Pete smiled back with the real deal now, piercing my heart with sadness, which was just a pinprick compared to the devastating hole he would leave when he left. For good.
“Well you deserve it. Now get some rest.” He turned to go.
“Why didn’t you call the whole time you were gone?” I blurted out, feeling like a desperate girl with a crush (which was exactly what I was). He didn’t immediately answer, and I couldn’t bear the void where his reassuring words should’ve been, so I spluttered on: “I-we didn’t know when or if you were comin’ back.”
His eyes shifted to the tray in his hands, where his fingers rearranged my spoon so that it nestled on top of the fork. Then he picked them both up and dumped them into his coffee cup with a sigh.
“I wanted to, but, well . . . we kind of left on a sour note. And technically, it’s still a conflict of interest.” Pete chin-nodded at me on the bed. “I’ve seen your powers-of-persuasion at work.” His grin gained momentum according to my growing blush. “And you could’ve called me.”
I huffed out a laugh. “I’ve never called a boy in my life! That’s much too forward—you mighta got the wrong idear about me. Plus, I don’t recall you leavin’ me your number.”
“What?” He mimed getting struck in the chest. “How can you say that? I gave it to you right before I left. It’s not my fault you didn’t write it down.”
“Well, if someone wouldn’t have swiped my favorite pen, I may have just done that,” I joshed, overjoyed Pete seemed back to his old self.
He laughed unrepentantly.
“And besides,” I went on, deciding to let him in on a little secret, “I didn’t need to write it down.” I tapped the side of my head. “It’s all up here. I happen to have a Herculean memory—not even a Texas-sized bump on the head could knock it outta me!” Then I repeated, verbatim, the number he’d spouted off the other day.
I was laughing it up until I realized—I was the only one. What did I say? I thought back but couldn’t think of anything inflammatory that would cause that look of alarm on his face. Unless . . . unless he was afraid I might really call him. Duh. Of course, he has a girlfriend back home. My light-hearted laugh petered out completely while I watched him put his face back together. And his posture wasn’t right—no longer loose and easy, but all stiffened up like a police dog on alert.
My forehead crinkled. “Pete, did I—?”
“Okay. Enough kidding around for now. I’m heading out to wrangle some over-grown calves, feed some chickens, slop some pigs . . . or whatever it is you do with them,” he drawled out, but I noticed the smile he put back on was forced.
“Well go on then . . . get your country on,” I half-heartedly quipped.
He came over and buzzed the top of my head with his lips. “Get some rest, Katie-Kat,” he urged before heading out my door, and then out the back door. With a bang.
What was all that about? I tried to recall what I’d said that upset him, ruminating on it as I brushed my teeth. I crawled back into bed still not knowing. I thought about how he left: with a peck on my head. Maybe he thought of me as a kid sister? But that was definitely not a chaste kiss last night. Oh man!—it was me trying to seduce him. Again.
Was I mistaking his niceness for something more? It felt like he really did care for me . . . just obviously not in the same way I cared for him. The squeezing pain in my heart far surpassed the one in my head.
What did I expect? Thoroughbreds don’t really get together with Paint horses—they always breed them with other Thoroughbreds. I fell asleep wondering what kind of horse I really was.
35
BULLCRAP
Sometime later I awoke to the jarring sound of my father telling off poor Mikey, for some minor indiscretion, I’m sure. My chest felt heavy immediately. Back to reality. Why couldn’t I have lived a little longer in the cocoon of smooth, good-feeling I had achieved with Pete last night? The pleasurable moments in life seemed to be fleeting as a butterfly fluttering nearby, and then flitting away before I could focus on its beautiful colors. Or even really be sure of what I’d seen.
I pushed out of bed and made my way over to the window to let in some fresh air. There was some Tylenol left for me on my nightstand, along with a note: Be back tonight.
Not very loquacious. Hungry for more, I flipped it over, but it was blank. Nevertheless, I knew I’d keep that note forever.
It was all coming to an end that was for sure. I felt sick to my stomach that Daddy might really sign Andrew up on Monday, and heart sick that Pete Davenport would disappear from my life on the same day.
How could I go on either way?
Despondently, I dragged out to greet the boys. Even though Andrew was his favorite person in the whole world, Mikey would be needing me by now. I was the only mother he could remember. And now his brother might be leaving soon. For good. It seemed like a sin to bust up that kind of love.
Another dose of anger at Daddy, and hatred for that school, coursed through me. It momentarily brushed my consciousness how easily I disassociated Pete with his academy now, compartmentalizing my personal time with him as having nothing to do with his mission to sign Andrew. Like they were entirely mutually exclusive—wishful (and foolish) thinking on my part.
“Kadee!” Mikey forgot himself and came barreling into to me.
“Hey, buddy—careful. Porcelain doll, remember?” I smacked the top of his head with my lips.
“Hey, Katie-Kat.” Andrew went in for a quick hug and a faster release. “Didja know that Pete’s comin’ back this afternoon to help with chores again? And he’s bringin’ dinner. And he’s stayin’ with us—even though I don’t need a babysitter.” Andrew paused to scoff before continuing on with an increasing upwards lilt to his voice. “He’s gonna hang out with us tonight, so Daddy can get some business taken care of before—” He stopped short, cutting his eyes to his brother, who was looking sideways at him.
“Really?” I said unable to keep my voice neutral. I looked to my father for confirmation. I wondered what kind of business had to be taken care of that couldn’t wait till tomorrow.
“Yep,” Daddy confirmed, wobbling the toothpick between his lips. “Cadet Davenport agreed to watch the boys while I get ever’thing all squared away . . . for that thing I gotta do.” He removed the half-shredded stick from his mouth and shot a hard point at me. “Now I wantja in yer bed at eight sharp. Door closed. Lights out. Do you understand me, young lady?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If yer so bad off to warrant gettin’ out of chores and church then you need to be in yer sick bed.” This for the transgression of being unable to fulfill my quota of responsibilities.
Unable to speak, I bobbed my head.
“If you woulda used that noggin’ for somethin’ other than knockin’ a hole in my water tank, you woulda realized that water woulda come blowin’ outta there fasterna freight train. And you will always lose in a battle with water. It’s a force that can’t be fought with. Trust me . . . I’ve seen some things in my time!”
I was in too weak a state to argue my case, even though it was a strong one. To tell the truth, I just wanted him gone—when you’re already feeling low, you don’t want someone handing you stones.