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Speak of the devil, my oldest brother wanders into the barn just as I do. He spends much of his time in the office near the gate, but his soul is in the land. His mind knows the ranch is better served with him behind a computer, when he can force himself to sit there.
“Morning, Brax.”
“Morning. Clint Black? Are you feeling okay?” He chucks my shoulder and gives me a smile.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The look he gives me when I use his typical phrase against him is worth it. It’s humor and self-deprecation, and almost as if I’m audacious to use those words.
He’s handsome. All my brothers got good genes. But none of them need any fluff to their egos. I won’t even get started on Layton.
Brax turns to me, hands on hips, chin dropping to his chest. His voice goes quiet and controlled. “Pop’s calling Layton and Exton home. Mom’s decided to let go.”
Inside, I crumble.
My heart smashes into shards that will never be repaired. Outside, though, I dip my head once, clench my jaw. “When?”
“He’ll call them today. Betting Layton is home tonight; Ex probably tomorrow. If you’re asking how long, though… That depends on her.” He looks away. His Adam’s apple visibly bobs, and the notch in his jaw protrudes as he clenches his teeth. When he looks back, he demands, “Put me to work. I can’t sit behind a desk today. Need to do something… Anything.”
We’re alike in that way, he and I, so I sort through more than we could ever accomplish and dole out the first few tasks. No doubt, we’ll both end up at the big house soon enough. But for now, doing something physical will save both of our sanities.
We spend the morning killing time. Clint was right—it is killing us instead.
* * *
Two days pass,and I’ve slept maybe six hours of it. Of those, most have been fitful. I hear her voice in my head and am haunted by her too-thin face. I try to hug her in my dreams just for her to become a vapor that I can’t hold onto. I’m chasing a ghost that eludes me.
I’m constantly on the verge of tears. They won’t fall, but the well between my eyes has no more room. It stays full and warm as if one more thought, one more feeling, and the dam will break, and they’ll never stop flowing. It might be cathartic, but it scares the shit out of me… not knowing if they’ll ever stop.
Layton and Exton have both arrived, and while I haven’t asked, I assume with fair certainty they’ve had some goodbye time with Mom. I don’t want to call it that, but, brass tacks—that’s what it is.
She’s saying goodbye. Not that I’d want any of us to miss out on that moment with her, but I wonder if she would hold on even a few moments longer if we hadn’t made it so easy to see her off.
Pop is haggard. He is thinner than I’ve ever seen him and the shadows under his eyes rival mine. He’s taking every last moment he can and holding on, hoping against hope, for a few extra minutes or an hour or two more.
Pop: It’s time.
I hope this group text is burned to a cinder. And soon. Yeah, it’s efficient, but it’s there in black and white, digitally preserved, blinding me, screaming that my mom is dying and there’s fuck all I can do to stop it.
“Be right back,” I say to Marron. It’s a lie, but her gentle nuzzle says it’s okay.
I make my way to the big house from the stalls yet again. I’m wearing a path in the earth, almost scarring it with my booted footsteps.
I’m the only one not here, apparently. My three brothers stand, milling about the living room and kitchen. They turn in unison when I walk in the door, knowing looks on their faces.
Well, Braxton and Exton have resignation written in their features. Layton looks like a deer in headlights or like a man waiting for a bomb to explode. He’s uncomfortable, obviously so, and, like the rest of us, unwilling for this to be the end.
The door clicks in the frame behind me, and Pop quietly emerges from the hall. I can count on my two hands when I’ve seen him in socks with no boots. Maybe two hands. He’s a rancher through and through and is always prepared.
I stare at his feet.
Immediately, I know. I know that no matter how many times I remember this day, those fucking socks will be burned in the image of mom’s last moments.
Braxton, shoulders slumping, chin tipped back, taking deep breaths…
Exton tugging on his neck with one hand, staring at the floor…
Layton glancing around, fidgeting, as if ready and waiting for a surprise attack…
