CHAPTER 9
FORD
It’s easy for birthdays to be swept under the rug on days like that.
I’m left staring at the space Arden just occupied, the sound of the door closing still echoing right along with her words. With her words.
She threw them out there so casually.
But it was as if every one of them struck a chord in me.
I know those words.
“It could be a coincidence,” I mutter to myself, my eyes going to the front door.
It’s already closed and I know Arden is already safe inside. Part of me doesn’t want to drive away, not now that I suspect.
But could I have gotten the memory of those words wrong? Flashes of the words I’ve been gifted over the last year start to filter through my mind. It only makes me wonder more.
When I pull away, I do it reluctantly, but I need to see the letters. Maybe they’ll confirm my greatest hope. Or my greatest fear?
There was a moment today when I had a chance to kiss her. And I didn’t do it.
I’m almost frantic by the time I get home, and I take the stairs two at a time to get to my room. My hands shake as I reach for my bedside table drawer and I freeze. The last thing, the very fucking last thing I want to do is be too rough. Not with these letters.
I stand up straight and let my hands drop to my sides. As I shake them out, I take a few deep breaths. It helps now just like it helps when I’m about to do something reckless or when something is out of my control. Both things happen a lot out here while we’re working; that’s just the way it is.
But if you don’t feel it, then you’ve been doing it too damn long.
At least, that’s what Dad would tell me.
He still felt it.
The jangle, he called it. Maybe, I do too. It seems fitting. Feels about right.
I sit down on the edge of my bed with my eyes locked on the drawer. “It’s not like there’s a rattlesnake in there.”
But I also already know what I’m going to find.
There’s still a tremor in my hand as I open the drawer. When I pull out the first letter, it’s right there.
Dear Cowboy,
Happy birthday.
I wanted to start with birthday wishes. I’m sure far too many people forgot today is your birthday and, if they said anything it was probably Happy Valentine’s Day. It’s easy for birthdays to be swept under the rug on days like today.
So, it deserves to be said again—Happy birthday.
I read it again.
It’s easy for birthdays to be swept under the rug on days like today.
It’s still the same.
Then I read through the letters again, piecing together the Arden in them, the open woman with big dreams and small hopes. The one who feels like her legacy is a burden which helps her understand why I might feel the same.
The one who described sadness and feelings like they were the lens through which to see me better, to understand me.
Even though the reality is I haven’t acknowledged those feelings in a long time.
Because acknowledging them feels like confrontation when you don’t like what you see. Or how you feel.
The one who gave me a lesson on Valentine’s Day ahead of time so it doesn’t conflict with my birthday. A birthday that means something because of her.
And I’ve been looking forward to those birthday wishes. She promised.
There are so many words not written in her letters, but so much shared at the same time. I try to see her in the words, but it’s not easy.
When I pack up the letters again, I do it with careful touches and gentle fingers. As I slide the drawer closed, I’m not sure where to go from here. It’s her. I know it.
But she hasn’t told me. It stings more than it should.
I’m not sure whether it’s the right thing to do or not, but I’m grabbing my hat and striding toward my truck before I can second guess myself.
I’m pulling up to the Watts farmhouse in minutes. When I get to the door, I bang on it with much more force than necessary. I hear something deeper in the house, and I’m tempted to knock again, but I stop myself.
“I told you, Eliza,” I hear Kendrick hiss on the other side of the door, “I’m going to answer it. A knock like that means an emergency or trouble.”
“Who could it really be?” Eliza sasses him right back before she pulls open the door.
I’m met with the sight of Eliza with her clothes slightly askew and her hair all mussed up. But that’s not why I fight a smile. It’s Kendrick standing behind her glaring at me.
He only has a towel wrapped around his waist which he’s gripping so hard his knuckles are turning white. “This better be good, Ford,” the threat is clear in Kendrick’s voice.
I hold up my hands and grimace, “Sorry,”
He grumbles as he turns away from the door, but I can still hear him, “Not as sorry as you’re going to be if this isn’t serious. I almost had her in the shower with me.”
“It’s about Arden if it makes you feel any better,” I yell after him.
Eliza gasps, grips my shirt, and yanks me into her house with a surprising amount of strength.
“Damn it,” Kendrick curses under his breath and I catch a glimpse of his retreating back.
“You better spill.”
I must be in shock because the way she’s manhandling me just isn’t right. She’s pushed me down into a very comfortable couch which I’m a little envious of every time I come over.
When I look up, Eliza is studying me. She sighs and, “I can’t decide if this is a hot chocolate type of story or whiskey.”
“I’d love a drink,” I groan as I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees.
“Okay,” Eliza’s voice is filled with concern.
Before she can take a step, my head shoots up and I shout, “No!” She freezes and I swear I hear Kendrick shout something from deeper in the house. I wave my hands around, “Sorry. I just, I might have to drive later. I can’t drink anything.”
“Hot cocoa it is,” Eliza nods and basically floats into the kitchen.
I hear her movements, but it’s white noise as I stare at the ground trying to understand how the two women I’ve fallen in love with are the same woman. While I’m relieved, I’m also, not.
I was just some hobby or something? I don’t know, like a strange pen pal program?
When I go to run my fingers through my hair, I realize I’ve left my hat on. After I pull it off, I rest it on my knee. It only takes a few moments before it’s bouncing right along with that knee.
Kendrick stalks into the room with damp hair and a scowl on his face at the same time Eliza breezes in with three mugs of hot cocoa. He quickly takes two from her and kisses her temple before nodding toward her favorite seat in the house.
His eyes are sharp as he hands me one of the mugs. I’m glad I saw Eliza carry them out or else I’d be concerned about him spitting in mine.
As it is, I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Ford,” Eliza pulls my attention toward her, “what is this about Arden?”
There’s genuine concern in her voice and I soften. She loves my woman. She’s been there for her; they’ve been there for each other.
“We’ve gone on two friend dates,” the words are a little rough and I take a sip of the cocoa, the warmth of it seeping into my hands where I’m holding the mug.
“Friend dates?” Eliza’s question is full of confusion and I can’t blame her.
“Rosalie is on vacation with the baby arriving and I’ve been in town more. I saw her a lot,” I don’t mention how there might have been some intention on my part. “I asked her out and she didn’t answer me the first time. Just pretended like I hadn’t said it.”
Eliza’s eyebrows pull together before her face smooths out as her eyes fill with sadness. Sadness. It tugs at me.
Arden wrote to me about sadness once. At least, I think it was Arden.
“I don’t know why it was different the day I asked her to go to a matinee at the theater,” the words slip past my lips. “She said yes, but only if it was a friend date.”
Kendrick scoffs, “Nothing friend about it.” When I look at him, he smirks. “I recognize the look on your face. You’re done.”
Eliza shushes him, “You’re not helping.”
“I’m not sure I’m trying to quite yet,” he throws out there as he assesses me.
Eliza makes a face at him, but when she looks back at me one corner of her mouth tugs up into a small grin.
“We had fun,” I say, ignoring the man. When Eliza arches an eyebrow, I clarify, “On our friend date. Today, I took her out to Sagebrush and gave her a tour. I put together a picnic. With Rosalie gone, it wasn’t much, but she didn’t complain or turn her nose up at it.”
Fuck, it did something to me. I was just so excited about the whole thing that it wasn’t until I was unpacking everything, the blanket already spread out underneath us, I realized it was a piss poor picnic.
“No,” Eliza’s voice is calm, soft, “she wouldn’t do that.”
“I know,” I whisper the words. When I look up at Eliza, I tell her the truth, “I think she wanted me to kiss her. I wanted to kiss her. But I didn’t.”
“Why not?” The prod is gentle.
My lips thin as I press them together. This is the part I’m not sure about. How much to say. How much would be too much to share.
“Almost a year ago, right after my birthday, I got a letter.” I don’t look at either of them. “I don’t know who they’re from,” I swallow the unspoken words hanging there, that I might know who they’re from now, “but they always seem to show up right when I need one.”
“That day,” Kendrick snaps his fingers, “you were so cagey about the letter.”
I nod, and croak out, “Yeah. I got one that day. I could never write back, but it didn’t stop them from showing up.
No pattern or anything, just randomly. From the handwriting, I thought it was a woman, and the words.
I think,” I shake my head, “no, I know I fell in love with the woman writing me letters. She was so open, warm, thoughtful, and funny. I wanted to know who it was but didn’t know where to start. ”
“You fell in love with the woman writing you letters?” When I nod, it’s like I can hear the puzzle pieces clicking into place for her. “That’s why you didn’t kiss Arden. You felt like you were betraying this secret admirer?”
Her question is innocent, but I still bristle at it.