She’s Gone Country Read online

  “ ’Cause we don’t go to church?”

  “That, and Daddy’s and my separation, as well as Uncle Cody’s death.”

  “And going to church will change all that?”

  “No. But it’d make her feel better.” I drop a kiss on the top of his head. Another few months and he’ll be taller than me. And he’s my baby. “Go get your brothers. Breakfast is ready.”

  Brick calls me on his cell about an hour later. “That was the most boring sermon ever, Shey. You owe me.”

  I grin at the misery in his deep voice. He might be the oldest and I might be the youngest, but we’ve always been tight. “You don’t have to pretend to like church just because she’s here,” I answer, taking a step outside the house to stretch and stand on the screened porch with its view of the oak-lined drive. More oak trees dot the pasture between the house and the six-stall barn. There’s not a lot else to see but trees, cows, and land. Mama and Pop lived here for fifty-some years, and Pop’s parents before that.

  “It makes her happy,” he says.

  “That’s why you’ll go to heaven and I won’t.” I laugh and ruffle my hair. I’ve always gotten along well with all my brothers, but I enjoy teasing Brick most, probably because he takes his job as the oldest so damn seriously. “You all on your way home now?”

  “No. We’re going out for breakfast. Mama’s still worked up, and Charlotte thought a good hot meal would put her in a better mood, especially since she’s driving back to Jefferson this afternoon. Don’t want her on the road when she’s in a mood.”

  “No, we certainly don’t. So where are you going, and are we invited?”

  “Um, Shey, you’re the reason Mama’s in a bad mood. You’re probably better off staying at the house.”

  “Gotcha.” My lips twist in a rueful smile. My mother and I have a funny relationship. Given that I’m the only daughter and the baby of the family, you’d think we would have been close. Only it didn’t work out that way. Mama prefers boys. But I can’t complain. I certainly wasn’t neglected growing up. I had three brothers to chase after and always was the apple of my daddy’s eye. “We’ll see you later, then, and don’t rush your meal. We’ll be here when you return.”

  I pocket the cell phone in my snug-fitting jeans and push through the screen door to step into the yard. Now that I’m back on the ranch, I wear only jeans, T-shirts, and boots, which makes getting dressed every morning easy.

  The heels of my cowboy boots sink in the muddy drive as I walk from the shade of the house into the sun. We’ve had a few days of rain, which is good for the land but not so great for the property. The driveway is more mud than gravel these days, and the mud sticks to everything.

  The Sleepy Acre Ranch hasn’t changed since I was a little girl. Pop never saw the point of spending money to fix up the house or yard—this is a working cattle ranch, after all—and when Brick married Charlotte twenty-five years ago, they built their own house on our family ranch, and that’s where Charlotte’s energy and design skills go.

  Now kicking around the scraggly front yard, I wonder yet again how I could have thought the answer to our problems was moving back home.

  How could I have imagined that Parkfield, Texas, population sixty-seven, would solve anything?

  But then I am a Texas girl, born and raised on our ranch—literally born on the ranch, since for the birth of her fourth baby, Mama didn’t even bother going to the hospital—and when I came home last June for Cody’s funeral, I felt better than I had in a long time. I’m crazy about all the fields and oak trees and big sky, and I love the relaxed pace as well. Even the boys seemed happy to be out of New York, and they’re East Coast, private-school-educated, field-hockey-and-lacrosse-playing kids.

  But three months into our new “adventure,” I’m beginning to question my impulsive decision to relocate us all here. Cooper has settled in fine, but Bo and Hank are struggling. They miss their friends and their sports—no one here plays lacrosse or field hockey—and I can’t help wondering if maybe I shouldn’t move us back to New York.

  But my husband, John, is in New York. And John’s no longer in love with me. He’s living with his new partner—a man—and I can compete with another woman, but how on earth do I compete with a man for my husband’s affections?

  I can’t.

  My heart sinks and I dig the toe of my beat-up boot into the mud, watching the reddish brown earth ooze around the scuffed, pointed tip.

  We would have been married seventeen years this year. I was happy with him. We’d had a good marriage, and at times a great marriage, until this.

  I’ve known for nine months now that John’s in love with someone else, but it’s still bigger than I can get my head around. I’m mad. Confused. But maybe the worst part is that I still love John. I don’t know how to stop loving him. Don’t know if I should. I don’t want a divorce, but I sure don’t want to share him. Thus, we’ve filed for divorce, but it all feels so hideously wrong.

  The phone in my pocket vibrates and I fish it out, grateful for the distraction, and see Marta’s name and number. Marta. One of my buds. “Hey, Ta,” I say, taking Marta’s call. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. Eva’s at a birthday party and the other three are all napping, so I thought I’d call you, check in, see how things are going.”

  Marta’s one of my two best friends from boarding school. We met in Monterey, California, when we were attending St. Pious. She lives outside Seattle now, although for nearly ten years we both lived in New York. I’ve missed her ever since she moved away.

  “You’re an answer to a prayer, girl,” I admit, crossing the sticky muddy drive to sit on the open tailgate of my dad’s old truck. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I push my long hair from my face and discover that my hand is trembling. It’s just stress and fatigue, but I don’t like it. “My mama’s been here a week visiting us, and living with her is like attending a church revival. It’s Jesus this, and Jesus that, and nothing I do is ever right or good enough. Why didn’t I remember this before I moved us all home?”

  Marta laughs on the other end of the line. “Moving home always sounds so idyllic until you do it.”

  “It did seem idyllic—empty ranch house, no rent, free schools, Pop’s truck—but Mama keeps showing up on the doorstep, and my brothers seem to think I’m still sixteen, not thirty-nine!”

  “If it’s any consolation, I was miserable when we first moved back to Seattle, too. Eva was lonely. I despised the wealthy stay-at-home moms. You were the one who gave me the big lecture about how I needed to make more of an effort to fit in—”

  “I didn’t!”

  “You did. On the ferry coming back from the San Juan Islands.”

  My brow clears as I remember our weekend away three years ago. “That wasn’t a lecture, Ta. That was a pep talk.”

  “The point is, my first year I was really unhappy in Bellevue. I was missing New York. Missing you. Missing the life I’d left behind.”

  “But you had a reason to stick it out in Bellevue. And you didn’t move back because you were running away from anything.” I swing my legs and soak up the autumn sunshine. After the past two days of rain, I’ll take every bit of sun I can get. “I’ve never run away from anything before. Why am I running now?”

  “You didn’t run away from New York. You just wanted change. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “But Parkfield? The ranch? I pulled my kids out of the best private boys’ school in the city and dragged them out to the sticks. And they hate it, at least Bo and Hank do. Cooper’s a country kid at heart and loving life here. He and my brother Brick have totally bonded, but my older two… they’re unhappy. They don’t know what to do with pasture, tractors, and cow patties.”

  Marta stifles a laugh. “Can’t say I blame them. I’d hate being stuck in the country.”

  “I don’t think Bo and Hank are really trying, though. It’s like they think if they
fight it long enough, I’ll eventually cave in and take them back to New York.”

  “Will you?”

  That’s when I lose steam.

  I don’t want to return to New York. It feels good to be out of the city, away from the traffic and noise and stress. I love having a horse again and going riding every day and waking up to the crowing of our rooster. After sixteen years of living the high life as a glamorous fashion model, it’s a hoot bouncing around in Pop’s ancient work truck in my boots and jeans and cowboy hat. I might complain about my overprotective big brothers, but I adore them. I also happen to think it’s good for my boys to have their uncles around, especially in light of their father’s recent identity crisis.

  “If I had to,” I say slowly, “I would. But I’m not ready to throw in the towel. Not by a long shot.”

  “Can you afford to buy a new place on the Upper East Side?”

  “I could. It’d be smaller than what we had before, but I’d rather sit on my little nest egg instead of purchase real estate, because it’s not long until the boys go to college and that’s going to be expensive.”

  “So you’re okay financially?” Marta asks.

  “I’m good. I’ve always been careful with my money, and since John and I kept separate checking accounts, it was relatively easy dividing our assets.” I pause, think of John now living with his boyfriend, Erik, try not to cringe. “John’s hurting financially, but Erik’s supporting him so I guess he’ll be okay.”

  “Why are you still worrying about John? He was the one who wanted out, not you.”

  “I can’t help worrying about him. He was my partner, my husband—”

  “Was,” she interrupts flatly. “And you need to move on and focus on you now. Which leads me to my next question. Are you working?”

  “Brick’s hired me to do the ranch books, but that’s only a part-time job.”

  “I meant modeling.”

  I swing a leg, flex my foot, and study my scuffed boot. These are my favorite pair. They’re so comfy that they feel better than slippers. “I signed with Stars of Dallas but haven’t been booked for anything yet.”

  “They’ll call you. You’re still gorgeous.”

  I flex the other foot. “I think I’m getting lazy, though. The idea of commuting to Dallas isn’t appealing.”

  “How long a drive is it?”

  “Ninety minutes or so.”

  “That’s not lazy, that’s being real. It’s hard enough working without spending hours in the car.”

  “How about you? Working a ton?”

  “Not as much as I used to. I can’t, not with Zach and the twins. I don’t know what happened to me, Shey, but I’m beat. Tired all the time now.”

  “That’s because you have babies. The twins still waking up at all hours of the night?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Sorry, Ta,” I commiserate, lifting my face to the sun, concentrating on the warmth against my skin. I can’t get enough sunshine. I need it, crave it, depend on it. “I remember those days. Couldn’t do it now. Need my sleep too much.”

  “This is why women are cranky, you know that, don’t you? We’re tired. Our bodies are trashed and we’re seriously sleep-deprived.” Marta hesitates. “So how are your three? Coping better with John’s lifestyle, or is that still an issue?”

  I sigh and open my eyes. “They don’t really talk about it, but I know it’s a struggle, especially for Bo. He doesn’t want to get on the phone when his dad calls, and he definitely doesn’t want to hear about John’s life with Erik.”

  Marta digests this. “And Bo’s depression?”

  I feel a swift, hot shaft of pain. Bo’s the one I have to watch. Bo’s my worry. “Seems okay for now. But I’m keeping an eye on him. Determined to stay on top of it this time.”

  “Sounds like we’ve both got our hands full.” Marta’s voice is full of sympathy. “But we can do this. We’re strong. Damn tough. And besides, you’ve got the best heart, Shey, you really do. No one loves more than you do.”

  My eyes suddenly burn, and I’m glad she can’t see me because my lower lip quivers. I bite it, hard. “We are tough. And Bo’s going to be fine. We’re going to get through this. It’s just going to take some time.”

  “Love you, Shey-girl.”

  “Love you, too, Ta. Let’s get together soon.”

  And then, ending the call, I jump off the back of the truck and walk a brisk, fierce circle around the yard, my heart thumping like mad.

  Bo isn’t crazy. Bo isn’t like my brother Cody. Bo is going to be okay.

  I walk another frenzied circle, and another, and another, until some of the suffocating fear in me fades and my pace slows and my pulse returns to normal. It’s only then that I head for the house.

  This is life. Life is full of ups and downs. We’re going to be fine.

  And my boy Bo is going to be fine, too. There’s no way I’ll let him become another Cody.

  Chapter Two

  Later that afternoon I see my mother off, and the moment she’s in her car, heading east for Jefferson, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. Sounds mean, but hosting Mama for a week felt like a root canal without anesthesia. I’m just glad she’s gone and won’t be back until Thanksgiving, which is still—thankfully—over nine weeks away.

  In the house I strip the sheets from the master bedroom bed, which is where Mama slept, before starting a load of laundry. I contemplate what to make for Sunday night dinner (usually it’s beef, beef, beef, since we are a cattle ranch), but nothing in the freezer looks good. The sun pools on the kitchen floor, and I want to get out. Go do something. Something preferably fun.

  That’s when I decide to track down the boys and see if any of them are up for a matinee movie.

  Cooper and Bo enthusiastically endorse the idea. Hank, my oldest, declines, says he has homework he needs to finish. I suspect it isn’t true, but I don’t push it. I’ve learned the hard way that you can’t make someone enjoy being with you. Instead, I go online to check movie listings at Fandango. Because we’re in the middle of nowhere, everything’s a drive, and the question is whether we can make do with one of the movies showing at the Brazos in Mineral Wells, a twenty-minute drive, or do we have to make the trip all the way to Weatherford, which is a forty-five-minute drive.

  Fortunately, the boys find a movie they want to watch in Mineral Wells, and if we leave now, we’ll just make it in time. We arrive as the previews are showing, and since the movie’s been out a few weeks already, the theater is almost empty and we have no problem finding good seats.

  It’s not my kind of film, but as the only female in the family I’m used to our diet of action-adventure thrillers. I sometimes miss the days of Disney and Pixar films, but there are also advantages to having bigger kids. I don’t have to take them to the bathroom. I don’t worry (as much) about them being kidnapped. I know they can cross a street and navigate traffic and drop and roll should their clothes catch fire.

  Still, they’re my kids, my boys, and I glance at them once, twice, during the film, as enamored of their faces as I was when they were newborns. These two, my youngest two, look so much like my brother Cody that it’s uncanny. Cody was a redhead, too. And funny. And brilliant. And bipolar.

  And just maybe schizophrenic.

  But I don’t know if that’s true. My brother Blue called Cody a schizophrenic at Pop’s funeral four years ago, but Mama says Cody was just a lost soul. Brick said he was a drug addict. The truth is probably somewhere in between.

  Bo leans over, hisses in my ear that I’m supposed to be watching the movie.

  “I like watching you better,” I whisper back.

  “Wow. Scary,” he answers before turning back to the big screen.

  Emotion tugs at me, and it’s bittersweet. Bo has no idea how much I worry about him. And I do worry, because Cody wasn’t always a lost soul. Cody was once my best friend, the brother who never left me behind, the brother who gave me rides to the games and then out
to pizza or burgers after.

  If I loved Cody as much as I did, and it couldn’t keep him together, what does that mean for Bo?

  Bo grabs my hands, gives a squeeze to my fingers. “Watch. The. Movie. Mom.”

  I lift his hand to my mouth and kiss the back of it before letting it go so we can watch the movie. All remaining fifty-six minutes of violence and mayhem.

  We leave when the credits roll, and Cooper is enthusiastically reliving every detail of the big fight scene. In his mind, he’s part Jackie Chan, part John Cena, and more bad-ass than the two of them put together.

  While Coop’s on a high, Bo’s mood has turned and he’s angry, and particularly angry at Coop for being happy. “You’re so stupid,” I hear Bo tell Cooper. “You couldn’t fight anyone. You’re the biggest chicken I know.”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “Yes, you are.”

  I face Bo. “What are you doing? Why are you being mean?”

  “I can fight,” Cooper protests.

  Bo is oblivious to everything but making his point. “You can’t even play sports. How do you think you could fight?”

  “I play sports—”

  “You still don’t even know how to cradle the ball,” Bo interrupts scornfully. “Why do you think you were always on defense?”

  “Because I was good at defense.”

  “Because you couldn’t play offense. Defense is where they stick the losers.”

  “That’s it. That’s enough.” I step between them, hands pushing them farther apart. “I’m not in the mood for this tonight. If you’re going to fight, let’s just go home and we can skip dinner and you can fight to your heart’s content. But if you want to eat tonight, you’ll shut your mouths now.”

  And then Bo—damn him—opens his mouth. “I played better at eight than you do at twelve—”

  I grab Bo then, seizing his upper arm hard, and haul him toward me. I know the parenting books say we’re not supposed to manhandle our kids, but Jesus, there’s got to come a point when they listen. “Did you not hear me, Bo Thomas Darcy? I said not one word, and yet you had to—”