not going to agree to sell half the ranch just because you can’t be fucked to go to a meeting or two.”
“Why are you and your brother both so against selling?” I shout, my frustration boiling over.
“Because this is all we have left!” she shouts right back. “The ranch is all either of us have of Mom, and it’s all we have of you, too. You became a whole different person when Mom died, and we’ve had to deal with everything on our own! Al has been the only help we’ve had, and now he’s sick, too!”
My heart shatters into a million vicious, aching shards. They cut deeply when I draw in a ragged breath, and I want nothing more than to disappear. I wish I could step back and excuse myself, but my pain takes over, and I snap, glaring at my daughter.
“I loved your mother,” I say. “Part of me died when I lost Laura.”
Jenny’s face screws up into a grimace, the same face she’s made since she was a kid, and I realize she’s trying not to cry.
“We loved her, too,” she replies. “Wayne and I lost both of you when she died, and you’re too wrapped up in your own goddamn feelings to realize that all we want is our dad back. It’s bad enough having one dead parent without losing the other one, too. Especially when he’s still alive.”
I shove up from the table, unable to look her in the eye.
She’s right, and I know it. I have nothing but guilt and pain left in me, and they feed off each other.
I should have known better than to try to fix things, be it with the ranch or Jenny.
Everything I touch falls apart these days, and I don’t want to touch my daughter with these hands.
It’s not what any of us want, but selling is my only option at this point.
We need the money, and we’ll manage with less land. My kids will probably never forgive me, but it’s not like it would do them any good to forgive me, anyway. It’ll be better for both of them if they use their anger toward me to fuel their own paths in life.
I’m not good for anything or anyone nowadays.
The best I can do is try to make things a little easier for my children, even if it means making them hate me. I can survive that. I’ve survived everything until now, one more disaster won’t kill me.
“I’ll be outside.” My voice is rough, and neither Jenny or I look at each other, allowing the silence to hang tense and heavy between us. “Enjoy your breakfast.”