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“I would have called, but I got back so late,” Russell told him. “I messaged you but didn’t get an answer, so I took a chance and came over.”
“I’m glad you did. My phone fell out of my pocket and one of the horses stepped on it.” He motioned to the house, and Russell followed him, glad he had sunglasses on. Snow blindness was a real thing, and Russell knew he’d have to let his eyes adjust once they got inside.
“How are you managing otherwise?” Russell asked.
“Really well. I’ve finished up some more chores. And your people came to take the cattle I wanted to sell. They were very professional and efficient. Everybody really knew their jobs.”
“I’m glad to hear it. We try to hire the best,” Russell said. His father had a real knack for finding the right people. He was in charge of the ranch and cattle transportation. They had developed their own fleet of cattle transport years ago to cut costs, and since then it had turned into a profitable side business.
The light began to dim as more clouds moved in. Rafe led the way to the back door and they went inside. The dogs followed, shaking off the snow, then checked out their dishes before making themselves comfortable in a pile near the fireplace.
“I figured that was where Mack kept a bed for them.”
“Yeah, he did, though they tended to sleep near him at night. He told me that sometimes there was barely room for him in bed.” Russell snickered at Rafe’s expression. Clearly he’d found that out himself.
“I brought out a box and some packing material,” Rafe said, pointing to the sculpture. “If you want to pack it up now, it’ll be ready when it’s time for you to go.” He half smiled as his shoulders drooped. “I keep thinking about what we’re about to do. I want to find some answers, and yet it feels wrong to be going through my uncle’s things.”
“They are your things now. And the sooner we start, the sooner it’ll be done. Then you can make decisions about what you want to do.” He took off his coat and boots and left them near the door to dry, then followed Rafe down the hall. He paused outside Mack’s closed door, as if preparing himself for what he’d find.
When Rafe finally opened the door, Russell inhaled the remnants of Mack’s awful aftershave. Apparently he had used the stuff for years. And maybe it was time, or just his memories, but somehow it didn’t smell as bad as he’d always thought it did. “We can start with the closet,” Rafe said.
“Good idea.” He held back, letting Rafe direct things.
“I bought some large plastic bags for the clothes and other things I’ll want to donate to the thrift store in town. Uncle Mack seemed to be smaller than me. If there’s something you want, let me know, okay?” Rafe seemed a little lost.
“I will. And we need to decide where to put the things you’ll want to keep,” Russell said. “Maybe on the bed?”
Rafe nodded and began pulling out clothes. Russell folded them and placed them in a bag. It turned out to be an effective system—Russell folding dozens of shirts and jeans and adding them in the donation bag while Rafe pulled out everything Mack had kept in his closet. The underwear and socks from his dresser went into a bag they’d set out for trash, as did some shirts that had seen better days.
Finally they got through everything Mack had had hanging up. Russell carried the donation bags out of the room and set them by the back door, along with a full bag of trash. He put on his boots and ran the bags out to this truck. It had started to snow, so once he was back inside he kicked off his boots before returning to the room, where Rafe sat on the edge of the bed.
“What is it?” Russell asked.
“I was going through the boxes on the top of the closet. Most were shoes, but I found this….” He opened an old Buster Brown box, probably from the eighties or nineties. It had clearly been around for a while.
“What is it?”
“These are the cards and things I sent my uncle.” He pulled out some Christmas and Easter ones from their envelopes. “He did get them. My mom and dad didn’t know I’d sent them. They’d told me he was sick, so I sent get-well cards too.” He lowered his gaze, shaking his head. “They’re all here, and so are the return letters he sent me.” Rafe held up envelope after envelope, all with Return to Sender.
“You didn’t forget him,” Russell said, placing his hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “He knew that. You kept sending cards even though you didn’t get a response. If you ask me, that’s probably why he left his estate to you.”
Rafe opened one of the earliest cards. A pair of twenty-dollar bills fluttered to the floor. Rafe left them there and read the card. Then he scooped up the bills, put them back inside the card, and placed it in the envelope before setting the entire box aside. “At least that answers one question. He did get the cards I sent him, and he tried to answer me.”
“You never saw anything from him?” Russell asked.
Just then, a bang sounded on one of the doors. It repeated, and Rafe set the box aside and left the room. Russell finished up folding the last of the clothes to donate.
“What do you want now?” Rafe’s voice traveled through the house. The edge to it sparked Russell’s curiosity, so he followed the voices into the kitchen, where an older version of Rafe stood next to a woman who had to be Rafe’s mother.
“We’re your parents—you owe us. It’s only fair,” she said, her lips pinched as though it pained her to say anything. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for us to come here to ask… someone like you… for this?” she added, sending Russell’s blood pressure soaring. He stepped into the room, and Rafe turned to look at him. It took every ounce of willpower Russell had to keep silent. But it wasn’t his place to get between them.
“Then leave,” Rafe said. “You gave up any right to ask for anything—or to even come here—when you kicked me out of your lives.”
“We just wanted you to get some help. But you refused. We had no other choice,” Rafe’s mother said, seeming close to tears.
“Yeah, right. I was supposed to go somewhere to make myself acceptable to you. To be the son you wanted. But you know what? That’s bullshit. I knew it then and I know it now. You’re both just too small-minded to even consider you might not be right about everything. But that isn’t my problem—it’s yours. I’m gay, and I’m also the world champion bull rider. I made something of myself, no thanks to either of you. I did it all on my own.”
“You didn’t get any of this on your own,” Rafe’s father snapped.
