Chapter 7
Joel
“What do you think of Ol’ Girl?” Jack, one of my ranch hands, asks me as I switch my granddaughter, Amelia, from my right arm to my left.
He eyes the mare, eyeing her swollen belly.
We’re inside of the stable where I keep the five of my horses. Today’s the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and I usually have eighteen-month-old Amelia on Tuesdays since her mom, Savannah, Ace’s wife and Aiden’s mother, works her longest shift on Tuesdays.
“It’ll be soon,” I say. “That foal is coming before Christmas.”
“Ba-bye!” Amelia holds up her little hand to wave at one of the other black quarter horses that just neighed.
I turn her to face closer to the horse so she can wave and watch it but just out of reach.
She giggles when it neighs again.
“Well, I’ll keep a good eye on her in case you’re not around when she starts to go into labor. You think it’ll be a smooth birth?” Jack asks.
“Should be.” I nod. “Although, it’s her first so she’ll probably be frightened.”
He nods. “We’ll take care of her, right, Ol’ Girl?” he asks the horse who bobs her head and continues eating. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work. Good seeing you, Amelia.”
The sound of her name catches my grandbaby’s attention.
“Bye!” She waves as Jack saunters off in the opposite direction.
“What should we do while we wait for your mama?” I ask Amelia as I head to my main office, about a quarter mile from the main horse stable.
She looks up at me with wide, golden eyes.
“Nothing, huh?”
Amelia giggles when I start to tickle her belly.
“Are you hungry?” I ask as we enter my office, which is only a little bigger than a trailer.
I slap my cowboy hat against my thigh a couple of times to clear the dust off before hanging it on the wooden hat post by the door.
“Let me see what Grandpa’s got in this here fridge for you,” I grumble.
“Eat,” Amelia says when I open the fridge.
“Now you want to rush me, huh? I was the one to remind you it’s time to eat.”
“Eat!” she demands, her little voice growing stronger.
“Did your parents not teach you that patience is a …” I pause, my eyes moving toward the ceiling. “What the hell is that phrase?
“Patience is a verb?” I squint. “No, that doesn’t make any damn sense. Patience is a last stitch effort?”
I shake my head.
“Makes even less sense, Joel,” I mutter while pouring out a few of the grapes I’d already cut up for Amelia onto one section of her plate.
In the largest section of the plate, I place some turkey and cheese slices, while putting a few peas onto the third section.
I carry Amelia to her highchair, which is just beside my desk, and buckle her in before placing her plate in front of her. As soon as it’s there, she grabs a slice of the turkey and starts sucking on it.
“Slow down. It’s not running away from ya,” I gripe, but she just gives me the gummiest smile.
A chuckle bubbles up and out of my mouth as I watch her, drooling and all over her lunch.
“Mind if I join ya?” I ask while placing my plate of a peanut butter sandwich and grapes on my desk.
She grabs a handful of peas this time.
“Didn’t think so. What should we watch today?” I ask as if I don’t know. I pull up YouTube and go to Ms. Rachel’s channel.
“You want to learn to count today?” I ask while clicking on the play button.
The thirty minute video of Ms. Rachel teaching toddlers to count keeps my grandbaby enraptured. I find myself tapping my foot along and mumbling some of the lyrics like I’m the one who needs to learn to count.
The half an hour goes by quickly with Amelia laughing and even trying to count along.
“You’ve made a mess with those peas,” I tease her while I pull her out of her highchair. After grabbing one of the wipes I keep on my desk, I wipe her mouth and hands down.
“That’s better.”
“What else we got here to watch?” I move my cursor around the YouTube page but one of the recommended videos catches my eye.
It’s from Mz. Ellyn’s channel. As in my next-door neighbor, Ellyn.
Yes, after she told me she was a Youtuber, I may have gone back home and snooped around on YouTube a little to find her channel. To say I was surprised to find she has over a million followers would be an understatement.
“How to rock your grey hair,” I mumble, reading the title of the video.
“You’ll need to learn how to style your grey hair one day,” I say to Amelia. “This might help you.”
I click on the video.
Ellyn, dressed in a white sweater and sleek, wide-leg, black pants with her hair in curls that reach her shoulder, starts the video off with a question.
“Can I tell you all a secret?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Yeth!” Amelia repeats, then giggles up at me.
“I once was ashamed that I was going grey.” She stands back from the camera, hands on her hips, posing for a second before she tosses her hair over her shoulder.
“Can you believe that?”
“Hell, no!” I declare.
“No!”
I grunt, looking down at my granddaughter. “You don’t repeat those four-letter words,” I order, wagging my finger at her.
She laughs while drool spills out of the side of her mouth. My chest warms and I don’t even try to stop the grin that covers my face while wiping her up.
“Stop distracting me,” I tell her before turning back to Ellyn on my computer screen. “She’s pretty, ain’t she?”
Amelia and I watch the twenty-minute-long video in rapt attention while Ellyn gives detailed instructions on how she styles her natural grey locks, along with three different grey wigs that mirror her own hair.
In the tutorial, she talks through the process of going from denial to finally accepting her greying hair.
“Now remember,” she says to close out the video, “you go and have a brilliant day. And if you can’t make your day brighter, make someone else’s day shine. Bye!”
“How was that?” I ask Amelia.
She claps.
“Yup, me too,” I agree, ignoring the fact that she’s one and likely has no idea what’s going on or what she just watched.
I sit Amelia on my desk. “Should we get some grey wigs for you? Huh?” I tease, while playing with the curly pigtails her mother styled her hair in this morning. “How do you think that’d look?”
She giggles when I pull her pigtails up to the top of her head.
“You like that look? What do you think Ellyn would say?”
Amelia looks at me with big, wide eyes.
“Nah, she’d say you’re a little too young for the grey hair.” I snap my fingers. “Let’s watch another video. How’s that?”
I pull Amelia back onto my lap and click on the next recommended video of Ellyn’s. In this video, she’s giving a tutorial on five different ways to wear some silk scarves she’s been sent by a company.
“Stunning,” I murmur while watching Ellyn fold the scarf into a triangle before using it to cover her hair. “Remember,” I tell Amelia, “this is just between you and me. No one else needs to know I’ve been watching YouTube tutorials on fashion and wigs, ’kay?”
She squeals.
“Thanks.”
Before my better senses get a hold of me, I’m clicking on a third video of Ellyn’s. This one is a makeup tutorial.
“Dad?” someone in the distance calls out, and while the voice sounds familiar, it’s not enough to pull my focus away from the magnetic woman on the screen. There’s an endearing quality about her presence that grabs and holds my attention.
It’s easy to see how she’s been able to gain so many subscribers and build a career out of this.
The way she weaves personal and inspirational stories into giving practical fashion advice is magnificent.
“Dad?!”
The voice at the door of my office startles me out of my concentration, making me jump.
“Shit!” I bark out at the same time Amelia squeals at the sight of her mother standing in the doorway.
I instantly close not only the webpage, but my entire browser, bringing up the home screen on my computer.
“What are you sneaking up on us for?” I growl at Savannah.
My daughter-in-law narrows her eyes, pinching her lips together as she looks at me with suspicion.
“Sneaking? You mean calling you three different times and knocking on the door before I entered?”
I blink and tilt my head to the side. Did I miss all of that? Is that why Amelia was squealing in my arms?
“Prett-ee,” Amelia says as she points to my computer screen.
“Did she just say pretty?” Savannah asks as she approaches my desk.
Though there’s nothing on the screen, I turn it away from her and rise with Amelia in my arms. “I thought this was just between us, you little tattle-teller.”
She has the nerve to toss her head back and giggle.
When Amelia reaches for her mother, I hand her over. “Take the little traitor.”
“Huh?” Savannah asks.
“I mean, she tossed peas all over her highchair,” I lie. “Just look.” I point at her highchair, which is no more a mess today than any other day.
Savannah gives me another funny look.
I run a hand over the back of my neck. “Do you want to explain yourself? Why were you late?” I demand.
Savannah smirks at me while she bounces Amelia on her hip. “Is Grandpa keeping a secret from us?”
“Secret? What in the Texas do I have to keep a secret about? Is there a more forthcoming and unsecretive man than me?”
“Unsecretive? I don’t think that’s a word.”
“Now you’re questioning my vocabulary? And what does that matter?”
“Hmm.” Savannah looks me up and down.
I avoid her gaze, looking everywhere in the room but at her. My middle son’s wife and I have come a long way over the years. She forgave me for hurting her a long time ago, and I’ve been forever grateful that she and Ace were able to find their way back to one another.
Savannah and I are the closest out of my three daughters-in-law, though I’ve grown to have a unique relationship with all of them.
I watch silently as Savannah goes over to put Amelia in the walker I keep in my office for her. Amelia squeals and claps when Savannah turns on the lights and song from the battery-operated radio of the walker.
“Do you want to tell me why you’ve been so jumpy lately?”
“Jumpy? Me? I don’t know the meaning of the word.” I shake my head adamantly while folding my arms across my chest.