Forty-four
Peter
Isat at the kitchen table in Tag and Bea’s cabin with a spread of papers before me.
When Tag had asked me to sit down and look at their finances, I immediately ordered a chunky calculator off .
And I took time to familiarize myself with the button placement beforehand so I wouldn’t get bogged down mentally due to feeling awkward or inept.
As I listened to Tag summarize their most recent financial woes, I shifted to lean back in my chair, favoring the muscles that yanked tight at the movement.
The last several days, Harlan had me do exercises on a suspended barrel that were surprisingly difficult on the abs and thighs.
But he said I was almost there—almost ready for my first fall.
Tag said, “So, here’s the problem. We need more trucks on the road.
I made a bad purchase a few years back and bought a rig that’s about to nickel and dime me to death.
It needs a complete transmission rebuild which costs a lot, or I need to buy a new rig and replace it.
We are dependent enough on these trucks that I can’t buy a beat up piece of shit like I did last time. ”
I nodded. “You need something reliable.”
He hummed. “Yep. I wouldn’t hesitate to just pull the trigger and replace it, but, truth be told, we’ve contracted another driver because we really need a third rig. With these bigger rodeos, sometimes it seems like the entire ranch is goin’ to the same place.”
We talked trucks for a bit and weighed the pros and cons of buying new versus used.
I’d helped Tag with his finances several times, and he was a sharp guy who knew his stuff.
But he struggled in the money department, as many of my former clients did.
Advising them had been my favorite part of working at Summit Financial.
“Okay, where is your profit and loss sheet?”
“Right here.” Bea slid a piece of paper in my direction. Because I didn’t have any of my accessible technology with me, Bea read each line aloud as I typed the totals into the calculator.
The first section was revenue. Contracting, subcontracting, stud leasing, winnings, training.
They were making a lot more than they were three years ago, and they’d chiseled at their debt significantly.
We looked at their business totals and whether Meadowbrook was finally paying its owner a fair wage.
I was relieved to find, for my sister’s sake, that Tag made a decent living and they were even working on a little nest egg.
When we got into the details of their personal income, I was speechless when Bea read a line that said, “Spotify…twenty-one thousand, six hundred and thirteen dollars and fifty-two cents.”
“Wait…” I stammered. “Is that from your music?”
“Just one song, actually.” I heard the smile in her voice.
“You’re kidding.”
She giggled at my shock. “No, I’m not.”
“Bea, that’s amazing.”
“Thank you. It’s been exciting.”
“Wait.” I shook my head, suddenly concerned I didn’t have the whole story. “You produced it yourself, right? I didn’t miss some label announcement, did I?”
“No, you didn’t. I just recorded it in my studio, self-published it, and put some videos on my social media channels.”
“Sounds like it took off.”
“A little,” she said.
“She’s bein’ modest.” Tag said, a note of pride in his tone. “She’s had almost two million streams, agents reachin’ out, and fans askin’ for more. And all of this has happened in only the last few months.”
I puffed out a disbelieving breath. “Why the sudden uptick?”
Tag and Bea shared a knowing laugh and I heard a foot shift under the table like one of them nudged the other.
Tag teased her. “Go on. Tell him.”
“Me admitting it will go straight to your head.”
He gave a soft, smitten laugh. “It’s already gone to my head, darlin’.”
“Fine.” Conceding, she took a deep breath and said, “I have to lay my pride down to say it, but I produced a country song. That’s what changed things.”
I laughed, understanding their exchange now. Bea had always hated country music. Then she moved to Texas where she was surrounded by it, and judging by the music I heard coming from Tag’s truck, her husband preferred country stations and probably inspired her experiment with the new genre.
“Tag has always said I’d have a pretty country style if I just tried it. So, I finally did. And he was right. I released one single and now everyone wants an album.”
“Is this the one you sang at the open mic?” I asked.
“A Kiss Like Molasses, yes.”
I smiled at her. “So, is an album on the horizon?”
Tag and Bea gave contradicting answers at the same time.
Tag said yes.
Bea said no.
I chuckled at that.
Bea was the first to speak again. “I don’t have the time to dedicate to an entire album and I’m okay with that.”
“We’ll make time, Bea.” Tag directed his voice at me then. “She’s too gifted to keep music relegated to a hobby. I’m sure you’re with me.”
I gave a single nod. “Absolutely.”
“Thank you,” Tag said, feeling justified. “See? Peter agrees.”
“Also, once the bed and breakfast is closed down, you’ll have plenty of time on the road to write and play your guitar.” I pointed out.
“I’ve made this point a thousand times. She won’t hear it.” Tag tsked. “Even if she never made a penny, she needs to do what she’s wired to do.”
“She comes alive, doesn’t she?” I asked him, a smirk tugging into my cheeks because I had no doubt I was annoying Bea by so thoroughly siding against her.
Tag’s voice turned serious, infused with a palpable awe. “Yes, and it’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
A scoffing laugh came from Bea as she gave Tag a light smack. “Oh, stop that. You’re making me blush. I want to focus on you and Wren and the rodeo. That’s it.”
“You already do that perfectly. We can figure out how to add in music and still be present for the rest of it. We’ve solved harder problems.”
“Sorry, Peter,” Bea apologized, her voice a little sheepish. “This has, clearly, been an ongoing conversation.”
We refocused on the task at hand—figuring out what Tag could afford truck-wise, but my brain snagged on the back and forth between them. It brought me an immense amount of relief to hear my brother-in-law fighting for Bea’s best. That her future success wasn’t being overlooked in favor of his own.
Throughout the rest of our conversation, I sensed movement near my feet. Like they were playing footsie or something. The knowledge had me fighting a smile and so happy for my little sister. I didn’t have to see the way he looked at her to know he’d do anything she asked of him.
Finally, after thoroughly examining their finances, I gave Tag the green light. Replacing his old rig before the end of the year would give him a huge tax break, and he’d purchase his third rig in January to help his taxes the following year.
Bea laughed. “Peter, you made his entire week. He loves truck shopping.”
A sound, like hands being greedily rubbed together, filled the cabin. “This is gonna be fun.”
We made small talk for a little longer, but I soon listed reasons to excuse myself. Stepping off their front porch, I launched into the cool evening, needing a few minutes to think. Meandering through the quiet barnyard, I went into the barn’s corridor and plopped down on my thinking barrel.
Tag had said they’d “solved harder problems,” and the phrase made me consider all the mountains Sarah and I had scaled. All the storms and trials. All the darkness and pain.
And all the light.
Despite the bad, Sarah and I had found a lot of joy together.
But the months following my accident were our hardest yet. This time, there was no medication to help. No chemotherapy. No doctors with an answer. We could hunker down again, but we wouldn’t ride this one out. There wouldn’t be better news tomorrow.
Maybe the only way to solve it was to stop trying to solve it. For all the striving and fighting we’d done over the last couple years, there were really only two options, weren’t there?
Work together and make the best of it.
Or separate and make the best of it.
Stay or go, we would scramble to pick up the pieces and start a new life. As ex-spouses with armfuls of baggage or as husband and wife with dashed hopes and dreams. As one heart in two pieces or one heart still beating.
If you stripped away all my insecurities, the truth stood as stark and vulnerable as the bare skin on my body.
I didn’t want to face another trial without her hand in mine.
I didn’t want to sleep another night without holding her.
I didn’t want to end another day without the relief of coming home to her.
I didn’t want to solve a single problem, climb a single mountain, or take a single breath without Sarah.
I just needed to convince her to give me another chance.
Then my phone came out.
First, I texted my old boss.
Me
Hey Chip, can you call me sometime tomorrow when you get a minute?
His response came immediately.
Chip
Absolutely! Can’t wait, brother!
Then I called Sarah.