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4
Fear of Heights
Pulling into my parents drive,my stomach sinks. As much as the town has changed, this place looks exactly the same. Right down to the color of the rose bushes my mother planted out front the summer I started high school.
The only addition is the slew of cars and trucks parked along the one-lane driveway, in the grass dangerously close to my mother’s precious bushes. They have company at the moment and by the looks of it, a lot of company. There are two catering trucks and a van from Heavenly Bakery.
Carefully navigating my way around, I pull up and park outside the garage that used to be for my car. Shutting off the engine, I sit and stare up at the house for a moment.
Two stories.
Elaborate for a farmhouse. I used to tease my mother thatBetter Homes and Gardenswasn’t interested in coming all this way to look at our house. She’d scoff at me and wave her hand in the air, redecorating a new room or planting new flowers the following week.
All for appearances, of course.
Attached two-car garage and detached three-car garage.
Large wrap-around front porch with hand-carved rocking chairs and a swing on either side of the front door. I loved to love to sit out front in the fall, the smell of fresh-cut hay on the breeze. I’d grab a book to read or watch the sunset.
Turning my attention to the ranch, there’s little activity outside right now. A few head of cattle are roaming around in the open meadow closest to the barns, but the rest are probably taking shelter inside. Looking down at the clock on my dashboard, it’s just after one o’clock. The ranch hands should be back from lunch soon and work will resume, no matter how hot it is outside. There’s always something to be done, animals to be tended to, and my father’s ranch runs like a well-oiled machine. Everyone knows where they need to be and what they need to do.
Taking a calming breath, I give myself a quick pep talk. I need one before walking back in there.
I can do this. I am strong. It’s only for a few days.
Sure, I’ve seen my parents several times since I left, but never here. Not on their turf. They’ve always come to me. Birthdays, holidays, family vacations. Any occasion, any time we’ve spent together, has been in Denver. They even bought a condo in the city so they would have somewhere to stay when they visited.
Staying with me was out of the questions, especially after Lola arrived. My three-bedroom apartment was full. With Carmen living with me to help care for Lola, there was no room for my parents when they visited.
I can do this. I am strong. It’s only for a few days.
Repeating the words over and over in my head, I snag my bag from the backseat and climb the steps of my childhood home. As I’m about to open the front door, it opens for me, an elderly lady with vibrant white hair and a large smile on her face welcoming me.
“Miss Chloe. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Marta,” she says, pulling me in for a hug.
“Hi,” I reply dryly. Marta, the woman who must have replaced Carmen when she became my live-in nanny. “Where’s my mother?” Just as I ask, I hear her laughter from the living room. “Never mind. I’ll find her.”
Dropping my bag next to the door, Marta scoops it up and heads up the staircase. Watching her go, I cringe a little on the inside. Had I thought about it, I would have taken my bag up myself. There was no need for her to do that, even though I know my parents expect that of her.
“Mother,” I state as I walk into the living room. She’s standing on a platform, three women working feverishly around her, pinning her dress in place.
“Ah, Chloe. You made it. How are you, dear?”
“Fine. What’s all this?” I ask, knowing the answer will be more elaborate than necessary.
My mother has changed since I left. I noticed it last year when they visited for Christmas. She’s sickly sweet these days, likes to talk for hours, and is overwhelming at times, even more so than when I was a child. She is constantly telling me how much she loves me.
I’ve chalked it up to her realizing what a bitch she was when I left. Maybe this is her way of making amends for all the wrongs in her life. Maybe she’s just softening in her older age. Whatever it is, it’s annoying as hell. I almost prefer her acting like a snooty bitch.
“Well, a lady’s got to look her best when she’s the center of attention, right? These lovely ladies are going to make this dress a true work of art, and I’m ever so grateful.”
“Fabulous, Mother. I’m going to take a nap,” I say, turning to run from her sickly sweet voice. I don’t get far, of course.
“Oh, Chloe. Before you go, can you please find your father and make sure things are progressing in the backyard? Pretty please.”
Good lord.
“Sure.”
