“No,” I answer honestly. The conflict is too apparent within him. “Not at all. But I think selling is their way of erasing everything. They were so betrayed by Ransom. What if keeping the brewery and the ranch is a way to give them back a big part of themselves? What if they regret selling? But what if selling is the only way I get to keep Calder?”
Sympathy fills her eyes. “Oh, Meredith. You and I are still in Scandal because of Ransom. I loved that gruff man too, but you have to think of yourself. Without this place, you’ll be free to go anywhere and do anything.”
I want to be here. With Calder. He’s not the same hard, emotionless man who arrived that first day. In such a short time, he’s found a part of himself that makes him happier. What if it could be like that for his brothers too?
Sawyer gnaws on her lower lips and focuses on the countertop. There’s something else weighing on her. She’s not just concerned for me. “Sawyer, is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” she says too lightly. “No matter what, I’m going to pay my debt to Crossroads.”
“Jeez, Saws, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think?—”
“No.” She waves her hands in the air. “No. Do not consider me in all this. I have my house and a good job. I would miss you, but I’m a big girl. I can fly to Denver to visit too.”
“I can’t imagine living so far from you. I don’t know what to do.”
She rubs her hands up and down her legs. “Like I said, put yourself first for once.”
I nibble on my lower lip. Would it be so bad? I’d give up everything I know, but I’d have money from the sale. Freedom. Yet the only thing I want more freedom with is my job, and I want to be seen as more than the little sister of Ransom’s wife. I wanted to mean more to him than just a promise to Holly. He showed me in the will where I fit into his life. Thatstubborn, complicated man showed us all how he really felt. Yet he was also very simple. He loved his family. And that’s what’s bothering me with all this.
“We’re all putting ourselves first. That’s what feels wrong about it.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
CALDER
Dad’s Bel Air is loaded onto a trailer and hooked to the pickup Bowen’s been using. My brothers and I are silent on the way back to Crossroads. The car doesn’t run, two tires are flat, and one is off entirely, but it’s not like any of us will be restoring it. I rest my elbow on the passenger window and inhale the old, comforting scent of Dad’s Montecristos. Has the scent been haunting Bowen? Or does he find it comforting? Probably a mix of both, like me.
“We could just take it to the dump,” I say as we approach the turn to take us to the ranch.
“We could.” Bowen keeps squinting out the windshield and slows.
“Why not?” Landry adds hypothetically.
But Bowen turns. Neither Landry nor I argue. He rolls down the driveway and stops at the large shop doors. I hop out, and Landry does the same. We roll the shop doors open. I don’t know about Landry, but I avoid looking inside while we wait for Bowen to back the trailer in. None of us have entered this space yet.
Bowen backs up, but the trailer starts going cockeyed. He has to stop, drive forward, and readjust. I snicker, and he shoots me the finger out the driver’s window.
“Make sure you turn the radio off so you can see better,” Landry calls.
“You can fuck off too,” Bowen shouts and finishes backing the trailer to the door.
The older shop is for ranch equipment and repairs. Dad had this shop built before I hit high school, after the brewery was running and bringing in a nice profit. Then the oil fervor died down and the traffic in and going through Scandal did the same, but the shop was already built and dedicated to the care and restoration of this car.
Bowen’s door shuts, and I jolt. Time to face the ghost of our dad.
When we first spotted the car at the impound lot, the damage was startling. The passenger side is battered, and the windshield is mostly missing. The taillights are busted out, and bits of broom grass and foxtail stick out from the crevices, and from the exposed engine where the front fender got knocked off. Dirt remains scattered across the seats.
When we picked it up and loaded it onto the trailer—it can still roll, poorly—we played nonchalant around Sheriff Dietz. He blustered and grumbled about what a shame it was, how it could’ve been prevented, and that no one saw it coming. He rattled off crash details, and we didn’t ask questions. Then he returned the keys, and that was it. No camera, and no interest in who could’ve been in the house.
If you find out something was stolen, then let me know, was all he said.
But looking at the car, I want answers. I don’t know the right questions to ask, but something feels off.
My phone buzzes. So does one of my brothers’. Silent isn’t good enough. I shut the damn thing off. Bowen does the same thing with his, and I suspect Landry’s already turned his off.We’re three workaholics, but nothing seems as critical as facing a piece of history that’s become our present.
Landry undoes the straps holding the car in place, and together, we push and roll it down the trailer ramp. I face the front, trying to picture the crash scene like some morbid movie I can’t pause. Dad laughing. Holly grinning. Then…a deer? A duck with her ducklings crossing the road? What the hell did he swerve for?
“Meredith thinks it doesn’t make sense.”Idon’t think it makes sense.
