Chapter Eight
For the first ten minutes I fought a feeling of terror.
I’d never had a massage before, but here I was letting a stranger—someone I didn’t know!—touch my nearly naked body. I’d balked at stripping down altogether, but was left with my well-used bra and saggy granny panties.
I’d never been one to spend a fortune on lingerie, but when we were younger, before life took over, Michael used to buy me intimate nothings at Christmas and insist I model them for him. They never stayed on my body for a long time.
Even back then I’d been shy about showing off my body. I’d seen enough models on magazine covers to know I looked nothing like them.
This had been Liz’s harebrained idea. I’d finally become accustomed to the three of us getting our nails done every once in a while. For the first time in my life, my cuticles weren’t ragged, and my nails no longer looked like someone attacked them with a chainsaw.
And it was heaven not having to cut my own toenails.
“Ow!” I yelped as the masseuse pressed deeply into my shoulder.
“Too much pressure?” she asked.
Ya think?
“A little.”
“You’re very tense in there.” She eased up a little, but still managed to get her fingers deep enough that my muscle twanged. Then all of a sudden the ache was smoothed away.
“Ahh.”
“That’s a better sound,” the masseuse said.
Maybe there was something to this after all. Liz had promised I’d feel like a new woman.
The feeling was only going to last a short while. As I drifted into a fluffy white mental space, almost asleep, a thundercloud hovered in the distance, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was.
Forty minutes later, I was instructed to “take my time,” but to get off the table and get some clothes on.
That wasn’t the way she said it, but I got the message. Play time was over .
I pulled on my blouse, capris I’d taken to wearing once we got to warmer weather, and the flip-flops I’d purchased when we started getting our nails done. A brief glance in a mirror showed a face I wasn’t used to seeing. My eyes were bright, my skin glowing, and my mouth had an almost seductive smile. Surrounded by a halo of wild Irish hair, I looked like a totally different woman.
Huh.
There must be something to this massage stuff.
I made my way to the nail parlor where my sisters were already seated, engaged in conversation that made them smile. My heart warmed to see them so relaxed and comfortable with each other. It had taken a while, but we were a family again, more than we’d ever been.
A pleasant young woman saw me standing and asked if I needed help.
I shook my head, but she made sure I chose my color and got settled in my chair anyway before listing the types of water I could have. I chose cucumber-infused, having discovered how quickly it quenched my thirst. The masseuse had indicated I should hydrate to wash away the toxins. I wasn’t sure about the science, but a glass of liquid sounded good.
“So,” Liz said with a tease in her voice. “Did you like it?”
“It was okay,” I said to torment her.
“Okay?” Diane practically shrieked. “It was wonderful!”
“All right,” I said. “It was a little better than okay.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?” Diane asked.
“You and Liz have frequently mentioned that,” I said with a grin.
They chuckled as our nail techs settled in and began to work.
Until Liz had introduced me to this experience, I’d had no idea how blissful a pedicure could be. I tried not to think about the poor person having to deal with my thick, yellowing toenails, but sent as much gratitude as I could her way. And I made sure to leave a generous tip.
I flicked the controls that started the back massage—one could never have too many massages—and leaned back to sip my water. As we’d grown accustomed to doing, my sisters also retreated into a quiet state. We only came back to life when the nail tech attacked our nails with silver equipment and determination.
“How are the paintings coming along?” I asked Liz.
“I feel like I’m getting closer to the approach I want.” Liz’s original style had been a series of paint and ink drawings that had made her famous … and rich. She and her agent had been smart en ough to make the images available for reproduction on mass market items like prints, T-shirts, and even a shower curtain.
But that had been a substitute for the painting she really wanted to create. After a breakthrough a few months ago, she’d tried charcoal, but it hadn’t given her the satisfaction she’d hoped to get. She continued to work at it and remained optimistic.
“That’s wonderful,” Diane told Liz. “Have you heard from Walter?”
“Yes,” Liz answered, a soft smile appearing on her face. “His lease is up at the end of March. He’s already moving some new things into the house and talking to architects about remodeling one of the sheds into a studio.” She looked at us. “I’ll miss you guys, but I’m looking forward to being with Walter and my son.”
“We get it,” Diane said.
“As long as you all arrive for a big family reunion in the summer,” I said. “We need to teach the next generation how to rope and ride.”
“Absolutely,” Liz said. “Speaking of roping and riding, how are you feeling about your ride tomorrow?”
“At least it will be over,” I said.
“It could be the ‘beginning of a beautiful friendship.’” Liz attempted a Humphrey Bogart accent as she quoted one of the famous lines from Casablanca .
I gave her the stink-eye.
“She’s right, you know,” Diane said. “I mean, how would you feel if this was a female rancher, and she invited you riding?”
It took a minute to adjust my thinking.
“I’d be fine,” I admitted.
“Well, then, forget he’s a guy.”
“Hard to do with that mustache,” Liz said.
“Hey, if I didn’t attack my upper lip with a hair pulling gizmo, I’m sure I could give him a run for his money,” Diane said.
“Ouch!” Liz and I said in unison, covering our upper lips, although I knew exactly what Diane was talking about. I had one of those gizmos too.
Liz, blessed with all the good genes, probably had a hairless face in spite of menopause.
“But enough of that,” Diane said. “All I’m saying is it doesn’t have to be a big deal unless you make it a big deal. Just pretend he’s a friend … or acquaintance. Friendship is the best foundation for a relationship anyway. Not that I’m saying you have to have a re lationship,” she added hastily.
“You talk to male ranchers all the time at home,” Liz said. “You never treat them like they’re anything special.”
“I don’t go riding with them either,” I pointed out. “And too many of them need to be taken down a peg.”
“Rodrigo doesn’t seem that way,” Liz said.
He didn’t. And that idea scared me.
But if I scratched under the surface, I’d bet I’d find out he was like all the others.
So no big deal going riding with him. He had a good act of being a nice guy. We’d just be pals. Cisco and Pancho. Butch and Sundance. Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickok.
I sputtered with laughter, almost spitting out my water.
“What?” Diane asked.
I waved my hand. “Nothing,” I managed to squawk out.
“Right,” Liz said, and picked up a magazine from the shelf next to her.
I closed my eyes to indicate I, too, was done with the discussion as the nail tech slipped toe spreaders between my toes so she could do the polish.
Ten minutes later, we padded over to manicurists’ tables where our toes were placed in heated boxes to harden the polish.
The woman examined my hands and shook her head, but at least she didn’t “tsk” at me like so many had done. I endured her silent ministrations, and insisted on clear polish in spite of her urging me to at least consider something light pink.
I pulled out a foot and pointed to my green toe nails. “I’m not a pink kind of gal,” I said.
The horses wouldn’t care, and I’d be damned if I were going to get gussied up for a rancher.
Eventually, we were done, and even though I was relaxed, I was more exhausted than if I’d spent the entire day rounding up cattle. My sisters must have felt the same way because we picked up some take-out barbecue and drove home.
After dinner I called Patrick, homesick for ranch news. He assured me the majority of cows had dropped their calves on schedule, and the calves were checked and tagged. Things were going well, and he and his wife were enjoying it more than they’d expected to.
We talked about selling off the dairy herd come summer, and he agreed it was probably a good idea.
“It doesn’t make sense, Mom. They take up more work than anything, and we don’t produce enough dairy to make it worthwhile. I think we need to talk about another animal, though. Something that isn’t beef. Between the conglomerates and the climate impact of raising cattle, diversification to something like chickens, turkeys, or even planting some type of beans would be a good thing to look into.”
“I’m not sure about that,” I told him. “Seems like extra work again.”
“It is, but not as much as the cows.”
“Better not make them pets, though,” I warned. “I doubt your kids are going to want to eat Bert the Turkey for Thanksgiving.”
Patrick laughed. “Good point.”
“We’ll talk about it when I get home.”
“Good. When is that exactly?”
We talked about my return, his kids, and the depths of winter in Montana. After a long stretch in Fort Hood, Texas, he’d forgotten how long snow season lasted.
When I hung up, I felt the ranch was in good hands. The fact that the young family was settling in was a plus. It was time for the younger ones to take over so I could retire.
Retire and do what?
While weaving, even on a big loom, was appealing, I didn’t see myself doing that day in and day out. I was too much of an outdoor girl for that. It was one of the things that had surprised me about this trip. The ability to be outside most of the time, not trapped indoors by freezing temperatures and howling wind, made me miss Montana less than I’d thought I would.
Maybe change was okay. If I didn’t make a big deal out of something, but looked for the silver lining instead, could I be happier than I’d been my whole life? I could continue to blame my late husband for the misery that had been in my life, but I knew that wasn’t all true. I could walk around with my own dark cloud at times, for no reason other than there weren’t enough daylight hours.
For the most part, my life had been a satisfactory one. I’d loved raising my kids and tending to the ranch. Now it was time to move on from the past and see what the future could bring.
I could simply go on the ride tomorrow and enjoy myself. My sisters were right. I didn’t need to make it a big deal. All I needed to do was have some fun.
With that thought firmly planted in my brain, I rolled over and went to sleep.