She’s Gone Country (19 page)

As I toss my clothes and face stuff into my overnight bag, their voices drift up and I overhear bits and pieces of their conversation. Their conversation is so painfully strained, it’s almost funny.

But after a few awkward comments about the cold front and crops, Dane mentions his trip earlier in the day to Ty Murray’s ranch, which then leads into a discussion of the current PBR standings as the season draws to a close.

When Brick and Dane graduated from high school, they chose to join the Professional Rodeo Cowboy’s Association rather than go to college. They paid their two hundred dollars and got their PRCA permit, which allowed them to enter rodeos where space was available. They wouldn’t become full-fledged members of the PRCA until they earned enough money competing to buy their card. Back then it was around twenty-five hundred dollars, and Dane earned it his first year. It took Brick an extra year to earn his. But even then they stuck together, traveling from Pecos, Texas, to Eugene, Oregon, to Calgary, Alberta, and back to Prescott, Arizona. For four years they traveled together, roomed together, and competed against each other. And during those years, the injuries started to pile up.

In the end, the injuries were too much for Brick. He realized he’d be happier ranching than competing and retired from the PRCA. But Dane’s career just kept getting bigger, and since Brick knew the business, he became Dane’s manager, entering Dane in events, paying fees, signing sponsors, even as Brick began a family with Charlotte and took over the ranch from Pop.

Dane was doing well and making good money on the PRCA circuit, but it was the Professional Bull Riders that really cemented Dane’s status as a star. And Brick was there the whole way.

This is the kind of relationship Brick and Dane have, and as they discuss the rankest bull on this year’s circuit and the new young Brazilian riders, I feel a glimmer of hope that maybe Brick and Dane will eventually patch things up. Blood may be thicker than water, but you can’t survive without water.

Once Brick and I are in his truck and he’s heading to our ranch, he asks me about everything I’m missing. “Keys, phone, wallet, checkbook, you name it,” I answer.

“Over Thanksgiving weekend, too.” He shakes his head. “Terrible timing. Nothing’s open. What can you do?”

“I haven’t gotten anything done this weekend, other than try to clean up the house and help Dane get the new door and locks in.”

“I’m pretty sure I have a spare key to Pop’s truck at my house.”

“That’d be wonderful. Otherwise I have to call Manny or a locksmith.”

We lapse into silence, and Brick turns on the radio to a news talk station. Brick loves talk radio. He gets all his news and weather reports from the radio.

But a few minutes later, he turns down the volume. “I’m glad you called Dane. He and I might have our differences, but you’ll always be safe with him.” And then he turns the volume back up.

I look at him, eyebrows lifting. That’s it? That’s all he’s going to say?

After a minute goes by, I turn down the volume. “You two were talking for almost twenty minutes,” I say. “That’s the first time you guys have really talked in years.”

Brick’s jaw hardens. “Don’t go there.”

“Don’t go where?”

“You know. Just mind your own business and everything will be fine.”

It’s not the answer I want, but it’s what I get. And at least they’re talking. That’s a start.

Back at our ranch, Brick and I go through the new security system together. The old house now has the security of Fort Knox, and I’m not sure if I should be worried or relieved by the hundred different ways we can trip the alarm.

With the security codes in place and all the doors and windows properly armed, Brick sees to his horses and I phone the boys to go over the arrangements for their arrival tomorrow. Bo and Cooper sound good on the phone—cheerful and happy—but Hank sounds depressed.

“Has it been a good visit?” I ask him, trying to understand why he’s so down.

“Yeah. It was all right. Most of my friends were gone for the break, but I saw Cole and Paul and we tossed the ball around a bit.”

“You played lacrosse?”

“It wasn’t a game, but we ran around in Central Park.”

“That’s great. I bet it was good to see them.”

“It was.” Hank falls silent. “Mom… ,” he starts, then stops.

“What, hon?”

I can tell he’s struggling with words, and I hold my breath, wanting to help him but not knowing how. He’s fifteen. He’s been pulling away from me for a while now.

“I love you, Mom,” he says finally.

But he says it in a rough voice that just sounds sad, as though loving me were a bad thing. I swallow hard, and my eyes smart. “I love you, too. Can’t wait to see you, baby.”

“Me too, Mom.” And then he hangs up.

I turn out most of the lights but leave one on over the front door for Brick, who plans to sleep in Coop’s room. I’m heading down the hallway to my room when the photos on the wall catch my eye.

I pass down the narrow hall a hundred times a day and never pay the framed photos any notice, but tonight I stop. It’s a gallery dedicated to the four Callen kids, with photos dating back to the mid-1960s.

There’s Brick and Blue, towheaded toddlers in matching western shirts and cowboy hats, smiling for the Sears photographer.

Here’s one of Brick on a horse, and then another of Blue in football pads, plus cheap oak-framed class photos that have already faded and yellowed.

Farther down the wall is Cody’s eight-by-ten baby portrait, and he’s a grinning, gummy-faced baby, completely bald but so smiley that his eyes glint with good humor. This is the Cody I know, this is the Cody I love.

When I was growing up, Cody was my best friend. We were two years apart in age but just a year apart in school, and wherever Cody went I was sure to follow.

My gaze follows the cluster of framed photos—Cody as a Cub Scout, Cody as a football player, Cody holding a trophy after taking first at the state fair for his sheep. I remember how upset I was that Cody got to sleep at the fairground near his sheep and Mama and Pop wouldn’t let me. I was so mad at Cody. But then the next day he won first place, and no one was prouder.

I reach out and touch the photo of grinning Cody and his trophy. My favorite brother. Gone far too soon.

Cody shouldn’t have died. There’s no reason for him to have died. We should have stuck together. Worked together. Helped him sooner. Helped him better.

Why didn’t we? Why couldn’t we? What’s happened to all of us?

What’s happened to
me
?

It’s too late to bring him back, but it’s not too late to get me back. The confident me, the strong me. The Shey who believed she could do anything. Be anything. Handle anything.

With a last glance at the photograph of Cody I vow to one day be that Shey again because I really liked her.

She was tough. Smart. Sexy.

Brave.

And on a good day, Lord, was she fun.

T
he sky is a blustery gray as I drive to the airport, and for the first time this year I turn on the truck’s heater. The weather forecast predicts rain in the next few days, and if temperatures drop much lower, we might see some snow. It’s a very slight chance, but a possibility.

Although snow is beautiful, especially when it paints the fields white, I’m not ready for it. I have so much to do, and at the top of my list is getting a new driver’s license and then opening a new checking account and pulling some cash from the bank to tide me over until my new credit and debit cards arrive. I also have to buy a new cell phone, as well as a new wallet. Such a hassle replacing everything, and sad to lose the boys’ pictures.

I arrive at the airport with twenty minutes to kill. But then it’s three o’clock, and as I wait at the appropriate American Airlines baggage carousel, the sliding glass door opens and my boys emerge.

Bo. Cooper. No Hank.

Where’s Hank?

I count the heads again. Only two. There should be three. Where’s my oldest?

Bo reaches me, hugs me hard, and blurts out, “Hank stayed behind, Mom.”

He’s so tall that his chin hits my shoulders. Automatically I lift a hand, smooth the back of his hair. It’s getting long again. “What do you mean?”

Coop shuffles up, his backpack hanging off his thin shoulder. He’s built just like Cody. “He’s not coming back, Mom—” Coop’s voice cracks, and he flushes. “He said he’d call you…”

All I hear is the echo of Cooper’s words—
He’s not coming back
—before my adrenaline kicks in. Not coming back? How can he not come back? I’m his mom. He lives with me.

“What?” I whisper, my chest growing tight.

“He was supposed to call,” Bo says flatly.

“He didn’t say anything about staying,” I answer.

Cooper looks nervous. “Sorry.”

“When did he decide not to come?” I ask, reaching for Cooper’s backpack so he can get a better handle on his rolling bag. But he brushes me off.

“I don’t know,” Bo answers evasively even as he and his brother exchange glances.

They know, I think, anxiety giving way to frustration. “Well?” I demand, seeing as I put three boys on a plane to see their dad for Thanksgiving a week ago and I expected three to get off.

“It got weird last night,” Bo confesses as we head out through the exit to the parking garage.

“Weird how?” I ask, looking from one to the other.

“Just weird all the way around. You’d have to be there.”

I see their faces as we step into the shadowy garage, and their expressions are grim. Reluctantly, I let the subject drop. It’s Hank I need to talk to. Hank I’ll call as soon as we’re home.

It’s a ninety-minute drive without traffic, but there’s traffic today because of a horrific-looking accident that’s turned the freeway into a parking lot. By the time we actually get home, we’ve been in the car close to three hours and my excitement over the boys’ return has morphed into anger.

Hank should have called me, warned me. And if he wasn’t going to tell me, John should have instead.

Inside the house, the boys head to their rooms and I use the kitchen phone to call Hank’s cell. Part of me is thinking he won’t answer, while another part of me is desperate for him to pick up. He picks up.

“Hey, Mom.”

My throat suddenly closes. This is my firstborn, my baby. “What’s going on?”

“I just… I mean, Texas, Mom, really?”

“So you’re staying in New York with Dad.”

“Yeah.”

“You couldn’t call me to warn me?”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

“Check your damn voice mail. I left two messages on your phone, Mom, two.”

And then I remember I’m missing my cell phone. It was in my purse, and since I always use my cell, Hank wouldn’t think to call me on the house phone. “You didn’t tell me when we last spoke.”

He doesn’t answer.

The hot band around my chest squeezes tighter. “I just wish you’d talked it through with me—”

“You wouldn’t have listened. You would have just gotten pissed.”

“No, I wouldn’t have.”

“Yes. And you’re pissed now. You’re always pissed—”

“
Please.
Don’t use that word.”

“See? That’s exactly what I mean. It’s like I can’t do anything right—”

“Not true!”

“
Is
true. Besides, you still have Bo and Cooper. Dad has no one. And he loves us, and misses us, as much as you do.”

And just like that, the anger goes, leaving a strange hollow place inside of me. “Dad does need you,” I say quietly. “It’ll be good for you to be there with him. He won’t be so lonely.”

“Yeah.”

He says it halfheartedly, and I realize he’s completely conflicted. As we all are.

I draw a breath to ease the hot, tight feeling in my chest. “Baby, I love you. I’m sorry you think I’m always upset with you because I’m not. I love you to pieces and I’d do anything for you. And if you’ll be happier in New York, then it’s good you stayed—”

“It’s okay, Mom. You’re doing your best.”

He’s right. I am. But my best in this case hasn’t been enough. “Will you come see me at Christmas?”

“Of course. You’re still my mom.”

He says good-bye. I say something, and when I hang up, I put my head down on my arm and feel something break open inside me.

I’ve never lived without my kids. I knew I’d lose Hank in three years when he goes away to college, but I thought I had three years. I need three years. I am not ready for it to happen yet.

I don’t have favorites, but Hank’s my first and so very dear to me.

Cooper appears at my side, wraps his arm around my neck, and whispers roughly, “Don’t cry. Please, Mom.”

I lift my head and wipe my eyes and give him a crooked smile. “Sorry, hon. I’m just tired. I was so excited you boys were coming home that I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Neither did I.” He makes a face. “I hate flying. Makes me so nervous. I just keep thinking that any minute the plane’s going to fall out of the sky.”

“Not a relaxing thought.”

“No. But I don’t have to get on a plane for a while, so that’s good.”

“Well, not until after Christmas when you go see Dad for New Year’s.”

He groans and drops into a chair at the kitchen table, burying his face in his hands. “That’s only a month away!”

I try to distract him with a different topic. “Tell me about Thanksgiving. How was it? Where did you guys eat? Who was there?”

He sighs and listlessly rubs his knuckles across the table’s scratched surface. “It was fine. Just the four of us. Dad cooked. The turkey was actually pretty good.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“What did you like best?”

“The stuffing.”

“Really?”

He nods and rubs his knuckles back the other way. “It wasn’t cornbread. But it was good. The mashed potatoes were only so-so, though. They were real lumpy, not fluffy.”

“But that’s good he tried.”

He nods again.

“And Erik wasn’t around?”

“No. He was supposed to be, but I think they had a fight. Because Erik left and didn’t come back. Dad seemed really bummed, but he tried to hide it. You know how Dad is when he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s sad.”

I do know. John has always tried hard to make everyone happy, even if he wasn’t.

“When did Erik come back?” I ask, aware that I’m prying, but concerned.

“I don’t know. He was there Friday morning when we woke up.”

“Good.” I reach out, ruffle Cooper’s hair. “Hungry? It’s way past dinnertime in New York right now. You must be starving.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you want?”

“Anything. As long as it’s not turkey.”

After dropping Bo and Cooper at school the next morning, I call Mineral Wells High to let them know that Hank won’t be returning. The attendance clerk asks if this is a permanent or temporary move. “Probably permanent,” I answer, although I don’t really know. He’s never lived apart from me. I don’t know how this will go.

I do my errands then, hitting first the Department of Motor Vehicles, then the bank, and finally the Verizon store for a new phone. I plug the phone charger into the old cigarette lighter on the way home and check my voice mail for messages.

There’s a call from Mama wanting to know if I’m okay, a call from Tiana saying she might have business in Dallas next month, and then two calls from Hank—so he did call—and a call this morning from John.

“Shey, we need to talk today, before Cooper’s home from school. I don’t want Coop working with this cowboy guy anymore. I don’t care how good he is, these rodeo events are dangerous, never mind cruel to animals. Although I rarely put my foot down, I’m putting it down now. If you owe this guy any money, let me know and I’ll send him a check, but otherwise, Coop’s done.”

Click.

I play the message again. And again.

Anger ricochets through me, anger and shame. Who is John to play the tough guy now? Who does he think he is, leaving the family and then laying down the law? He doesn’t know the first thing about the rodeo or roughstock events, and he can’t make these decisions on his own.

My hand is no longer steady as I delete the message.

I call John once I’m home, but he’s not available. I leave him a voice message on his cell: “It’s Shey and we do need to talk, because you can’t make that decision for Cooper on your own. We’re both his parents. We both have a say, and I support him learning to ride. He’s not just a Darcy, he’s a Callen, too.” Click.

I try to work on Brick’s books, which isn’t easy as I’m on pins and needles waiting for John’s call. I’m also beginning to feel overwhelmed by the ranch’s mounting expenses, expenses that far outweigh ranch income. The ranch is in trouble. I’ve tried talking to Brick, but he keeps telling me it’ll work out, that ranching and cattle is always cyclical. But God, it makes me nervous.

I work through lunch while keeping an eye on the clock. Then, just as I’m getting ready to leave to pick up the boys, my phone rings and it’s John.

“Shey, are you serious?” he says by way of greeting. “You’re going to fight me on this?”

“Coop loves riding, and wants to enter his first rodeo later this year.”

“Absolutely not.”

“John, you can’t just dismiss his dreams—”

“He’s never been interested in rodeos or country-western music until he arrived there a few months ago.”

“Five months.”

“
Five
. And he’ll get over it. He’s not that serious.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t say that. You can’t see his face as he talks about riding. You can’t see his face when he walks through the door every day after he’s trained with Dane. He’s so happy, John, he glows.”

“Bull riding is one of the most dangerous sports in the world. It’s an extreme sport. Every fifteen rides a professional rider is seriously injured. Fifteen. And we’re talking the pros, not kids.”

“That’s because the pros are riding tough bulls.”

“But isn’t that what Coop wants to do? Isn’t that what you said his dream is?”

I’m silent now, and John seizes the opportunity.

“I love our boys, Shey, and there’s no way I want one to end up in a wheelchair or worse. It’d break my heart, and I know it’d break yours, too.”

“I hear what you’re saying, and I agree the sport can be dangerous. But can we please include Cooper in this discussion? This is the first time he’s found a sport he loves. He’s so into it, John. He knows the standings of the top ten tour leaders. He can tell you the strengths and weaknesses of the top riders as well as the bulls on today’s circuit—”

“Shey, it’s no. And you have to back me up on this. Don’t make this get ugly.”

Is he threatening me? I frown at the phone. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve moved the kids to Texas, a place they hate so much that Hank’s now back with me. I’m beginning to think I’m the fit parent—”

“You better stop right there, John. You, the fit parent? The man who has been sleeping around with other men for God knows how many years during our marriage? You, the fit parent, when you lie and cheat on me for years on end—”

“Being gay isn’t a crime. And at least I have the boys’ best interests at heart.”