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It wasn’t what I was expecting. Maybe having Elizabeth as my main frame of reference has warped me. This woman doesn’t want me to take her shopping or to a fancy restaurant. She wants to go out on a horse. She wants “ranch stuff.”
“Done. Name the time and place.”
“This weekend?”
I nod. I’m quickly finding that I want to rearrange my priorities for her. It’s not what I should be feeling, but I can’t fight it.
“Callie!” Scout comes running from his room and practically knocks Callie off her feet. She absorbs his energy and wraps him in a hug. I can’t help noting that it’s a different reaction than he’s ever given to one of my friends who came to hang out with him when I had a work emergency.
He has good taste, I’ll give him that.
“Hi, kiddo. Cool shoes.”
“I know, right?” Scout takes some high steps around the living room to show them off. I can’t believe he already sounds like a teenager.
Grabbing my Stetson, I usher us to my truck and turn on some Taylor Swift, figuring no one will argue with that choice.
“Hold on, you’re a Swiftie?” Callie asks, leaning away and taking me in as though I’m unfamiliar.
I shrug. “She’s an easy listen.”
“No, no. She’s a badass. And that makes you one of the coolest guys around.”
“Swear jar, Callie!” Scout announces from his seat in the back, which sits in the middle of the bench, so he’s practically right between us.
“Sorry,” Callie says. “I’ll put in a dollar.”
“Yeah.” A fist pump. I haven’t checked the jar lately, but he’s got to be getting close to enough money for that jersey.
We drive in silence for a couple of minutes while Taylor sings about remembering meeting a guy for the first time. I let my mind wander to the plot of grazing land I’m hoping to buy, until Scout’s question jars me back to reality. “Daddy, how did you and Callie first meet?”
I suppose I should have anticipated the question.
I reckon I should have come up with a ready answer. Something better than, “Um, uh…”
Callie watches me clear my throat and sputter. I keep my eyes on the road, but I can see the amused sparkle in her eyes, even from the side. She responds without hesitation. “It was at a You-Pick-It fruit stand a while back.”
I glance her way and nod slightly to show my approval for the benign account that isn’t nearly as salacious as what she told my lawyer. Thank fuck. She tilts her head as if to tell me I should take the reins from here.
“Right. I remember that day. Callie was trying to carry something like ten ears of corn, a watermelon, and a bunch of peaches without a basket.”
“Oh no,” Scout says, eyes wide.
“Oh yes. First, one peach toppled out of her hands, then the watermelon bobbled, and then everything else started falling. I was a few feet away, and I managed to lunge and save the watermelon, but pretty much everything else ended up on the ground.”
Callie nods and picks up the thread. “Yeah, I was only planning on buying corn, but then I kept seeing things that looked good, and I kept thinking I could carry just one more thing…”
“Oh, Callie,” Scout says dramatically. “Then what happened?” He sits as far forward as his seat belt will allow, and a part of me knows that whatever I saw will be communicated far and wide within hours. I hate that he’s a part of a lie.
If I didn’t believe with my whole heart that he belongs here at the ranch, at his school, with me, I wouldn’t do this. But I see how happy he is on the play yard, in the pen with the animals, anywhere with Callie, and I know he’s where he’s supposed to be. He’s living his best life.
“After your dad helped me put everything into a basket, he added it to his bill.” The windchimes of Callie’s voice bring me back to the conversation. “Wouldn’t let me pay. He said my smile was payment enough.”
“What does that mean?” Scout asks.
“Just that sometimes making someone else happy is better than money. It’s better than anything,” Callie says. “Like I’m sure there are times when you’ve done something for your dad, told him you love his cooking, cleaned up your toys without him asking, you know, something nice just to make him smile.”
“Okay.” Scout seems satisfied with that answer, but then his brow furrows. “Daddy never smiles.”
