1
Ripley
“Ripley, hon, there’s someone at the door with a letter you need to sign for,” Frankie called over the yipping of Jinji my Maltipoo puppy.
“Can’t you just sign for it? My nails aren’t dry, and for heaven sakes, put Jinji in her crate.”
“Got her,” he called back. “And no, he says it has to be you, or at least I assume it’s you. He’s asking for Randall Ellis, Jr. Is Randall your first name?”
Randall Ellis, Jr. Fuck, it had been a long time since I’d heard that name. Even when my father died six months ago and my aunt called to tell me, she had the decency to call me Ripley. “Fine,” I called back. “I’ll be right there.” If I ruined these nails signing for this stupid ass letter, I would be pissed. I spent forever watching YouTube videos trying to learn how to get this effect, and I’d done a pretty good job if I did say so myself.
I was sure the letter had something to do with the Bluebird Ranch. I had no idea who my father had left his half to. Obviously wasn’t going to be me, a person wouldn’t leave half of one of the most successful horse ranches in Texas to the son they disowned. I held my breath the first month after he died, waiting for my monthly check, but the money for my half of the profits showed up right on time like always. By the time the third month rolled around and nothing had changed, I figured my life would continue on like normal. My mother had inherited the ranch when her parents died, and when she died, she left half to me and half to my father. The day he told me to leave I told him I wanted my half of the money because my mother had given that half to me, but I didn’t want a thing from him.
Frankie had been telling me for months that I needed to get an attorney and make sure my interests were protected, that the ostrich head-in-the sand approach wasn’t a good plan. I knew he was right, because if whoever took over the running of the ranch ran it into the ground, my only source of income would dry up, but I was doing okay. My expenses weren’t much, so most of my money had gone into investments and savings. Besides, the land was worth a fortune, so if I had to sell my half it would be enough to set me up for years. I’d intended to put off dealing with it until I had no choice. Guess that time was now.
I looked longingly at my perfect nails and went to sign for the letter. “Okay, so if I’m standing right here, can he sign?” I asked the guy at the door. “I spent forever on these nails and I do not want to mess them up.” He took in my attire, looking like he wasn’t sure what to think. I had on my fuzzy pink bathrobe, unicorn slippers, and held my freshly painted nails out in front of me.
“Are you Randall Ellis, Jr.?”
“Yeah, that’s me, or at least it used to be. I haven’t used that horrible name in years, sugar. I go by Ripley Ellis now.”
He furrowed his brows. “I’m only supposed to deliver this to Randall Ellis, Jr.”
“That’s the name I was born with. You have the right guy. Now the question was, if I’m standing right here can my friend Frankie sign? I won’t tell if you won’t. I just don’t want to mess up my nails.” He licked his lips nervously and looked at the letter and back at me. “Or we can sit here and wait for my nails to dry.” I wiggled my fingers in the air in front of him.
“Um, no, that won’t be necessary. As long as I give it to you, it should be fine. Just sign here.” He handed the pen to Frankie.
“Thank you, sweetie,” I said. He blushed a little, took the paper back from Frankie, handed him the letter and left.
“Ahh, Ripley, you embarrassed the straight boy. How cute,” Frankie said. “Speaking of straight boys, Randall Ellis, Jr., really? That’s like the straightest name I’ve ever heard.”
“True, that’s why I ditched it the first chance I got. Now, why don’t you open up that letter and read it to me? Let’s find out what all this is about.”
“Are you sure? It could be personal.”
“Like I’m not going to read it to you, anyway,” I said with an eye roll. “Since when do we keep secrets?”
“Um, I would say never but”—he waved his hand at me—“Randall.”
“That wasn’t a secret, just something I was trying to pretend never happened. Now read.”
He tore open the envelope and pulled out a letter.
“Dear Mister Ellis,” he read. “In following with your father’s instructions before his death, I am sending you this letter to inform you that if you meet the conditions set forth in his will, you are to become full owner of the Bluebird Ranch.”
“What? No way? I don’t want to run the ranch. That’s not what was supposed to happen. I don’t want it.”
“You’re probably the only person I know who would complain about inheriting a fortune.”
“I didn’t want anything from him.”
“Personally, I think he owed you. Besides, even his half isn’t from him. It was all your mother’s and she would’ve wanted you to have it.”
He was right. The ranch had been in my mother’s family for generations, and I did think she would want me to have it. But I also thought she would understand why I didn’t want it. It would’ve been different if she had lived. My mother was loving and accepting; I had nothing but happy memories from before she died. But she did, and my father was a hard man. Instead of wonderful memories of the ranch, all I was left with were feelings of inadequacy and the knowledge I was a disappointment. “Okay, go ahead, tell me what the asshole’s conditions are.”
Frankie started reading again.
“The conditions are as follows: You are to live on the ranch for one full year, and you are not to make any major changes in the running of the ranch without the approval of the current ranch foreman, Reed Warner.”
“Oh hell no,” I exclaimed. “No way in hell am I going back there.”
“That isn’t all, Rip,” Frankie said.
“If you choose not to fulfill this request, then the livestock will go to Mr. Warner, and my half of the ranch will be donated to Truth Abides Ministries, a charitable organization operating legally in the state, for them to do with it what they will. You would, of course, be free to find a buyer for your half interest in the property.”
“What the actual fuck? So basically, I either have to go back there and stay for a year or my half becomes worthless. I can’t even sell because no one will want to share ownership with those crazies.” Truth Abides was one of those organizations that gave Christians a bad name. If anything happened that was newsworthy, you could bet TAM had an opinion and were on camera yelling about it. They were racist, misogynistic, and without a doubt homophobic, and they didn’t care who knew it. They didn’t even pretend to be tolerant or loving.
“Sounds like it. Why do you think your father wanted you to live there for a year? That makes no sense to me.”
“Me either, but what else am going to do?”
“Come on, sugar, how bad can it be? Your father is gone so you don’t have to deal with him, so you go live on a ranch for a year with a bunch of cowboys. Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”