“It’s been five years. We’ve given you all the space in the world.”
“What do you know about loss, Bea?” I knew I had made a mistake the moment the words came out of my mouth.
She crossed her arms and turned her chin to the ceiling. I could tell she was fighting back tears as she pursed her lips. I thought she was going to talk about the child she lost, but then I realized Jake had been that for her, too. “I loved Jake like my own son. He was the closest thing I ever had to one of my own. I tried, too. I did everything I knew how. He didn’t want to live. He loved himself more than he loved you.”
I sat back at the table and dropped my head into my hands and began to cry. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. If he loved you he would have let you go. Instead he took you with him. You’re living his hell on earth now.”
I abruptly wiped the tears from my eyes, determined not to fall apart again. I stood and walked past her to the door, grabbing a sweatshirt on my way out. On the porch I put on my mud-caked boots and went to the barn to Elite’s stall. After crushing Jake and taking off, Redman had eventually found her grazing near a stream a few days after the accident. I begged him to shoot her or to send her to another ranch, but he didn’t. No one would go near her, like she was cursed. Grabbing a carrot from the bag hanging on the shed door, I leaned over her stall door and held it out.
She walked up to me hesitantly and then took the carrot from my hand. “That’s it. Good girl.” I rubbed the space between her ears and down her face. “Wanna go for a ride?”
A voice from behind startled me. “What are you doing?” It was Redman.
“I’m gonna take Elite out, Red, and you’re not gonna stop me,” I said in a determined voice.
He stood stock-still about fifteen feet away at the end of the barn. I could see that he was squinting and then he nodded and looked down at the ground. “Okay,” was all he said before walking out. He knew what I had to do.
With just a bridle and no saddle, I led her out to the edge of the grassy field and hopped up onto her back. “Remember me?” I whispered near her ear. I turned her in a circle, putting constant pressure on her sides. Yanking and pulling on the reins, I tried to instigate her but she did just as she was taught and remained calm. “Come on!” I let the reins out, tapped my heels twice, and she took off.
I ran her so hard that by the time we got to the main road, she was laboring heavily. “You’re out of shape, girl!” I bent to pat her sweat-covered neck and then I finally said what I should have said to her a long time ago. “It wasn’t your fault and I’m sorry I blamed you.” I squeezed my eyes shut and rested my head on her neck as she walked slowly back to the barn. We passed the fresh mound of dirt and a marker for Dancer’s grave. I promised to bury my blame there, too.
CHAPTER 12
The Long Way
Nathanial
My father and I spent three quiet days traveling back to Los Angeles, only stopping to sleep, eat, or fish. By the time we hit California, I was whipping the fly lures off the top of the water like Brad Pitt in A River Runs Through It. Most of the time we were fishing or driving, I was thinking about Ava, how sweet she smelled, how sweet the sounds she made were. She hadn’t called so I made a pact with myself to give her some space, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about her.
On the road, I never brought up the hospital or Lizzy. I knew my father only expected me to tell the truth about what had happened, how I had tried to save her. We would have to wait to hear the findings of the investigation before we would know how to move forward, so there was no point in talking about it. We both knew that. On a long stretch of dark road he finally asked me what my plans were.
“Nate, what have you decided?”
“I don’t know, Dad.”
“I think you do. You can tell me. I won’t stop you, no matter what. I’ll support you.”
I swallowed. “I need to see where it’s going with Ava.”
“I see. So you’ll move there for her?”
“No. I’ll move there for me.”
“You two couldn’t be more different.”
“And Mom and you? Aren’t you two different?” My mother was a hippie artist who had quietly renounced Western medicine long ago.
“Your mother and I are more similar than you think.”
“Maybe Ava and I are more similar than you think.”
“How so?”
“People don’t know her, Dad. She’s funny and smart. Why does what we do always have to define us?”
He huffed, staring straight out the front window. “You want to drive, Nate? I’m getting tired.”
“No, I want you to answer me.”
“You’re right, it’s not about what we do, it’s about how we love, how we treat other people and ourselves. You’re just singing a very different tune than when I sent you out here, so I’m a little surprised.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”