She’s Gone Country (20 page)

“I don’t care that you’re gay! I care that you lied to me. I care that you slept around on me. I care that you married me when you must have suspected somewhere inside yourself that you weren’t straight!”

“So you do care that I’m gay.”

“Jesus, John. I loved you. I still love you. But don’t you dare question my commitment to these children, and don’t you dare imply that I’m not fit to be their mother.”

“Then be reasonable and come back to New York. I’d be able to see the boys regularly, and it’d nip Coop’s rodeo obsession in the bud.”

“I live here now.”

“You’re not a country girl, Shey. You’re as urban and sophisticated as they come.”

“I have to go.”

“I’m serious about Cooper not riding. Don’t make me take legal action.”

I hang up with his ominous words echoing in my head.

I’m late to get the boys, and I grab my keys and purse and jump into the truck to race to Palo Pinto Elementary School for Cooper. He’s the only one in the parking lot when I pull in.

“You’re late,” he says, climbing into the truck, “and now we’re going to be late to Dane’s.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I glance at him, see his broad, thin shoulders, the intense blue eyes, the firm press of his lips. He’s going to hate what I have to tell him. “I just talked to your dad.”

“Yeah?” He looks at me, but he’s barely listening.

“It wasn’t a great conversation.”

“Was it about Erik?”

“No. It was about you.” I can see Coop’s interest perk up, and I dread what I have to say next. “He’s concerned about your safety, and the bottom line is that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea for you to continue bull riding.”

“What?” His voice rises a full octave.

“He thinks it’s too dangerous.”

“Did you tell him I love it and that I’m not scared?”

“He’s overruling you, Coop. He’s your dad. He can do that.”

“But didn’t you tell him that he can’t? You’re my mom. You can overrule him.”

“It doesn’t quite work like that.”

Coop just stares at me, and I struggle on. “I don’t want to lose you, Cooper, and if I fight him on this, I’m afraid he’ll try to get custody—”

“No. I’m not going to live with him. Not ever. It freaks me out being there. Freaks me out to see him sitting with Erik on the couch, holding hands, kissing.”

“They kiss in front of you?”

He shrugs. “They kiss good-bye. No tongues, but still. It’s gross. I don’t like it. I mean, Dad used to kiss you!”

Yeah, there is that.

“Your dad really loves you,” I say. “He’s not gay to hurt you. He’s not gay to hurt me. It’s just who he is—”

“Which is why I’m not going back to New York. I’m staying here for Christmas break. I don’t want to see him anymore. Don’t want to be a kiss-ass like Hank just so I can get some money.”

“Cooper!”

His blue eyes blaze at me. “It’s true. Erik’s rich. He’s loaded. And he’s buying Hank everything he wants. Why else do you think Hank stayed in New York? It’s because Erik promised him all kinds of crazy shit.”

“Don’t swear!”

“Fine. But I’m not going back. I’m staying here and I’m going to be a cowboy. It’s not up to Dad.”

We drive for a few minutes in silence, and even though it’s chilly in the truck, my hands are damp on the steering wheel.

By the time we arrive at Mineral Wells Junior High, we’re almost thirty-five minutes late. I find myself praying that Bo won’t be upset, praying that when I pull up in front of the gym, Bo will be the boy he once was, the boy who woke up happy, and energetic, and excited about life.

I spot him as soon as I turn into the parking lot. He’s the only kid there, and he’s not smiling.

After pulling up at the curb, I shift into park, and Bo opens the door and climbs into the cab’s backseat.

“Hey,” I greet him as Bo slouches against the seat back. “How was your day?” I ask, shifting into drive and leaving the parking lot behind.

“Sucked.” Bo doesn’t even open his eyes. “Big-time.”

I glance into the rearview mirror. “Why did it suck?”

“When doesn’t it?” he answers, opening his eyes to fix his gaze on me.

I’m determined to keep my cool. Things are going to get better. Things are going to improve. “Something happen?”

“Just the usual. Some kid threw his sour milk at me. Another kid thought I’d like to get a close look at the inside of the garbage can.” His eyes are burning, pink. “It was nice. Smelled real good, too.”

My stomach rises and my heart falls at the same time. It’s a good thing there isn’t much traffic, because I’m barely aware of the road. “Did you go to the office? Did you talk to Mr. Peterson? What is the school going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“There’s no one I can tell. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Yes, there is. Mr. Peterson will help you—”

“No, he won’t. Yeah, sure, he can talk to the kids who do it, but then it’ll just get worse. The kids will call me a pussy, a snitch—” He breaks off, jaw clenched. “God, I wish I was never born.”

“Bo.”

He shakes his head, stares out the window. “I mean it. I hate me. I hate my life. I wish I was never born.”

We drive home, all three of us brooding in silence. As we reach the turnoff that would have taken us to Dane’s, Coop yelps, “Aren’t we turning, Mom?”

“Coop, we talked about this—”

“I can’t ride roughstock. Fine. But I can still ride the mechanical bull. I can rope. I can do other things.”

“I think you have to talk to your dad first.”

“Why? You already talked to him and he said I can’t ride roughstock. So, fine. I won’t ride roughstock, but there are other things I can do. Other things Dane can teach me. Please, Mom. Please.” His voice spirals up, panic and desperation making his tone sharp.

My hands are shaking so badly that I can barely steer. Heart racing, I pull over to the side of the road and press my head to the steering wheel. My heart’s hammering and I’m sweating like mad and I can’t help wondering if maybe I’m having a panic attack.

Cooper leans over, hugs me. “Don’t cry, Mom.”

“I’m not…” But my voice is muffled because I’ve got my face hidden.

“If you don’t want me to go to Dane’s—”

“But I do. You like going. You’re happy there.”

He falls silent, and neither boy speaks. After a moment, I take a deep breath. I taste salt on my lip, which is odd until I realize I’m crying.

I wipe the tears away with a fist and sit up and smile at Cooper and then Bo. “You want to go to Dane’s,” I say to Coop, and it’s a statement, not a question.

He nods.

“I’ll take you there, but you’ve got to promise me you’ll stay off broncos and bulls until your dad gives the okay.”

Cooper’s blue gaze holds mine. “You think he’ll eventually let me?”

My shoulders rise and fall. “I don’t know. I guess we’re just going to have to wait and see.”

Dane is waiting for us as we arrive at his ranch. It’s cold enough that bits of wispy fog rise from the ground as he walks over to meet our truck. “We’re late,” I say, rolling down my window. “Sorry.”

He looks at me and then leans down, forearms resting on the truck door. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He reaches out, brushes my cheek with his finger. “I never see you cry.”

Impatiently I scrub at my cheeks, not wanting to cry now. I’m frustrated, not sad. “I’m not crying. But I do need to talk to you. Could we take a little walk?”

He opens my door. I get out and step onto the ground, which is hard and cold. Shivering at the chill in the air, I walk with Dane away from the truck toward his fancy corral. “Has the burglar been found?” Dane asks, our footsteps thudding.

I shake my head. “No. No sign of him.”

“What’s wrong, then?”

“I had a call from John earlier and he flipped out about Cooper learning to ride. Doesn’t want him training anymore.” I take another quick breath and stop walking to face Dane. “But Cooper’s devastated. He loves working with you, loves the whole rodeo world, and he thought maybe there are other skills he can learn from you. Calf roping. Barrel racing. Timed events rather than roughstock events.”

Dane’s hat is low on his head, and it’s hard to see his eyes. “I’m a rider, not a roper.”

“I’ve seen you rope. You can lasso anything, anywhere.”

“It’s been a long time.” Dane pauses, thinks. “Now if he wanted to learn bulldogging, I could teach him that.”

I crack a small smile. “Somehow I don’t think steer wrestling will make John any happier.”

“So this is about making your husband happy.”

“It’s about making sure I don’t lose custody.”

Dane is silent now. He studies me, then glances at the truck where the boys wait. “I’ve already introduced him to roping. I suppose there’s no reason we can’t work on it more.”

“And the mechanical bull? Coop could still practice on that. It’s the live bulls John’s worried about.”

Dane snorts in disgust. “You married a fancy-pants city boy, didn’t you.”

“Aw, shut up, Dane.”

“Can’t have John worried.”

I roll my eyes. “Please just help Cooper.”

“I will. He’s a good kid and he’s got a big future.”

C
ooper calls his father that night to tell him he’s not going to ride bulls or broncos anymore but will focus on roping events instead. John immediately asks to talk to me.

“Yes, John?” I answer, striving to maintain civility.

“I thought we agreed Cooper wouldn’t pursue the cowboy thing.”

“You wanted him out of harm’s way. He’s out of harm’s way.”

“But he still worked with that Kelly guy today?”

“Yes, and with my blessing.” It’s obvious John isn’t happy that Cooper’s continuing to work with Dane, but this isn’t my problem, it’s his. “I understand you grew up in McLean, Virginia. I understand your family had different values, but I love my country roots and am glad one of my boys wants to follow in the family’s footsteps. So don’t make Coop feel bad for liking trucks and rodeos and country-western music, because I’m proud of him and can’t wait until he’s ready to enter his first rodeo.”

“I thought you wanted better for the boys, Shey.”

“Better than what? My brothers are stand-up guys. Dane Kelly’s as solid as they come. This is a good place to raise the boys, and rodeos teach strength and mental toughness as well as practical skills.”

“He’s going to college, Shey.”

“Of course he is. Cowboys and ranchers are also smart men.” And then I hang up before I lose my temper with him.

But John’s not the only one I’m fighting with. I’ve got my hands full with Bo, too. He’s returned from New York short-tempered and withdrawn, and nothing I say or do seems to reach him.

I’m not sure what’s triggered his latest blue mood, but it seems it started with Hank choosing to stay behind in New York. I didn’t notice a big change in him the first day, as on Monday he merely seemed preoccupied. Tuesday he was emotional. Wednesday he just wanted to be alone. When he still wanted to be alone on Thursday, I knew we might have a problem.

It’s such a slippery slope, juggling his need for independence with his need for support and stability.

All weekend Bo’s been a ghost in the house, disappearing into his room, keeping lights off, speaking to no one unless he’s communicating using his phone.

A month ago, I rarely saw him use his phone, but now it’s a permanent fixture in his hand.

This morning, Mama called for her weekly Sunday afternoon chat. Her first question, of course, was about my spiritual life, and her next was about the boys. Apparently we’re all still in danger of going to hell, but at least she said it nicely. I appreciate that, as I’ve kind of got a lot on my plate and burning in flames isn’t a cheery thought.

Tonight we’re having our Sunday dinner at Brick and Char’s. Charlotte already has the house decorated, and Christmas carols play on the stereo in the background as we eat in the dining room.

Cooper talks a mile a minute throughout the meal, telling Brick everything he’s learning at Dane’s and how he’s hoping to enter his first rodeo this spring. But Bo doesn’t participate in the conversation at all. Instead he pushes his food around his plate, sighs loudly, and yawns repeatedly, as if he’s never been so bored in all his life.

I’d kick Bo under the table if I could reach his foot. But I can’t, so I content myself with glaring at him periodically instead. Where is my good kid? What’s happened to Bo?

On the way out, I apologize to Brick and Char as Bo’s already in the truck waiting for me. I’m mortified by his behavior.

“It’s the teen years,” Char tells me, patting my back. “We’ve all been there.”

Maybe, I think, but it doesn’t make me feel better.

Home, I send the boys to bed. Then, too keyed up to sleep, I tidy the house and start another load of laundry. I watch TV as I move the laundry forward, staying up until the last load is done. It’s eleven-thirty when I quietly open Bo’s door to leave his clean clothes on the chair at his desk and discover Bo’s not asleep, but in bed, texting in the dark.

I turn on the light. “What are you doing?”

“I just had to answer this person.”

“It’s past eleven. You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I will in a second.”

“Put it away, Bo.”

“Let me just finish.”

“Who are you texting at this time of night?”

“A friend.”

“Your friend shouldn’t be up this late, either. It’s a school night. I want you off now.”

“Can I just finish the message? I’ll put the phone away then, I promise.”

“Fine. But then I want the phone.”

“What?”

“I want the phone. I’m taking it away for the next forty-eight hours—”

“Mom!”

“Fight with me and it’s going to be a week.”

“Fine.” He rolls out of bed and practically slams the phone into my hand. “Happy?”

“Yes. Good night.”

I think we have the phone situation resolved, but just two days later when I’m about to return the phone, I get a call from Paul Peterson. Bo is failing math and social studies. He’s barely passing English and science.

After dropping Cooper at Dane’s, I tell Bo I’m keeping the phone and he’s off the computer until his grades improve. Bo goes ballistic.

He shouts at me that I’m ruining his life. Tells me he’s going to run away. Keeps the drama going the entire twenty-minute drive home.

I give up trying to talk to him and just let him rant. He’s not going to win. Not this time.

Back at the house, he goes to his room and slams the door shut. I let him stay there, too, because it’s easier having him sulking in bed than throwing a fit in the living room.

But when it’s six and time to head to basketball practice, Bo refuses to go.

Brick’s been driving Bo to and from practice, and he hears Bo’s answer. As he starts for Bo’s room, I hold up a hand to stop him. “Let me handle this,” I tell him.

“He’s got to go, Shey.”

“He’s going to go, Brick. Relax.”

But I’m not relaxed. My gut is in knots. I have a feeling we’re about to have another scene, and Lord knows these scenes get old.

I walk to Bo’s room and quietly open the door. The lights are off and the room is dark, but I can make out the shape of his legs and shoulders beneath the covers. “Bo, sugar, it’s already six. If you’re going to make basketball practice on time, you need to leave.”

“I already told you, I don’t want to go,” he says, his voice muffled by the covers.

“Bo…”

“I’m tired, Mom. I just want to sleep.”

“You can sleep tonight. You’ve got to get up—”

“No. Let me miss practice tonight. Just tonight.”

“You missed practice once last week. Your coach won’t play you if you don’t make your practices.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.” I flip on the lights, move toward the bed. “Let’s get up. Get going.”

“I can’t,” he groans.

“Why not?” I try to pull the covers back, but he’s got a tight grip on them.

“I just can’t. Now please, leave me alone.”

“You heard your mom, Bo. Time to get up.” Brick’s not having Bo’s attitude, and he’s in the doorway to back me up whether I like it or not. “Your team’s counting on you, son.”

Bo lowers the covers. “They’re not counting on me. Last game Coach hardly played me.”

“You’ll be played even less if you miss another practice,” Brick retorts.

“I don’t care,” Bo answers, turning his face away. “I quit.”

“You’re not quitting. You’re going to practice and I’m driving you there now.”

I see tears tremble on Bo’s lashes, and I grab Brick’s arm and drag him out of the bedroom into the hall.

“I thought you were going to let me handle this,” I hiss to my brother.

“You’re not handling it—”

“I am handling it. My way.”

“Your way seems to be letting him have his way.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nice mouth, Shey.”

I reach behind me, grab Bo’s doorknob, and close his door. “Don’t fight with me. I can’t fight both of you at the same time.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, but you’re making a mistake here. You’re babying Bo, and it won’t help him—”

“I’m not!”

Brick’s a calm man, but he’s pretty worked up now. “Your little boy is fourteen years old, six feet tall, and quickly learning that he doesn’t have to stand on his own two feet because Mama will do the work for him.”

“That’s not what’s happening. I’m worried about him. He’s struggling again, and it’s getting worse. This isn’t new. You know he’s suffered from depression.”

“Then help him. But don’t let him quit, and don’t let him fall apart. This is a small town. Word travels fast.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“You don’t want him to become Cody.”

Cody. My heart falters. Interesting that Brick made the comparison. I do it all the time.

The bedroom door opens abruptly and Bo stands there in his long red-and-black basketball shorts and sweatshirt. His eyes are pink, but his jaw is set. “Let’s go.”

I reach for him. “Bo—”

He pulls away and walks toward the back door. “I’ll be in the truck.”

Brick follows without a word to me, and I hear the back door bang a second time. They’re gone.

While Brick is driving Bo to practice, Dane drops Cooper off from training. It’s dark now by six, and I walk outside to meet Dane’s truck.

Cooper’s cold and sore and starving, and he runs inside to shower and eat dinner. “How’s he doing?” I ask Dane, shivering at the chilly temperature.

“He’s doing great, but you’re freezing,” he answers. “Go inside.”

I should have grabbed a coat on my way out, but now that I’m talking to him, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve missed him way too much. “How’s your hip doing?”

“It’s fine.”

“But the cold snap—”

“I’m not an old lady. You don’t have to fuss over me.”

I laugh, picturing him as the Wolf in “Little Red Riding Hood,” all dressed up in Grandmother’s nightclothes. “You’re nothing like an old lady,” I say, still grinning. “Do you have somewhere you have to be? Want to come in for a bit? I’ve got plenty of dinner. It’s just sloppy Joes, but it’s warm and it’ll fill you up.”

“Sloppy Joes?”

“Mmmm, gourmet, I know.”

“I happen to love sloppy Joes.”

“Then park and come in. It’s been a rough few days and I’d love some company.”

“Sold.”

He parks, and I lead him into the house through the back porch.

“How’s it holding up?” he asks, stopping to examine the door he installed Thanksgiving weekend.

“Great.” I head for the stove to adjust the heat beneath the bubbling meat mixture, then turn on the broiler to toast the buns. “So do you like cheese on your sloppy Joes, or just meat and buns?”

“Either way. Just glad for some home-cooked food.”

I shoot him a quick glance and see that he’s taken a seat at the kitchen table, almost in the same spot he used to sit as a teenager. “You should come in and have dinner with us the nights you drive Coop home. There’s no reason not to—” I break off, remembering Lulu. “Ah, the girlfriend. Never mind.”

He smiles at me, and it’s such a sexy smile that it makes my toes curl. “Lulu moved out.”

“Her remodel’s done?”

“No. She met someone new. A pitcher with the Rangers.”

I slide the tray of buttered buns beneath the broiler. “Are you upset?”

“No. I actually introduced them. Thought he was more her speed, and it seemed nicer than dumping her.”

“What’s her speed?” I ask, keeping a close eye on the browning buns.

“Young, handsome, rich.”

“But that’s you.”

His eyes crease with humor. “No, I’m handsome and rich. But not young anymore.”

I grin, amused by the idea that Lulu would find some smooth-faced kid sexier than this rugged, beautiful man. “Not that it’s any consolation, but I’d rather have old you than some young ace.”

He snorts with laughter. “Thank you, Shey. That’s very nice of you.”

A freshly showered Cooper appears for dinner. After pulling the tray from the oven, I dish up the food so we can eat.

Dinner’s fun with Dane there. Cooper and Dane have developed an easy, comfortable relationship, and they talk about everything—proposed changes in the PBR, school, the upcoming holidays. Dane gets Coop roaring when he asks Cooper if he’ll be visiting Santa at the Weatherford Mall this year.

“I think I’m taller than Santa,” Cooper answers. “Can you see me on his lap? My legs up to my chin. Hey, Santa, can you bring me a pony for Christmas, and a new saddle, too?”

I smile indulgently. “You want a pony for Christmas, Coop?”

Cooper rolls his eyes. “I was being funny, Mom.”

“So what do you want?”

“A chance to ride a real bull.”

I glance at Dane, whose expression is impassive, and back to Coop, who clearly isn’t expecting a positive response. “This one’s out of my hands, Coop.”

“It doesn’t have to be. You have custody—”

“Temporary custody. There are a lot of things still to be decided.”

“Like what?”

I don’t want to do this with Dane here, but at the same time I don’t want to act as though I have anything to hide. “Like if you can all stay here with me, or if we’d have to go back to New York.”

Cooper flushes. “Why would we have to go back to New York? We live here now—”

“Well, that’s still to be decided.”