17. Julius
— ? —
Julius
I take the photograph off the office wall before Dakota arrives.
There’s a layer of dust along the top of the frame. I wipe it with my sleeve, then look at the picture of me riding, my free hand raised while the bull turns beneath me.
Ramona has told me what she remembers about that day. I barely remember losing my hat. She remembers looking for it afterward because I was too sore to climb through the fence myself.
I set the photograph on the desk instead of putting it back, and Dakota knocks once before opening the door. She has coffee in one hand and her tablet tucked beneath her arm.
“One of the hands said you needed me.” She notices the photograph, then looks at my face. “Is there a problem?”
“Come inside.” I move away from the desk so she can put down her things. “You won’t be working here anymore. I’m ending it today.”
She stops with her cup halfway to the desk.
“You’re firing me?” She lowers it carefully, leaving her fingers around the handle.
“Yes. Full severance, and a reference for the work you did with the horses.” I put my hands in my pockets. “I’ve told the hands we’ll be hiring another trainer.”
“You told them before you told me?” She puts her tablet beside the coffee, her eyes staying on mine. “After everything I’ve done here?”
“Your work with the horses isn’t in question.” I wait until she stops moving her tablet against the edge of the desk. “But you can’t keep working beside me after what happened.”
Dakota looks toward the open door. I close it, leaving us alone with the noise of the horses through the window.
“This is because Ramona moved out.” She folds her arms when I turn back. “I heard the hands talking.”
“She’s filed for divorce.” I have to clear my throat before continuing. “I’m telling you because I don’t want you hearing it and deciding it changes what I said to you.”
Her arms loosen, and she watches me for a moment before stepping closer.
“I didn’t know.” She lowers her voice. “Julius, I’m sorry.”
I move behind the desk before she can reach me. She stops beside the chair, resting a hand on its back.
“Does she know you’re doing this?” Dakota looks at the photograph lying between us.
“No. She didn’t ask me to.” I put my palm beside the frame. “This is my decision.”
“Then why now?” Her voice rises, and she glances at the door before lowering it. “You told me we could still work together.”
“I thought we could.” I look directly at her. “Then you told the Western Classic I was eager before I’d answered them. You wrote yourself into their program as the woman who brought me back. And you sat across from my wife and told everybody she didn’t know how to cheer for me.”
“I made a joke.” She pulls the chair out slightly without sitting. “It came out badly. I apologized.”
“You told her you were sorry she took it that way.” I keep my voice even, although my hand has tightened against the desk. “You looked at her when you said it. You knew who would hear.”
She pushes the chair back.
“You laughed, Julius.” Her eyes shine as she waits for me to answer.
I take my hand off the desk.
“I did.” I look down long enough to get the words out properly. “She waited for me to say it wasn’t funny, and I let her sit there.”
Dakota watches me without speaking. I can hear a horse knocking against a stall door outside, followed by a hand telling it to settle.
“I’m responsible for what I did to her.” I lift my eyes again. “That doesn’t mean I have to let you keep treating her that way.”
“I was the one listening when you were miserable.” She grips the chair more tightly. “You don’t get to pretend I imagined that.”
“I’m not pretending.” I come around the desk, stopping with room between us. “I talked to you because it was easy. I gave you the parts I wanted you to hear, then went home and told Ramona I was tired.”
“You were tired.” She leans toward me. “You were allowed to say it.”
“I was saying it to avoid talking to my wife.” I rub a hand over my mouth. “She kept asking what was wrong. I let you believe she wouldn’t listen.”
Dakota looks away, her jaw working before she answers.
“So now none of our conversations meant a thing?” She takes her tablet from the desk and holds it against her chest.
“They mattered enough that I should have stopped sooner.” I make myself stay where I am. “You knew things I hadn’t told her. I let that become normal.”
“She could have tried to understand.” Dakota lifts her chin. “You shouldn’t have to feel guilty every time you want to get on a bull.”
“I should feel guilty about letting her find out from an announcer.” I look toward the photograph, then back at her. “I signed up without telling her. I watched her search for that buckle while I was already in the chute.”
“You stayed on.” She gestures toward the window, where part of the arena is visible. “You did what you wanted to do.”
“And I knew before the gate opened that I’d hurt her.” I wait for her to meet my eyes. “You keep leaving that part out.”
Dakota sets the tablet down again, harder this time.
“You were good at riding before you built all this.” She points toward the yard. “People still remember. You don’t know what I’d give to have that chance again.”
“I know you miss competing.” I lower my voice as hers rises. “I listened when you told me.”
“My knee made the decision for me.” She touches it briefly, then drops her hand. “You got to decide, and you walked away.”
“I wanted to.” I keep my eyes on hers. “I was tired of leaving home. I wanted the ranch, and I wanted a life with Ramona.”
“You wanted to stop making her afraid.” She shakes her head, watching me. “You told me how she gets.”
“I told you she was scared.” I take a breath before continuing. “I didn’t tell you she showed up anyway. I didn’t tell you she helped me prepare for the later exhibition even when she was worried sick.”
Dakota crosses her arms again and waits for an admission.
“You’ve changed your story.” She looks at me steadily.
“I’ve started telling the part that makes me look like an asshole.” I glance at the desk because I don’t want to soften it for her. “Ramona didn’t take riding away from me. I stopped, and when I missed it, I blamed her instead of admitting I’d changed my mind.”
She goes quiet. I move toward the door, but she steps forward before I reach it.
“We were friends.” Her voice drops, and she looks at the bare place on my ring finger. “I cared about you.”
I close my hand without meaning to.
“I know you did.” I leave the door shut while I finish. “But I’m not available for the friendship we were having. That isn’t going to change because my wife has left.”
Dakota’s mouth tightens. She looks down at the coffee she hasn’t touched, then picks it up.
“What happens to my things?” She keeps her attention on the cup.
“You can pack them yourself.” I take the east wing key from the hook beside the door and set it on the desk. “A driver can take you wherever you need to go. There’s a room booked in town until you decide where that is.”
“You’ve thought of everything.” She gives a short laugh without smiling.
“I’ve arranged transport.” I step aside so she can reach the key.
“You can tell the driver when you’re ready.
Your SUV stays yours. One of the hands will bring it to town once you’ve told him where.
Your house on the county road isn’t my business.
If your builder calls the ranch, I’ll give him your number. ”
She puts the key in her pocket, then gathers her tablet beneath her arm.
“You still have my number.” She stops beside me at the door.
“If you need to arrange the return of equipment, send it to the ranch.” I open the door. “Please don’t use my personal number again.”
She studies my face long enough that a hand approaching the office slows and turns away. Then she walks past me, and I stay beside the open door until her footsteps fade.
***
I’m at the fence when the driver brings the truck around from the house.
Dakota sits in the back beside a bag. She looks toward me as they pass, but the glass is too dark for me to read her face.
The truck continues toward the main road. I watch until it turns, then look across the pasture at the cottage, where Ramona’s truck is parked outside the gate.
I could send a driver to get her. I could have a plane ready before she finished packing a bag. There are people waiting for me to decide where horses should go and which barn gets repaired first.
I take out my phone and stand there trying to write a message to my own wife.
Don’t make her thank you for doing this.
I type that Dakota has gone, then erase it. I’m hoping Ramona will read it as a reason to come back, and she’ll know that.
I try again.
Julius: Dakota won’t be working here anymore. I ended it this morning. I wanted you to hear it from me.
I read it before sending. Then I put the phone away instead of watching for an answer.
Inside the office, the photograph is still lying on my desk. I pick it up and carry it back to the wall.
My reflection shows in the glass as I straighten it. I have a clean shirt on, and I shaved this morning because Ramona used to rub her thumb over my jaw when she liked how it felt. She hasn’t touched my face since the arena.
I lower my hands and leave the office.
***
Ramona is trying to lift a feed bag from the back of her truck when I reach the main barn.
She has one knee braced against the bumper, pulling the bag toward her. I stop far enough away that she can see me before I speak.
“Will you let me take that?” I wait while she looks over her shoulder. “You can tell me where it goes.”
“I’ve nearly got it.” She tugs again, then closes her eyes when the corner catches.
I stay where I am. She looks at me, looks back at the bag, and gets down from the bumper.
“Put it inside the feed room.” She brushes her palms against her jeans. “The empty bin is by the door.”
I lift the bag and carry it past her. She follows to open the bin, holding the lid while I empty it.
Her sleeve rides up as she reaches. There’s a faint scratch near her elbow, and I want to ask what happened. I used to take her arm and check before she had time to complain. I fold the empty bag instead.
“Do you need any more brought over?” I look toward the truck.
“That’s the last one.” She closes the lid and rests her hand on it. “I got your message.”
I turn toward her fully.
“I wanted you to know.” I keep the folded bag between my hands. “You don’t have to respond.”
“Did you speak to her yourself?” She watches my face while I nod.
“I told her why she couldn’t stay.” I stop myself from giving Ramona a report of every word. “I also told her she couldn’t keep blaming you for my decisions.”
Ramona looks toward the open door. A breeze moves the loose hair against her cheek, and she tucks it behind her ear.
“Did she hear you?” She turns back to me.
“I don’t know.” I set the empty bag aside. “I said it clearly. I should have done that a long time ago.”
She nods without smiling.
I want to go closer. She has dust on her jaw, and I know she won’t notice it until she washes her face tonight. I also know she’ll be doing that in the cottage, where there won’t be room beside her for my things.
“I’m still going to counseling.” I put my hands in my pockets so I don’t reach for her. “I haven’t canceled a single appointment.”
“I haven’t either.” She moves toward the doorway, and I step aside.
She stops beside me rather than passing. Her eyes lift to my face, then move down to my empty hand as I take it from my pocket.
“I got the ring.” She rubs her thumb against the edge of the bin.
I nod because I don’t trust my first answer.
“You don’t need to decide what to do with it.” I keep my hand open at my side.
“I put it away.” She watches me carefully. “That’s all I’ve done.”
“Thank you for telling me.” I make myself leave it there.
Outside, June pushes her head over the stall door. Ramona goes to her, and I follow as far as the passage.
My wife rests her cheek against the mare’s forehead. She closes her eyes while June noses at her shirt, and I have to look down at my boots.
“I miss you.” I lift my head when she turns. “I’m not saying that to make you come home. I just don’t want to keep pretending I’m fine.”
“I know you’re not fine.” She keeps her hand on June’s neck. “Neither am I.”
“Can I help with her while I’m here?” I nod toward the brushes beside the stall. “Or would you rather I left?”
She looks at the brushes for a moment.
“You can stay until I finish.” She opens the door and lets me follow her inside.
***
We brush June from opposite sides without talking much.
Ramona points out the place where the mare likes being scratched. I already know, but I do it while she watches, and June leans enough that my wife gives a small laugh.
“Don’t let her push you over.” Ramona puts a hand against the mare’s shoulder. “She’ll keep going if you give her room.”
“I remember.” I brace my feet and keep brushing.
Ramona’s smile fades when she catches me looking at her. She turns back to June, and I lower my eyes before I make her feel watched.
When we finish, I clean the brushes while she fastens the stall door. She waits until I’ve put them away before walking me toward the outside passage.
She stops beside the open doors and folds her hands in front of her.
“Her leaving doesn’t change the papers.” She waits until she has my eyes. “I need you to know that before you think today means more than it does.”
“I know it doesn’t fix us.” I stay where I am. “I’m hoping counseling can help.”
“I’m hoping it can help us talk without hurting each other.” She draws a breath, her eyes bright. “I don’t know yet whether that means staying married.”
I stand beside the open door while she walks back to June.
She let me stay and help, and I was already thinking about asking whether I could come again tomorrow.
She’s still trying with me, and she’s still planning to leave.