Chapter 22 Dolly
DOLLY
Ihaven’t spent much time with my father lately.
My brothers have written him off since he’s been checked out of the ranch and family dynamics for years.
He’s an alcoholic, the serious kind. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t fall into bed with whiskey breath and unsteady steps.
He’s been that way for as long as I can remember, except for the few memories I have from before my mother died.
At this point, I doubt he could stop if he wanted to. His heart would give out.
The mornings are the only time when he’s lucid enough for me to really talk to him about anything meaningful.
Since I spent the night at Holden and Rosie’s and didn’t sleep much, I get up early to drive the UTV down to the main house and see him.
The sun is rising over the small lake that separates our houses.
Mist is evaporating off the glassy surface.
I pause to admire the beauty of my childhood home.
I’m blessed to have grown up and lived here my entire life—I know that. But there’s a restlessness inside me, something pushing me to do … something, anything to change things up.
Maybe I just need a boyfriend. Maybe I need to finally finish my cookbook and start pitching agents to see if I can get it published.
Maybe what I really need is to get out of here.
But the prospect of leaving fills me with a sinking sadness. I love living so close to my nieces. Bonnie and Birdie are the sweetest little girls in the entire universe. They’re mischievous, even as toddlers. My purpose in life has always been tied to the ranch and to the family.
I get paid to cook for the family. When Holden was in prison and Cash was running things, I was becoming an adult and looking for work in town while I figured out what I wanted to do.
Cash offered to pay me just like he would a ranch hand if I became the designated cook for the ranch.
I accepted, but only on the condition that he hire Rosie to be the housekeeper.
We were a great team. It left me plenty of time to read and to work on my cookbook and practice as many recipes as I wanted.
The ranch hands and my brothers never complained, but they’d happily rate my recipes and give me honest feedback to help me perfect the ingredients.
Now I have Sun Butter Bakery to occupy my time. My own little thriving business that I created and built. I’m proud of it.
I sigh, pushing on the gas pedal and continuing up to the ranch house.
Pops is sitting on the front porch with a mug of coffee.
My heart sinks when I see him pouring amber liquor into it.
He smiles at me, lifting a hand to wave.
I return it with my own wave as I put the UTV in park.
I sling my bright blue duffel bag over my shoulder and make my way up the steps.
“Hi, Pops. How are you?”
He smiles. “Feeling good, sugar. Were you up at Holden’s place?”
I nod. I wonder if he’s even realized I’ve been gone lately, more than just last night.
“There’s coffee inside if you want some.”
I lean down to kiss him on the cheek, the whiskey smell potent in my nostrils. “I need a cup. I’ll come back out to sit with you. Is Duke here?”
Technically, I’m not supposed to be here if one of the guys isn’t around in case the person sending threatening letters shows up. But it’s early in the morning, so surely, I’m safe.
“I don’t know where anybody is. I can’t keep up with all you kids.” He takes a long drag of the coffee and whiskey.
I nod, knowing that telling him it’s because he’s always drunk won’t make a difference. Once my mother died, he stopped being a father. Holden and Cash practically raised Duke and me. Sterling was lost somewhere in the middle.
I step through the front door, shoving the sad family dynamics to the back of my mind.
I walk into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee.
Pops spilled the grounds all over the counter, so I clean up the mess and look inside the fridge.
The creamer is expired. I use milk instead and add a spoonful of sugar.
The place is mostly clean, thankfully. We have a biweekly housekeeper who comes to take care of it now that Rosie has the twins. It’s not nearly as much to handle since only Pops lives here right now. Duke is in the bunkhouse near the barn, where Sterling is staying, too, while he’s on leave.
My phone buzzes with a text. I walk back out to the front porch while I read it.
Rosie
Where’d you run off to?
Dolly
I wanted to see Pops. Having coffee on the front porch now.
Rosie
I’m worried about you. It’s not safe for you, Dolls.
Dolly
Is Pops okay here all alone? Who’s feeding him?
Rosie
Duke checks in every morning, and Holden takes him dinner every night from what I cook. Why? Is he okay?
Dolly
He’s already drinking.
Rosie
I’m sorry, D. That’s earlier than usual.
I settle into the rocking chair beside him. He’s whispering to himself, like he often does. Sometimes, I hear him talking out loud when no one is around; other times, he has whispered conversations, almost like he knows there’s no one there, but he’s fully engaged in the scenario in his head.
Rosie
Maybe it’s time we consider hiring a nurse to check up on him during the day. Or are you wanting to come back home? It’s a lot for you to handle on your own with the bakery and cooking for the ranch.
Dolly
I don’t know what I want. I’m sick of living with Sam Seymour—I can tell you that.
Rosie
I don’t blame you.
I put the phone down, turning to Pops. “Have you seen the twins lately?”
He shakes his head. “What twins?”
I sigh. “Birdie and Bonnie, Holden’s little girls.”
“I’m okay with whatever, sugar. Where’s your mom, by the way? I wanted to talk to her.”
I gape at him. He’s said some out-of-pocket things, and he constantly forgets things, but this is the first time he’s ever talked about my mother as if she were alive.
“She’s gone, Pops. She died. You remember? In that car accident. It was years ago.”
His brows furrow. “Oh, right. I guess I do remember that.”
He reaches for the whiskey bottle at his feet. I stop his hand.
“Pops, please, just wait until later. You should stick with coffee for now.”
He swats my hand away and grabs the bottle. “I’m a grown man. Don’t tell me what I can and can’t drink.” He sticks his hand in the upper pocket of his shirt and pulls out his pack of Marlboros.
My bottom lip trembles. My father isn’t necessarily violent.
He’s never hit any of us, other than spankings when we were little.
He doesn’t scream at us or cuss us out. But when it comes to his alcohol and cigarettes, there’s no reasoning with him.
There’s no taking it away because he’ll drive himself to the store to buy it.
There’s no hiding it because he’ll tear the house apart until he finds it.
He’s an addict who doesn’t have any desire to change.
This is why my brothers have checked out.
He’s slowly killing himself. He’s missing out on all of our lives because he never learned to deal with the pain of my mother’s death.
My brothers have the advantage of compartmentalization.
They can put my father in a box in their minds.
They love him for who he is to them and for starting Redford Ranch, but they can separate the current state he’s in from their daily life.
It doesn’t work that way for me. It breaks me a little more every day to see him this way.
Suddenly, the realization that Sam is so similar to him makes me shudder. He copes with alcohol and pushes everyone away. Instead of facing what he’s been through head-on, he numbs the pain.
Girls usually end up dating men like their father.
My therapist, Nancy, warned me once about the type of men I would date when I opened up to her about my dad’s emotional and mental absence.
I was in therapy off and on after my mom’s death.
I was so lonely. Nancy was constantly warning me about dating the wrong types of guys and getting into a relationship with someone who would hurt me the same way my father had.
My decision to be done with Sam Seymour solidifies in my mind. I can keep staying at Moonlight and not get in his way. He avoids me like the plague anyway. And for some reason, that’s easier than being here too. A heavy sigh escapes my lips, just as a text buzzes through on my phone.
@ropesandchainsexciteme
I’m alive. Pretty banged up, but I’ll make it.
I smile at my phone. I texted Ropes late last night while I was having trouble sleeping to ask about how his fight went. Hearing from him makes my belly tingle with excitement.
@redreads
Well, did you win?
@ropesandchainsexciteme
Of course I won, Baby Red. You should see the other guy.
My heart drops into my stomach. Baby Red.
Sam Seymour calls me Baby Red.
The blood rushing in my ears makes me miss the rumble of a truck engine coming up the driveway until it’s almost parked.
I look up to the red Ford F-150. I don’t recognize the vehicle, and the hair on the back of my neck immediately rises.
My heart is thumping erratically, missing every few beats and making my skin feel clammy. I set my phone on the rocker.
“Pops, are you expecting anyone?” I ask.
Pops shakes his head. “No. Maybe the farrier?”
The farrier never comes on the weekends, so I know that can’t be him. I close out the messages on my phone, not allowing myself to dwell on it for now. My heart thumps unevenly in my chest.
There’s no way Sam is Ropes. No. Fucking. Way. It can’t be Sam that I’ve been talking to this whole time.
The driver’s door opens up, and Ben hops out of the vehicle, holding a bouquet of flowers. I sigh in relief. The tingling sensation crawling up my neck doesn’t ease.
I look like I just rolled out of bed because I practically did. I’m wearing pink camo sweatpants and a gray tank top with no bra.
It’s so early. What is he doing here before eight a.m.? How does he know where I live?