Page 14

She tried her best to assimilate. She learned how to ride horses, and as I got older, we were able to roam around the ranch more often, sometimes with Dad.

Still, she found it difficult to meet people, and she missed the vibrancy of city life. She was depressed and unhappy. She also didn’t love the schools in Hartsville, so when it was time for me to go to kindergarten, she gave Dad an ultimatum: move to Dallas or get a divorce.

Really, she begged him to move to Dallas with us. For all her vitriol toward Dad—as long as I can remember, she’s never had a nice thing to say about him—I think she was genuinely heartbroken by his choice to stay on the ranch. I remember my grandmother telling me how crazy in love Mom was with Dad when they met.

But he chose to stay in Hartsville. To this day, I still don’t understand why. How could anyone choose to live alone in the middle of nowhere instead of being with his family?

How could Dad choose some cows and a desert over us?

Mom’s hurt fueled her growing rage. We moved into my grandparents’ house in Dallas, and not long after, Mom served Dad divorce papers. Their split was finalized the day I entered kindergarten.

While Mom and Dad shared custody of me, Dad pretty much disappeared from my life once I moved to Dallas. Granted, I was in school, so it’s not like I could visit him at Lucky Ranch whenever I wanted.

Still, he could have tried harder. I was supposed to spend every other weekend with him, but for some reason or another, it never happened. Dad never came to pick me up, and Mom never offered to drive me. She hated the idea of me going back to the ranch. I think she was worried I wouldn’t be safe there, as Dad wasn’t exactly a hands-on parent. He was always so busy working.

At first, I was crushed Dad didn’t push harder to bring me back to Hartsville. Unlike my mother, I didn’t hate life on the ranch. I enjoyed riding horses, and I liked being outside around all the animals there.

Dad would call every so often, and although I don’t remember what we talked about, I do remember feeling happy to hear his voice.

Eventually, though, I grew to love my new life in Dallas. As the years passed, Dad told me he didn’t want to take me away from the friends and family I had there. That tracked,especially as I got older. I didn’t want to miss my friends’ sleepovers. I didn’t want to miss middle school dances and my ballet classes.

I still missed my Dad, though, and I never stopped wondering why he didn’t try harder to see me. As an only child with parents who worked a lot, I was lonely. Once in a blue moon, Dad would show up in Dallas and take me out to lunch or dinner. But that was only when he was in town on ranch business—buying livestock in Fort Worth or meeting with his bankers downtown.

Once I hit my angsty teenage years, the loneliness and the hurt morphed into anger, just like Mom’s did. What was wrong with this man, never showing up to my recitals? My graduations? Why didn’t he help Mom more? Couldn’t he see how hard it was for her to raise me on her own?

I stopped answering Dad’s calls, hell-bent on sending him the silent message that I was pissed. He came to Dallas to try to talk things out, but I refused to see him. Mom didn’t push the issue. After that, he stopped calling altogether, and our only touch point was the money he’d send for whatever I needed: boarding school tuition, a car, textbooks for my college classes.

As fucked up as it sounds, I felt like money was something he owed me for not showing up more. Mom made it clear that Dad was a very, very wealthy man, so I knew he wouldn’t miss it.

He apparently didn’t miss me, either. I often felt like I was just another problem he would throw money at. Money was easy for him. Being a part of my life clearly wasn’t.

I would give anything to have Dad back. Truly anything to fix the way he and I fucked up our relationship. I have so many regrets and so much anger left over from the things we did and didn’t say to each other. He should’ve pushed to see me more. I should’ve had the courage to tell him how much I wanted to see him.

The fact that I lost the chance to ever make things right keeps me up at night. I haven’t slept well in…months. Since Dad’s funeral, really, which took place in a depressingly bland church near Mom’s office.

Dad offered to invest in Bellamy Brooks, but I was too angry—too determined to hold my grudge—to give him a chance. Once he became an investor, he and I would have to communicate again, which meant patching up our relationship. I wasn’t ready for that yet.

Add that to my growing tally of regrets, along with all the times he sent money for other things and I never called to thank him.

My throat swells. I take another long sip of tea, the bitter taste just making my throat feel worse. Mom is convinced sweet tea gives you kidney stones, so we order ours unsweetened. I should’ve asked for more lemons.

Really, I wish I’d asked for tequila.

“What if I don’t get the money, though?” I ask Mom. “Without living in bumfuck nowhere first?”

Yesterday, I received a packet from Goody, detailing the monthly stipend I’d get if I lived on the ranch. It is definitely generous. Generous enough to keep Bellamy Brooks afloat for several months.

Am I willing to actually live in Hartsville to get that stipend? With so much on the line…I mean, I could work remotely for a bit. Drive back to Dallas on the weekends. Goody didn’t mention anything about travel restrictions, right?

Honestly, I’d consider returning to Hartsville just for the satisfaction of firing that prick Cash. I’d love to see the look on his face when I tell him to get the fuck off my property. Who does he think he is, believing he’s entitled to my family’s ranch?

I’ve found myself wondering if part of me isproudDad thought I was up to the task of running his beloved ranch. Ididn’t know him all that well, but I suddenly can’t kick the desire towantto know him now that he’s gone.

Or maybe I just want to figure out why he never really wanted to know me.

“You’ll live on the ranch over my dead body.” Mom glances at her phone, which sits screen-up beside her silverware. “That place will chew you up and spit you out. I had to go through hell there, and I won’t see you go through it too.”

I frown. “I just wish I understood why Dad wants me there so badly.”