Page 52 of Cowboy

“This is just a fucking mess,” I mutter, slamming the hole digger one more time into the packed dirt, twisting it to loosen the soil.

“If it isn’t messy, it’s not love.”

My head shoots up at my father’s words. Jennifer slipped away easily. Sabrina fell right through my fingers. I should have run from Gisela, but Scarlett . . . she’s not going to be so easy to let go. And the truth is, I don’t want her to leave. I just don’t know how to get past what’s been done.

Dad slaps me on the back and turns for his truck, leaving me to continue this two-person job alone.

“Thanks for your help,” I mutter, referring to the post digging, but accepting I also mean his advice. If I push Scarlett away, there’s no reason for her to come back to me.

“Seems you can dig your own hole without any help,” he sarcastically says, waving over his shoulder.

Have I dug a hole? Why does it feel like things are suddenly my fault?

16

Big Burgers

Scarlett

Rita and I enter The Mountain Goat, a bar just outside Tuxbury. Zara told me how she once managed the place since it’s owned by her uncle Otto. He still owns it, but it’s under new management. Rumor has it, it still serves a decent cheeseburger, and I need one the size of my head to stave my hunger and lose myself in my misery. Although it’s a tavern, Rita accompanies me to the local favorite to commiserate through food love.

“I’ve really fricked up this time,” I say to Rita as we sit across from one another in a booth.

“You really had no idea?” Rita isn’t judging me. She’s just curious how I could have forgotten such a report and not connected Bull’s name with the Bovine Bridegroom I invented.

“We never said his name in the reel.” Most likely because we didn’t have his permission to run the story. I’d have to go back through files I no longer have access to in order to find out how we got the information about Bull in the first place.

Was it an anonymous tip? Was it something one of our interns read while searching the internet for outlandish stories? How did this story cross our desks and earn our interest? I didn’t always question what I reported when I should have done better, been better, but I’m determined to get answers—correct answers.

Should I have recognized that now-familiar, firm backside which I so foolishly ogled on the update segment?

“I’m a horrible person,” I say to Rita.

“Yes, you are,” she agrees, gazing at me through those fun, red-framed glasses. She sips her cola after speaking, and my mouth falls open. “What? Isn’t that what you want me to say? You want me to tell you I agree with you. Does that make you feel better?”

“No,” I admit.

“Then stop beating yourself up. You’ve had your twenty-four-hour grace period to pity yourself; now it’s time to rectify things with Bull. If that’s what you want.” Rita sits back in the booth and stretches her legs so her construction boots land on the edge of the bench seat next to me. She’s working on her passion project this summer, building homes for those in need, and I really admire her commitment. I don’t have passion. I don’t have commitment. Gah, I’m self-deprecating again.

“Yes, I want to make things right with Bull.”

“So you’re sleeping together again, correct?” As my sole friend in the world, Rita knows too much about me. “I’d suggest sexy lingerie and a night of heavy apology sex for starters.”

“Rita.” I choke. “I’m pregnant. My body is like a misshaped pear. That’s not sexy, and I don’t think Bull will come within ten feet of me. He’s not just angry; he’s furious. Like never want to see someone again angry.”

“If that’s really true, why are you still living with him? He’d have kicked you out if he felt that way.”

Admittedly, what she says seems true. Bull did not rush after my retreat this morning to tell me to get the heck out of his house. Instead, he cautiously asked me when I’d return as if he was worried I wouldn’t be back. Then again, maybe he just wanted to know my timing, so he could kick me out when I returned. Or better yet, he could toss all my things on the lawn before I arrived home again. Maybe I should have done those things to Shelton. I should have burned his clothes and lit our mattress on fire. Honestly, Bull doesn’t seem to be the type to react in such extremes, though, and I’d already been back to the house to find all my belongings still intact.

“I have the damsel in distress syndrome, and apparently that’s Bull’s thing.” Recalling what Bull’s told me about his previous relationships, I fit the mold. Although, I’m not certain I see the distress in the women of his past. Jennifer sounded weak-willed and unsure of herself other than her desires for motherhood. Sabrina sounded needy, greedy, and unworthy of Bull, and that Gisela woman sounded like a kinky whack who stole from him.

“You do need a bit of saving. From yourself,” Rita adds. “Look, we all make mistakes. Every person in the world makes them. Some of the stuff you reported on him might be unforgivable. I don’t know. I don’t watch that kind of thing. Sorry, cookie. But I know you. You aren’t that malicious. You aren’t in distress. You’re pregnant, and that makes you forgivable in several ways. But let’s go back to making things right with Bull. Just explain yourself. It was your job, Scarlett. Maybe you should have left it long ago, especially if your conscience was catching up to you, but you can’t beat yourself up for what you should have done. I’ve done hundreds of risky, unnecessary, and downright stupid things while drinking. Some, I dare say, might be unforgivable as well, but I can’t go back. Moving forward is a huge part of my recovery. Acceptance of what you cannot change. Courage to change what you can. Wisdom to know the difference.”

I sigh, knowing Rita’s had a rough road even if she appears put together. More guilt consumes me that I hadn’t been here for her when her life crumbled. She was so good at pretending she was all put together, I hadn’t had a hint of her struggles.

“Accept this happened.”

“But Bull needs to accept I never intended to hurt him.”