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“Ivan’s upset with you,” Grandpa John comments, his voice startling me.
He has a way of walking without making any sound, even when he wears his heavy work boots. Leaning over the fence next to me, his grey hair flares out from under his John Deere hat. His weather-worn face tells a story of long hours working outside, just like his rough, calloused hands that grip the fence beside me.
I look at him thoughtfully, knowing he doesn’t like to take time out for himself. This ranch occupies most of his time. “Do you want me to cut your hair later?” I ask. Grandma Jo taught me a long time ago, when arthritis made it hard for her to hold the scissors.
Grandpa John nods, never one for unnecessary words. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“It’s like a staring contest,” he chuckles, watching Ivan take glances at me, deciding whether he’s going to come over to greet me or not.
I smile. “Something like that.”
If I stand here long enough, he’ll come.
We took Ivan in when I was in high school. He wasn’t a particularly nice horse, but he didn’t have a reason to trust humans. Even after several years he’s still stubborn, but I’ve found his weakness.
“Horse like that needs to know who’s in charge,” Grandpa John grumbles. He used to be afraid Ivan would hurt me out of an instinct to protect himself, but all he needed was patience.
“He knows,” I reassure him.
Ivan starts to trot the length of the tree line, pacing back and forth, his long, dark mane fluttering against his massive body. In my peripheral vision I see a smile start to slowly spread on Grandpa John’s face. He knows exactly what Ivan’s doing and why. Ivan is at war with himself, wanting so badly to come to me but his past experiences prevent him from trusting what will happen when he does.
I wait.
Even though I’ve worked with Ivan a lot, being away at school for long periods of time has caused him to question my loyalty. Grandpa John is right, heisangry with me for leaving him. I’ll have to give him a better reason to come to me, other than to just say hello.
From my pocket, I pull a peppermint out and take my time opening it, making sure the crinkle of the wrapper is loud enough so he can hear. One of Ivan’s ears prick in my direction and I can’t help but smile. When I pop it out of the cellophane, I hold it in my hand for a few seconds longer before popping it in my mouth.
Grandpa John chuckles, the sound deep in his throat, and shakes his head. “I almost feel sorry for him,” he says.
I tilt my head in his direction.
“He doesn’t stand a chance against your charms.” Grandpa John continues to laugh softly as he pushes off from the fence. I smile sweetly while sucking on my peppermint.
“Not my charms, just my peppermints,” I remind him.
Before he leaves, he asks, “You got a job over the summer?”
Even though I’m his granddaughter, no one gets a free ride here. It’s either I work here cleaning horse stalls, or I get a job in town.
“Yes, well, I think I do.” I place my finger against my lips as if that will help me figure it out.
It wasn’t so much a job offer, more of a forcing myself upon someone I’d just met situation. Cash said he needed help for the summer at his record store and I needed a job, at least until the fall semester started at UCLA. Granted, I applied for a couple of online classes in hopes that I would get an internship atAlt Press. The online music blog used some of my photos with the article Erin wrote about the music festival. To be able to add those photos and the credit in the blog to my portfolio is extremely helpful for someone like me who is just starting out as a photographer.
“Doesn’t seem like something you’d be confused about,” he says, jarring me from my thoughts.
“I’m going there today,” I reassure him.
“Where is this job?”
“A record store in Santa Monica,” I reply with a smile.
He grunts. “You can use the old Jeep.” He points to the dirty tan Jeep parked near the maintenance shed. I used it when I was in high school, and it still has the rack on top for my surfboard.
I didn’t need a car while I was living on campus in Austin or when I moved into the apartment with Danny because I would either take the bus or Danny would give me a ride.
Here in Pacific Palisades I need a car to get around, especially if I’m going into the valley. “I checked the tires and changed the oil,” he says as he squints his eyes against the rising sun.
“Thank you,” I say, knowing other than those two things, if the Jeep needs to be fixed, it’s my responsibility; hence the need for a job.
