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For years, I’ve wished Caleb Winters hadn’t moved here. But instead of appreciating his absence in English, I spend the class staring at his empty seat.
* * *
Sunday morning dawns dreary and overcast, matching my dismal mood. Wet weather always makes Gramps’s bad hip act up. After twenty minutes of hobbling around the farmhouse, he admits he won’t be able to attend Senator Winters’s funeral alongside what is sure to be most of Landry.
I was surprised to hear he was planning to go in the first place. As far as I know, my grandfather never so much as met the man. Caleb’s grandfather was like a legend; often discussed and rarely seen. It’s irrefutable he meant a lot to this town, so maybe that’s why Gramps was wanting to go.
Unfortunately, Gramps’s change of heart lands me in the uncomfortable predicament of deciding whetherIshould go. I thought the choice had already been made for me.
I deliberate for the entirety of the morning chores and my usual ride on whether I should go without him. A gathering of all of Landry’s snobs is ordinarily the last place I would choose to be, but I feel some strange compulsion to attend. Not going feels wrong, somehow.
Cassie replies to my text seconds after I send it, saying her family will pick me up on their way. Gramps seems surprised when I tell him I’m still going to the funeral. Over the years, he’s heard me complain plenty about Caleb. But he doesn’t ask why I’m attending, and I don’t offer up an explanation.
I own one black dress: a long-sleeved, sheath style. Paired with pantyhose, black flats, and a black cardigan, I look appropriately mournful. I hope. My bulky winter coat ruins some of the effect, but the moist air has a chilly bite that makes it a necessity.
After making certain Gramps is comfortable on the couch, I walk down the long driveway to wait for Cassie. Matthews Farm is a bit out of their way, so it will save some time, but the main reason I walk is I don’t want her family to see the rundown property. Once a majestic, maintained plot of land has become nothing more than a collection of buildings in desperate need of repair. If I had the time, money, or ability, there’s no shortage of pressing projects.
A shiny car pulls up a few minutes after I reach the mailbox. Josh gives me a wide grin when I climb in beside him, and Cassie’s parents greet me warmly as well. Every time I’ve interacted with them, they’ve both been perfectly polite, but I can’t help recalling the echo of their angry voices when we left for Marcus’s party as they say hello.
Cassie smiles across her brother at me.
It’s a five-minute drive to the massive wrought-iron gates that mark the entrance to the Winters’ estate. I’ve driven past the imposing ingress countless times on trips into downtown Landry. Like everything else in this town, location is a status symbol.
The properties closest to the center of town are some of the largest; claimed by those who settled here first and wanted to stable their horses close to the racetrack. All the properties surrounding the immediate downtown area, including the high school and racetrack, are owned by those who can actually trace their family lineage through our tiny town’s history.
Ironically, it’s the only way Caleb Winters and I are on equal footing when it comes to our families.
I thought the front gate of the Winters’ farm was ostentatious, but all it does is mask the majesty of the rest of the property. The tree-lined driveway winds and weaves for at least a mile before depositing us in a cobblestone circle comprised of light gray slabs of stone scrubbed so clean they gleam. Cassie’s dad parks half in the shadow cast by the main house.
Main house, because there’s more than one residence.
It’s obvious which one the Winters family lives in. Columns soar upward, framing the white front porch, the white front door, and the white shutters that frame every front-facing window.
Everything is white.
The house stands out like a drop of snow amongst the greenery that rolls out like an emerald carpet in every direction.
The second house is smaller, but not by much, and no less grand. The basic architecture is identical to that of the main house, only without some of the additional, more ornate details, like the front porch and scrolling columns. It looks like it could comfortably house at least a dozen people, and I’d be surprised if it doesn’t. I can only imagine the number of employees it must take to not only run a farm of this size, but to maintain the impeccable condition it so clearly is in. I barely have time to care for seven horses while neglecting every square inch of our property.
Last I heard, the Winters housed close to a hundred horses, and I know from personal experience pasture grass doesn’t look so green and plush naturally. Especially in winter.
There are a few groups of people milling around on the cobblestones, but everyone else seems to be heading behind the main house. Cassie’s parents and brother follow them, and she and I trail behind.
“This place is insane,” she whispers to me. “Can you imagine living here?”
“No, I can’t,” I reply honestly.
We round the side of the house. My eyes widen when I catch a glimpse of the crowd. The backyard is expansive, but it’s not nearly large enough to accommodate everyone. Two sides of the yard are buttressed by split-rail fencing, and those who weren’t able to claim one of the hundreds of folding chairs that have been set up have already taken spots along the wood to lean against.
Uniformed attendants are setting up more chairs on the paved patio connected to the back of the house, so Cassie and I follow her family over there. Her parents grab two of the few remaining seats. Cassie, Josh, and I all sit down on the stone wall that encloses the periphery of the patio.
Josh lets out a low whistle as he takes in the view. “This is crazy,” he remarks. “I thought people hated politicians.”
Silence suddenly falls, and everyone who was fortunate enough to claim a seat quickly takes it. A minister clad in a black robe walks toward the lectern that’s been set up, closely followed by Caleb’s parents. Then a woman who looks to be in her fifties, who I’ve never seen before.
Caleb appears last. He’s wearing a black suit that’s perfectly tailored. I can only see his profile, not his expression.
The minister thanks everyone for attending and then begins speaking. I tune most of what he says out, more interested in people-watching.
