Riverbank Ranch in East Dove Tennessee, has been part of my family since my great-granddaddy and grandmamie's parents got into a feud over a piece of land. Nobody could find the paperwork to figure out who it belonged to, and then, poof,they started arguing. But then, their children fell in love, and it didn’t matter anymore. The Rivers and the Banks could have one ranch for all, so Riverbank was born.
We each have a small cabin on the farm, my two sisters and I, so I drive straight to mine and head inside. I don’t have it in me to find Lilly tonight and explain to her why I’m showing up unannounced two months earlier than I was supposed to.
The one good thing about having the most remote cabin is there's plenty of space. There is one cabin nearby, but it's always vacant, unless there’s a visitor or something, and tonight, that space is protecting me from my eldest sister's wrath.
2NOT A PLAYGROUND
Riley
“Gooood morning, America!”
I open the dusty windows and let the cool, misty air in. The end of April in East Dove means early mornings are cold, but I still love it. Nothing makes me feel more alive than Katy Perry blasting through the speakers, fresh air floating through my windows, and a cute outfit ready to go. I’m between riding a horse, going for a run, or going into town for yoga, all choices that would be fine with the matching flower print athletic set I’m wearing.
I throw a jacket over my shoulders and head to the main cabin, where I know Lilly awaits. I mean, her office is there; it might be five thirty in the morning, but nobody sleeps here—occupational hazards and all. I don’t mind it either way. There’s too much life to live to waste my days between the sheets.
I may love the drop in temperature, but I ain’t walking to the main cabin this early. Too many acres between mine and the HQ; unless I’m gonna run, but I don’t know that I need two workouts today—the run and the whiplash from interacting with Lilly.
Nope.
I hop in my Jeep and head there, continuing the Katy Perry morning music blast.
The main cabin—as we call it now—is the house I grew up in. Our family has owned this farm for generations, and we were raised here, among the animals, trees, and the river. It’s beautiful and peaceful—most times. Right now, though, is one of the times when it’s not. Breakfast time.
There are always people working on the farm year-round. In the summer, it’s busier because of the summer camp my mom started years ago. It’s still running, even though she’s not with us anymore. Right now, though, it’s just regular ol’ busy time here.
Mom and Dad started doing meals in batches. There are three hours for breakfast, three sitting times for lunch, and two for dinner, allowing the workers to kind of pick what works for their schedule. It means I never know what or who I’m going to find here at second breakfast, and I love it.
Although I’ve been gone for about four years for college, coming back for short periods of time, I feel like there’s always something different here. I never know if it’s the decorations or maybe new utensils or what, but it always takes me a few days to feel like this is home again. It always does in the end, though…except like something is missing—a half home.
Which is fine. It’s just odd.
I grew up here, between rooms and under tables, running and playing hide and seek, touching everything I wasn’t supposed to and then some, so why does it never feel right anymore?
Oh yeah, because they’re both gone.
My parents, the rocks of this place—cancer stole Mom, a broken heart swept Dad away, dragging the homey feeling away with them. I’ve been chasing it ever since.
I jog up the worn wooden steps, stepping through the dark mahogany door and taking it all in. There’s a low chatter coming from the back room, where breakfast is served when camp is not in session, but knowing Lilly, she won’t be there. She’ll be in heroffice already, all the problems in the world on her shoulders, snip-snapping a million directions per minute.
“Knock, knock,” I announce, peeking in and seeing I was, in fact, correct.
There she is.
Sitting at dad’s desk with papers and calendars everywhere. Her dreary gaze is focused solely on what’s in front of her, her beautiful blonde hair straight down around her face.
Never one thing out of place, not even her hair.
“Yes?” She doesn’t even look up; she must not know it’s me. Oh, sister dearest, I hope you don’t yell at me.
“Hey, sis!” I shout, overly chirpy, stepping into her fortress.
Her face turns from focused to annoyed, to surprised, and now…confused. Yup, as expected. “Riley?”
“In the flesh.”
“Riley, why are you not in school?”
Of course, that’s the first thing she asks. “Hi, sister, nice to see you too. It’s been months, and I’m so glad you’re home,” I mock, taking a seat on one of her mahogany club chairs and propping my feet on her desk that looks busier than Times Square.
