30. Emotionally Waterboarded #2
Since taking over the role as CFO, Dean had insisted on having the final say in all employment contracts, mainly because my mom took in every sad sob story and paid them according to their needs, not their job descriptions or ability.
It was generous, kind, and I for one loved that about her, but I wasn’t the one dealing with the bottom line.
When Dean took over, the ranch was in the red thanks to Mom’s visions of the spa, vineyard, and resort expansions. Not to mention her rescuing every hurt or abused animal in the state. He’d worked very hard to put us in the black. Part of that meant taking the reins on payroll.
“No, you’re gonna hire her because you like her,” Mom said beneath her breath as we watched him pause at the door and take a breath before walking in.
“Do you have a minute?” I asked as my brother disappeared into the conference room.
“For you?” She lifted her arm, straightening it. “Always.”
We headed into her office, and she lowered herself onto the couch and patted the cushion beside her.
The space was her sanctuary—wide windows overlooking the sweep of the pastures, the sea glimmering blue on the horizon, every surface crammed with succulents, African violets, and the occasional surly cat, or in this case the kitten she’d stolen from me.
Minnie was curled up on the windowsill, basking in the sunlight.
She’d designed the place herself, and in the morning light, it looked like a slice of Tuscany had been dropped in the middle of coastal Oregon.
I sat down, trying to find the words. I’d rehearsed what I needed to say all night, but now that I was here, my mind was blank, and I didn’t know where to start.
“Everything okay?” she asked, peering sidelong, voice gentle but edged with maternal radar.
“Yeah,” I said. “I just—needed to talk to you.”
She was quiet, the way she always was when she knew something big was coming. She never forced it, just let the silence settle until you had no choice but to fill it.
“I’m leaving,” I finally confessed, and the admission felt like a boulder tumbling out of my chest. It wasn’t what I’d planned to tell her, but I had never been good with words.
She blinked, once, then twice, like she suspected more but didn’t want to get her hopes up. “Leaving the ranch for the day or leaving, leaving?”
“Leaving, leaving. I’m moving to New York.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t say anything, didn’t launch into arguments or try to guilt me into staying. She just listened, which was so much worse than anger, because it meant she knew this was real.
I tried to explain how much I loved the ranch, how I loved working with my family, and with the animals. I told her about Sadie, how she’d come back different, stronger, but just as much mine as she ever was. I told her I was terrified of losing her again, that I wouldn’t survive it a second time.
“She’s your future,” Mom said, and it wasn’t a question.
“She’s my everything,” I admitted, the words rawer than I meant them to be.
She nodded, lips trembling, and for a moment I thought she’d finally break. Instead, she just got up and wrapped me in a hug, the kind that made you feel small and indestructible at the same time.
“You’re not mad?” I mumbled into her hair.
“How could I be mad?” She pulled back, knuckling tears from her cheeks.
“All I’ve ever wanted for my boys is for you to be happy.
I know you haven’t been happy, not truly happy, since Sadie left.
” She sniffed. “You belong with her. Will I miss you? Of course, you’re my boy, but this is the right thing to do. ”
I swallowed, the relief so sudden it made me dizzy.
She smiled, shaky. “But you will visit, or I’ll send your brothers to drag you back by your ankles, and you know they’ll do it.”
“Every summer and holiday,” I agreed.
She pointed a finger at me, mock-stern. “Every. Single. One.”
“Every summer and holiday,” I promised. I’d have to work it out with Sadie, but I had a feeling she’d be okay with it since she’d already talked about visiting more to keep an eye on Buddy.
“When are you leaving? We need to have a party."
“I don’t know. Buddy is coming home today. I haven’t even told Sadie. I’m going when she’s going. If she leaves today, so am I. If she leaves in a week, then so am I.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay, well, keep me updated.”
“I will.” I stood, leaned down, and kissed her on the top of her head.
I left the office feeling lighter, the decision finally real now that I’d spoken it aloud. The air outside was sharp and salt-heavy, the sky the kind of blue that barely looked real. Next, I needed to tell Sadie my news. I just hoped she was happy about it.
I was halfway to my truck, planning to drive straight to the Shepard house, when I heard a voice in the stables, and I recognized it. I ducked inside, heart hammering, and found Sadie with Penny, brushing down the horse. Penny flicked her tail, contented, while Sadie murmured quietly to her.
I didn’t know why she was here instead of with Buddy, but then I realized: this was where she’d always gone when she was upset about her mom, whenever she’d had bad news and after she lost her.
Where she felt safe. Where she could pretend, for just a few minutes, that the rest of the world didn’t exist.
My heart dropped thinking something had happened to Buddy.
When I spoke, it came out small, almost reverent. “Sadie?”
She turned at the sound of my voice, and I saw the streaks of tears on her cheeks.
She didn’t try to hide them or brush them away, and I recognized that as something new—old Sadie would have wiped her face and covered the evidence before anyone got close.
She was clutching a curry comb, her knuckles white around the plastic handle.
For a second, all the words I’d planned to say clogged in my throat.
But I could read the panic in her face, the way her chest heaved with every shaky breath. It twisted inside me. I closed the space between us fast.
“Sadie,” I breathed, “what’s wrong? Is Buddy—?”
“He’s okay, he’s fine,” she rushed out. She dropped the comb and walked out of the stall. “He’s good. He’s stubborn and cranky, and he’s gonna outlive us all. It’s not Buddy. I just—” She wiped her hands on her jeans. “Sorry. I just, uh. Needed a minute. It’s been a day.”
She was still crying, even if she was smiling, and I did the only thing I could think of—I pulled her to my chest and let her soak the front of my shirt.
For a long time, we just stood there, her sniffs filling the stables: horses shifting their weight, pigeons rustling above the rafters, the wind knocking at the weathered boards.
She buried her nose in my sternum and took one last shuddering inhale, like she was trying to take in the whole world at once.
“Are you okay?” It was a stupid question I wished I could take back as soon as it left my mouth.
She nodded against me but didn’t let go.
“I’m okay. I’m better than okay. I had a long talk with Buddy this morning,” she said, her voice muffled by my shirt.
“A real talk. About everything I’d never told him, everything I wish I’d said before, and it just—” She hiccupped and pulled back as she wiped her cheeks.
Instead of that old defensiveness, there was something like relief in her eyes.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Sorry.
I’m sure you didn’t expect to get emotionally waterboarded today. ”
I smiled. “I don’t mind. You can waterboard me anytime.”
She gave a weak laugh and shook her head. “I’m a mess.”
“Yeah. But you’re my mess. Always have been and always will be.
” The words were out before I could second-guess them, but she didn’t flinch.
She didn’t run. She just smiled. I took a breath so deep it made my ribs ache.
“I, uh. I have something to tell you, too. But I really hope it doesn’t ruin your good day. ”
That got her attention, her shoulders tensed, and she braced herself like she was expecting bad news. “What?” she asked, voice tight.
I swallowed, nerves suddenly back in full force. “I love you,” I blurted, then shook my head. “Shit, no, that’s not—well, yes, I do, but what I mean is… I gave my notice. At the ranch. I just told my mom. I’m leaving. I’m moving to New York.”