21. Lara
”It”s Mister Caldwell, and he”s driving like a madman and headed straight for us,” I say to the guys.
”Oh, shit,” Carter says. ”Dad”s going to kill us.”
The three of us freeze as the headlights shine directly on the tractor. There”s nothing we can do.
”Dylan?” Carter whispers. ”Hide the bottle.”
”Where?” Dylan whispers back.
”I don”t know. In the tractor.”
”You think he”s not going to find it in there?”
”Then chuck it. Just get rid of it.”
The truck pulls up just as Dylan grabs the whiskey bottle and throws it into a shrubby bunch of grass a few feet away. A cloud of steam rises from Mr. Caldwell”s breath as he slams the door behind him.
”What in the hell do you boys think you”re doing coming out here in the middle of the night with one of my tractors… one of my expensive tractors? Doing lord knows what.” He holds up a flashlight and shines it in their faces, then over to me. ”Lara? Lara Baine? What”re you doing here?”
I smile, not sure what else to do. ”Oh, I just thought I”d stop by?—”
”We invited her over, Uncle,” Dylan says. ”She doesn”t have anything to do with this. It”s our fault.”
”You”re damn right it is.” Mr. Caldwell sighs. ”Get in the truck. Now.”
As Dylan and Carter head to the truck, Mr. Caldwell comes forward and puts a hand on my shoulder. ”You all right, honey?”
I smile again. ”I”m fine.”
The whiskey bottle rolls out from the grass at that moment, and he shines the flashlight on it. Shit.
He walks over and picks up the bottle, and even in the dark, I see his face going crimson.
”Get in the truck,” he tells me in a calm but deadly voice.
I do as he says, trying my best to walk in a straight line to the passenger door. I glance at Carter and Dylan, giving them a worried look. It might”ve been fine if we”d just taken the tractor out for a ride, but now that Mr. Caldwell has found the whiskey?—
I sigh as I buckle my seat belt and look at my lap.
This night is about to get a whole lot worse.
Mr. Caldwell enters the truck, turns around, and returns to the ranch.
I still haven”t looked up from my lap.
”You sure you”re all right, Lara?” he asks as he turns the truck off in the parking space back at The Big House. ”Nothing happened out there?”
I finally look over at him. ”Nothing happened. We were stargazing and… drinking a little. I”m really sorry. My horse is in the barn… I”ll get her and head back home?—”
Mr. Caldwell raises his hand, turning to me as he gets out. ”You can save that. I”ll be calling your father.”
My stomach sinks to the floor of the truck. ”My dad? B-but it”s late.”
”Well, I”m sure he”ll want to know where his daughter is,” he says.
He says nothing until we follow behind him with our heads hung low.
”Sit down, you three,” he tells us when we get inside, pointing to the kitchen table and putting the bottle of whiskey in the center as we take our seats. Then he walks to the phone.
I want to die.
I look over at Dylan. He”s crushed. I know how much he thinks of his uncle, and to disappoint him like this must be horrible.
I really want to die.
”Good evening, Charlie. Uh, it”s Malcolm over here. Sorry to call you so late, but, uh, your daughter is over here. She and the boys went for a joyride, along with a bottle of my whiskey. She”s all right, but I think it”s best if—all right, see you soon.” Mr. Caldwell hangs up and looks at us. ”Your dad will be over here soon. Boys? It”s best if you go up to bed now. I”ll deal with this in the morning.”
Carter and Dylan look at Mr. Caldwell and nod their heads dutifully. ”Yes, sir,” they say in unison and get up from the table.
Dylan glances at me as he walks away. I give him a little smile, but it”s no use. I feel awful for forcing them to sneak out and take the tractor because I was bored. I should”ve just gone to bed.
Mr. Caldwell gets me a glass of water while I”m waiting for my father. He doesn”t say much but sits at the table with me until headlights appear in the front window. I head outside, with Mr. Caldwell following close behind.
Papa steps out of his truck, looking slightly disheveled.
He”s still in yesterday”s clothes, and his hair is a little mussed. He smooths everything as best he can, walks over to us, and shakes Mr. Caldwell”s hand.
”Thanks for the call, Malcolm,” he tells him. ”I”m sorry about this. I thought she was asleep.”
”At least they”re safe,” Mr. Caldwell says. ”Lara”s horse is here. I”ll make sure she”s cared for, but you might want to bring a trailer tomorrow to get her.”
”I”ll do that. Thank you again.” Papa shakes his hand and heads for the truck. He still hasn”t looked me in the eye.
I get in the truck, and even though the ride home is only a few minutes, it”s like an eternity.
Papa isn”t saying a word, which unnerves me. Is he waiting until we get home, or is he not going to say anything?
I”m on edge when we pull in front of the house.
”You hungry?”
Out of all the things he can say at that moment, I”m not expecting that.
”I guess,” I squeak.
Papa gets out of the truck, and I follow him. We walk to the kitchen, and I glance at the clock above the stove… it”s almost four in the morning. Papa must”ve had a heart attack when he got that call from Mr. Caldwell.
I”m a terrible daughter.
”How do pancakes sound?” Papa asks, pulling out a pan and a mixing bowl.
”Yeah. That sounds good.” I”m numb. ”Do you need help?”
He shakes his head. ”Just have a seat. It”s time for us to talk.”
I swallow hard. ”I”m really sorry about tonight. I know it was dumb to take the tractor out. It won”t happen again.”
He”s measuring out the ingredients for the pancake batter while I talk.
”You, uh, you know… Carter, Dylan, and you are getting older, and something happens when you get about your age… you start to get… urges?—”
No, wait!
I close my eyes. Please, please tell me he”s not talking about what I think he”s talking about.
”I know it”s been hard on you since your mother left, and you probably haven”t had anyone to talk to about these things, but I want to let you know I”m here.”
”Thanks, but—there”s nothing to say. Well… not about that, anyway.”
”So, you know how babies are made?” he asks. ”You know how a girl gets pregnant?”
I want to crawl into a hole. I”m a grown adult!
”I”ve known since I was ten, maybe earlier. We do live on a farm, you know. The animals aren”t modest.”
”Yeah. Sorry. I want you to be safe, is all. You go out with these guys—I worry. You”re an intelligent girl, but sometimes guys pressure ya into doing things. Now… Carter and Dylan have good heads on their shoulders, but sometimes?—”
”Nothing happened. We were having fun. That”s it—we didn”t do anything. Just… riding the tractor.” The thought of riding on Dylan”s lap flashes through my mind, and I push it back down.
”All right, then.” Papa shuffles for a few beats and then picks up the mixing bowl full of pancake batter. ”How many you want? Two? Three?”
”Two,” I tell him, standing to get plates from the cabinet.
”I”ll make you three,” he says.
”Thanks.” I smile. ”You”re eating too, right?”
”Of course,” he says. ”Get the orange juice.”
I set the table while he finishes.
”Grab the syrup,” he says, bringing a stack of pancakes to the table.
I grab the bottle of maple syrup from the pantry and sit down.
I glance at the third and fourth chairs. Mother”s and Amanda”s.
”It”s hard with just us. I know,” Papa says. ”And I know it”s hard just having a dad. I wish it were different—but your mother… she has to be alone for a while.”
I pull a couple of pancakes onto a plate and place them before him. He turns away, rubbing his hand over his face.
”I miss her too,” I say softly, taking my dad”s hand. ”I miss both of them. It”s been hell in this house since Amanda—ever since it happened. And now that Mother is gone, it”s even emptier. But you and I are still here.”
My father looks at me and squeezes my hand. ”We”re going to get through this. But it”s going to take some time. I”m just not… I”m sorry, I”m not as strong as I need to be right now. You deserve a father who takes care of you. Who knows where you are at all hours instead of having to pick you up in the middle of the night?—”
”I snuck out. How could you have known?”
”I could”ve gone up to your room and checked. Made sure you were in bed asleep. Or I could”ve asked you if you were going out tonight… instead, I ignored you. I shouldn”t have done that. I should”ve asked you how your day was. What you”ve been up to. Who you”ve been going out with. I haven”t been asking you any of that. I have to raise a daughter all on my own now, and I”m doing a terrible job. Your mother would”ve known to ask you things… she would”ve known if you snuck out. She always knew what to do. I don”t. I”m failing you. And I”m so sorry for that.”
”You don”t have to be sorry. It might seem like you”re not doing everything, but I”m not a kid. I can take care of myself. You”re not failing me. You”re a good dad. If you were failing me, you wouldn”t even be thinking about this stuff. I know you”re worried, but you don”t have to be.”
He squeezes my hand before letting me go. ”Eat your pancakes before they get cold.”
I pick up my fork, and we eat silently for a few minutes, absorbing the spoken words. I don”t want him to think of himself as a failure. He”s been sad and dealing with Mother leaving, but I never want him to think he”s a lousy father. He isn”t. He never was. He”s been there every step of the way with me.
”How are they?” he asks, his voice shaky.
”They”re good,” I tell him. ”Better than Mother”s.”
He lets out a chuckle. ”Her pancakes were always too thin.”
”Like crepes,” I say. ”She never liked American pancakes. Too much fluff. Come to think of it, I don”t think she liked any American food.”
My dad drops his fork and starts to cry.
Shit.
”Wait, Papa. I shouldn”t talk about her. I”m sorry. She left us. She left us both. She didn”t want to stay. She gave up. But we didn”t. Please, I”m sorry.” I put my arm around him.
He pulls me into a hug. ”I need to start making more of an effort… asking you about your life and all of that.”
”We can talk about that stuff,” I tell him, although I”m not sure I want to divulge every detail of my life. He is my dad, after all. He doesn”t need to know everything.
”And we need to talk about Amanda,” he says, tears falling down his cheeks. ”We don”t do that enough. It might help.”
Just hearing her name feels like a punch to the chest.
”These pancakes are delicious. Did I say that?” I cut off a piece with my fork and take a bite.
My dad smiles, wiping the tears from his eyes finally. ”I”ll have to start making more home-cooked meals around here.”
”I can help with that,” I tell him. ”I”ll make dinner tomorrow. How”s that sound? No more frozen TV dinners.”
”Thank you, honey. Sounds good. Maybe we can switch off every other night… something like that.”
”We”ll figure it out.”
After we finish, I help him clear the table and wash the dishes.
The sky is lightening up, and I should be exhausted, but I”m not.
I don”t feel anything.
After all of the heavy conversation, I should feel something. But I don”t.
”Why don”t you leave the rest to me?” Papa says. ”Go on up to bed.”
”Pa?”
”Yeah?”
”I”m not ready to talk about Amanda. I just—I don”t want to yet.”
My dad stares at me for a long moment as the tears fall from his eyes again, and then he pulls me into his arms.
We stand like that for a few minutes, holding each other.
I want everything we said to happen.
I want it all to be true. But I don”t know. Can we ever be a happy family again with so much broken?
Can we be a loving father and daughter, having dinner together every night and talking about our lives light-heartedly?
It”s a nice thought—a nice dream—but is it real? I don”t know if we”re those people.
I step out of his arms. ”You going to be okay?”
”Yeah, honey. Get some sleep.”
I let out a big sigh and head up the stairs.