4. Solomon #2
I search their tone for doubt, for concern, but don’t find any. Red nudges my foot again, his own silent encouragement, then changes the subject to Em’s first year of grad school. I blow out a breath, happy to have the attention off me, and go back to peeling my label.
“How about you, Red?” I ask once there’s a lull in the conversation. “Anything new on the ranch?”
“We just sent a couple mares off to the livestock show up in Tehachapi,” he says before draining the rest of his beer. “Oh, and Michaela Jordan had her babies this week.”
Many years ago, as a birthday present, Red had stupidly granted Jay naming rights when he first bought some goats for the ranch.
Which means that now, every goat on this property has a ridiculous name—Goatzart, Bleateljuice, Vincent Van Goat.
There are several named after Jay’s favorite athletes—the G.O.A.T.
in their sports, if you will. Hence Michaela Jordan.
“What?!” Em shrieks, standing up. “There are goat babies on this property and this is the first I’m hearing about it?”
Red shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but the tilt at the corner of his lips gives him away. He knew exactly how Em would react and he’s been saving this news.
“Well let’s go!” she cries, already running down the porch steps.
Red and I stand to follow her. “You coming?” I ask Jay.
He sighs before standing. “Guess I may as well. Nothing better to do.” But he can’t hide his hurried steps and I know he’s every bit as excited as his sister.
We spend the next half hour with the animals.
The baby goats are really freaking cute, and Em and Jay are basically in heaven, letting them climb all over their laps and lick their faces.
Since we’re in the barn, we head over to the horse stalls to visit before returning to the house to wash up for lunch.
“Fuck me, this is good,” Jay moans after taking a bite of his first taco, and Em leans over to smack the back of his head before Red can do it. “I’m sorry! You can’t feed me food like this and expect me to keep it PG!”
“In his defense,” I say, already reaching for my second taco. “This is really fucking good.”
Red shakes his head at me, but his lips are twitching.
We chat easily over lunch, drinking fresh beers and eating far more tacos than any person should ingest at once.
“So,” Red says when there’s a lull in the conversation. “I saw your mom this week.”
All three of us go still, but when Red lifts his head, it’s the Miller siblings he’s focused on. I relax only slightly—the last thing I want to do is talk about my parents, but the second to last thing I want is for Em and Jay to have to talk about theirs.
“She in town?” Jay asks, voice tight, attention locked on his empty plate like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
“Seems to be. Said she was gonna stay at the house for a bit.”
I reach over and put a hand on Em’s forearm under the table—she’s completely rigid.
“But you know her,” Red continues in a gentle voice. “She might say she’s staying today and be gone by tomorrow.”
Jay snorts. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Em still hasn’t relaxed in the slightest.
The list of grievances I hold against my own parents is lengthy, but it has absolutely nothing on the way I think about the Miller siblings’ mother.
Mine might have been cold, judgmental, detached, and cruel, but at least I never had to worry about having food in my belly or be afraid of random, drugged up assholes hanging around the house.
Em and Jay grew up on a much larger ranch up the hill.
It had been their grandparents and maybe at one point had been kept up nicely, but after Becky Miller took over when her parents died, the whole thing went to shit.
That woman wasn’t interested in horses—she was far too busy living off the money her parents had left her, partying, and leaving her kids to fend for themselves.
I met Jay and Em one summer when I was about six. I’d shown up here for my annual summer visit and they’d been helping Red muck out some stalls. We’d played together that entire summer and I’d been in heaven. I didn’t have any friends at home.
I was too young then to realize that it was odd a six and seven-year-old would spend the majority of their waking hours on someone else’s property.
Half the time they’d sleep here, too, the three of us stretching sleeping bags out on the covered porch.
To me, it had been an epic summer of sleepovers.
To them, it had been a small measure of stability in their lives.
“I don’t want to see her,” Jay says suddenly, his voice sounding much younger.
“You don’t have to,” Red says evenly. “That’s why I wanted to let you know. Just in case you thought about stopping by the place while you’re here.”
Their grandparents had left the ranch in a trust. There’s a manager to make sure the buildings won’t fully rot away and the horses are being boarded out of state. The whole thing will be Em’s and Jay’s someday if they want it—but for now, Becky is allowed to be there whenever she feels like it.
Jay scoffs. “I have no intention of stepping foot on that land while she’s on it.”
“Then we won’t,” I say, watching him. For once I wish he would make eye contact. I don’t like that note of vulnerability and shame I hear in his voice. At my other side, Em remains still and silent.
“Hey, Red,” I say suddenly. “Did we tell you about the party the other night?”
There’s a beat of silence—my subject change had hardly been natural—before my grandfather leans back in his chair.
“Don’t think you did.”
“One of the Ransome kids threw a cup of punch in my face.”
Red just stares at me for a moment, clearly trying to tell if I’m messing with him. “No shit?”
“No shit. The drummer’s daughter, I think.”
Red barks out a delighted laugh, as I knew he would. Ransom is his favorite band of all time, and he’d been tickled to find out the three of us were going to be at the same school as so many of their kids. He bugs us to try and get an autograph almost every time we come out here.
“What’d you do to the girl to make her throw a cup of punch at you?”
“I didn’t do anything to her,” I scoff. “Jay and I were trying to defend her cousin, actually.”
“Yeah,” Jay agrees, sounding much more like himself now. Amused. Just like I hoped for. “Some drunk guy was being an idiot to one of her cousins, so we decided to white knight it.” He smirks at me. “And this guy got a face-full of punch for his efforts.”
Red shakes his head, grinning. “I’m gonna need more information. How does helping out get a cup of punch thrown at you?”
“She was aiming for the drunk guy,” Em cuts in, her smile enough to send relief running through me. “But then CeCe Ransome kneed that guy in the balls so he was doubled over and out of the way when the punch was thrown.”
I force myself not to react to the mention of Cecelia’s name, but Jay, the little asshole that he is, catches something on my face. He grins.
“It was double embarrassing for him,” Jay tells Red in a loud stage whisper. “Because CeCe is the Ransome that he’s obsessed with.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not obsessed with her.”
“Wait,” Red cuts in. “This is the one you stare at like a puppy dog?”
“What the fuck?” I yelp as Jay cracks up. “You told my grandpa that?”
“No,” Em says smugly. “I did.”
“I hate you both.”
But inside, I’m relaxing. This is exactly what I hoped would happen—well, I didn’t hope that they told Red about my crush, because that’s some bullshit. But I had hoped to turn their attention to ragging on me a bit. I knew it would cheer them up, get them to stop thinking about their mom.
Now both of the siblings are telling my grandpa about all the times they’ve seen me mooning over her—greatly exaggerating, of course. I swear I’m not that pathetic.
By the time we stack our empty plates in the sink, most of the tension seems to have gone out of the two of them.
And when Red suggests we head out to get a ride in before going back to campus, they both agree.
I hope the ride will do away with any remaining bad feelings. Horses have a way of doing that.
There are no employees in the barn—the few hands that are working on a Sunday are probably out exercising some horses. But the four of us are more than experienced enough to get our own animals saddled and ready.
I step into Solitaire’s stall, letting the latch shut behind me.
The noise is quiet, but Solitaire hears—or else he just senses my presence.
Either way, he comes to me right away, nudging my shoulder, and I rub my hands over his smooth coat.
Solitaire is a four-year-old gelding, the horse I always ride when given the choice.
There’s no skittishness with him, no hesitation.
When I lean into his neck a little, he leans right back.
There’s a rhythm between us as I start to get him ready to ride, one we’ve practiced countless times.
There’s little need to communicate with this horse in words, little chance of being misunderstood.
I don’t have to guess at meaning or tone or emotion, the way I do with most people.
The two of us can just be, working and moving together, each doing our prescribed jobs, each trusting each other.
It’s hard to describe just how calming that is for me.
The four of us stick together to start out, moving out past the paddocks closest to the barn and out towards the hills.
It feels good to be on a horse again, good to shut down my mind, to only have to concentrate on this one thing, this one task.
It’s a hot day, but there’s some breeze coming in off the hills.