Bring the Rain (14 page)

I pull my finger through the dust scrolling––
love you
.

No! Hold on! Don’t give up!
The voice grows louder and louder.

It’s right.

I dig my finger into the earth and attempt to crawl.

They need to see how I tried, how I care about my life.

On my knees now, I move forward, wheezing for air.

A flame whips my shoulder. Scorched flesh adds to the burning smell of weeds and dust. I’m within its grasp. I glance back, ready to face this enemy. Maybe there’s a hole. Another way?

Please God, let there be another way.

The fire spits hot blue with orange and purple curls. It’s taller than a man and endless in both directions. I hold my arms open, and scream silently to the heavens.
Save me.

Suddenly, a horse shaped hole appears. It bolts through the flames toward me. A hand extends down, ripping me off the ground and into the air. I’m thrown against a chest.

“Autumn. I got you.”

Dad?

He winds a white mane around my fingers. “Hold on tight.”

Howdy?

I’m coughing as the smoke blinds me. Flicks of cascading embers scorch his hide. I beat them away from his neck and shoulders with my remaining strength. We fly across the field away from the blasting light.

Into the darkness we flee, and then I meet the air.

I breathe and sweet, fresh air fights its way in.

***

A rhythmic beep calls me out of the darkness. The back of my throat is raw, like I was screaming at a concert all night long. Water. I need water. I reach for my glass on my nightstand.

“Here she comes,” says a foreign voice.

A woman. …Why is there a woman in my bedroom?

I struggle to open my eyes but they feel like fifty-pound weights. Something tickles my nose and I rub it, finding a tube in its place.

“Autumn, leave that there.” Dad says. I concentrate, lifting my eyelids carefully. Ugh, it’s so bright. I recoil back into the darkness.

“Take your time. Try when you’re ready,” he says.

I do and this time opening my eyes isn’t like trying to move a boulder with my face. The rooms shocking though, too white, bright, and blurry.

“-ar-amI?” The back of my throat stings as I speak.

“The hospital, Bug.”

“You passed out. You were in a fire and got burned,” the woman says.

Burned? The coughing… the fire.

The nightmare.

My throat sears with the memories.

“-a-er.” I smack my lips.

“Here.” A cup appears under my nose and I wrap my lips around the straw. “Start with a little sip.” The coolness slips through, the relief smooth and sweet. I try to turn over to see who’s holding the cup, but a large pillow blocks my hips from rolling.

“Hold on there,” Dad says as his hand stops my movement and he returns me to face him. “You don’t want to do that just yet.”

“The fire burned your back. We’ve got you bandaged up,” the woman continues, taking a seat on my bed and lightly touching a large bandage on my shoulder. “You also had a small surgical procedure here to remove glass and repair your muscle.”

Just a flinch of movement results in sharp pain. I move my shoulder blades, and my back burns like the worst sunburn of my life. Oddly, there are a few spots up near my shoulder where I don’t feel anything at all. My head pounds with the effort of it all. Sleep is easier now.

I can’t
decide which burns I hate most. Itching second degree burns and blisters decorate my upper back, and under a bandage on my left shoulder lies a mass of my flesh that a third degree burn turned into thick, brown leather. It’s a painless scar I will never escape, a lifelong souvenir of this dreadful summer.

“You ready?” Colt asks from the hallway. I swing my legs off the side of his bed. Well, now it’s my bed as I don’t have a home anymore. Colt bunks with his brother downstairs and Dad sleeps in the guest room while Grace and I share the top floor.

He helps me up from the bed. I take it slow, not wanting to use my inhaler again. I want to be healthy and be back to normal. This recovery is getting old.

“Chris asked me to bring you out to the ranch to meet him. He thinks you need to see the house, with him being there.”

I cringe. I’ve avoided the ranch like the plague since the fire, using my need for the inhaler and staying away from dust as an excuse.

“You can’t avoid it forever. If you’re not ready today, he’ll understand." Colt’s hand finds the sweet spot, below my burns, in the middle of my back. Instantly, I relax. Even breathing's easier with Colt near.

“No, I really should go.”

“There she is.” Colt smiles at me as he holds my arm to help me down the stairs.

“Who?”

“The fearless girl who stared a wildfire down.” He leans in and his lips grace my brow. There’s been a lot of that lately, but only that. I haven’t had the energy to interpret anything that’s been going on between us, so I stopped trying, allowing myself to enjoy the relationship I have with Colt. Yes, it can’t be defined, but for now that’s fine. Dad doesn’t even seem to notice there’s something happening with us anyway. He’s so quiet now. Grace sees us though—I swear I can feel her eyes on us all the time, even when she’s not home.

Colt opens the truck door and I gaze up. My arm muscle is still weak after being shredded with glass and the third degree burn feels so tight I’m afraid I’ll rip my skin if I use my left arm. Even getting in a truck is impossible right now.

“I’ve got you.” His strong arm wraps around my waist, lifting me up into the cab.

“Thanks,” I say to Colt. He’s always knows what I’m thinking, sometimes even before I do. The leather’s hot behind me, so I shift forward to sit on the edge of the seat. The few clumps of trees that used to landmark our land are now stripped down, black on the earth and there’s a burning scent still lingering in the air. Colt takes a turn, and my heart wants to scream. There’s no way this is the driveway toward the main ranch. All that’s left of the barn is the metal frame of the railroad car, the attached house now in black, gray, and brown shambles on the ground.

“Did the horses…” It's a question that is too heavy to complete. The seat belt digs into my shoulder, and I have to wiggle so my surgical wound doesn’t weep. The metal frame of what should be Howdy's stall is melted together and slouching against the black sheet metal of the railroad car. It’s almost like living out my nightmares, except this time there are no carcasses on the ground. Thank God. I’ve been too scared to ask what happened to the animals, to what happened to Howdy. The answer can’t be good because no one’s even mentioned the animals to me, so the nightmares keep coming and I live with the scent of hay nauseating me as I battle the what if’s around me.

“The horses survived. We were missing two, but four days ago they came wandering back. Howdy has a few burns, but nothing that can’t heal with time. He’s at the university vet still, but he’ll be returning soon.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. The tight band that’s been crushing my chest releases as I gaze out the window. He’s alive. I search the ground, trying to see underneath the charred grass and dust. What path did he take to escape that inferno anyway? There’s no sign of hoof prints, but a few two-pronged footprints scattered near the gravel road remain. “And the goats?”

“Some came back.”

“The calves?”

Colt taps the steering wheel, taking a beat before he responds. Finally, he turns to me. “We discovered a few dead in the field and others are still missing.”

“That was weeks ago though.”

“Yeah, so…” he shrugs.

“They’re dead.” I nod. That little brown calf didn’t even have a chance at life. It’s not fair, but then again what is fair on a cattle ranch if you’re a cow? It’ll just get sent for slaughter anyway.

“What are you thinking?” Colt asks.

“That I’m never eating beef again.”

“A cattle rancher who doesn’t eat beef?” He nudges me, flashing me that adorable crooked smile. I force myself to grin back through the sting of his tease. When he looks away, I sink my teeth into the sweet swollen flesh on my inner cheek that I’ve been gnawing on for days.

I’m not a cattle rancher!

Strangers who visit us act like the whole fire thing is part of the job like I’m now christened a real cowgirl. Leathery old people with their watery tater-tot hot dish and slimy green bean casseroles expect me to share my tale, but I refuse to relive it for their fun.

No one gets it. I’m a frickin’ Manhattan girl stuck in a dust bowl world. I miss the city, fearing mugging over fire and I can’t stand the constant taste of dust in the air here, or how the world goes to sleep by nine. Dad barely speaks to me now, like he knows how I feel about the ranch. Logically, it makes sense for me to feel closer to him after the fire, but it’s like the fire made a grand canyon between us. When we’re in the same room together, I want to run. I can't look at him without going through a thousand different emotions. It’s easier to slip out the back door than face whatever’s going on in that silent head of his.

Maybe it’s a trust thing. I know it’s not his fault a wildfire almost burned me alive. Hell, without Dad, I’d be as dead as those calves. But still, because of this stupid custody agreement, I’m here and I nearly died. Now I spend most of my time upstairs when he’s home—isolated in Colt’s room, emailing Mom or talking to Gina. I even retreat from him when Colt’s around. It's easier to be alone.

Colt kills the engine in front of a pile of rubble. I take a deep breath at the absence of the house and new open skyline. A few large beams lie charred between cement blocks in a heap of ashes. There’s a mangled bed frame near the front of the debris, legs melted into the earth. I gasp as I make out the faint hint of a gold knob on the edge of the frame. That’s my bed, in my room. I close my eyes, trying to keep myself from trembling. I could’ve been found in that mess, just a body … if that.

Dad’s wading through the debris while Tango follows at his feet. His face is hard and set as he searches the pile, until Colt cuts the engine, then he waves with a fake smile. He plunges his gloved hand into the wreckage, pulling out something triangular and shoving it into a sack hanging around his neck. Why is he pretending that this is okay? He can’t believe I expect him to be happy while sifting through our destroyed lives. He grins again, and it slices through me. Maybe that’s why I can’t be near him now, because he’s still trying.

Trying to win my seventeenth year.

But for what?

This? A year without a home.
Awesome.

Colt unlocks my door, reaching up to help me down. The smell of charred wood is like a punch in the face, but oddly it makes me want to eat a marshmallow. Weird.

“Autumn,” Dad says as he steps out of the foundation. “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure.” There’s a sting to my tongue, and I can feel the weapon in it, fully loaded. I dig my heels into the ground, determined to not let the ammo fire. Just because it feels like he’s making me come back to play in my nightmares, doesn’t mean he is. He doesn’t know how I’m trapped in that room every time my eyelids close. Or how the window never opens, or what it feels like to suck in smoke while pressed against a carpet.

“So.” Dad leans back on his heels. “What do you think?”

“It’s destroyed.” There’s no point in being anything but blunt here.

“It is. Do ya want to take a look?”

I take a step back. “I don’t think I should be in the ashes with the breathing, ya know?” There’s no way I’m going back in that house, or the general space that used to be a house. If there was any meaning left in those walls for me, it’s gone now.

“Right. I guess I should have thought of that. Well, how about a little walk? That’ll be good for you.”

“A walk sounds great.” Colt says, his hand finding its place on my back.

They move at my pace, slowly, and we survey the damage. Dad’s quit to point out where the rooms where, maybe he thinks it helps but it’s making each step harder to take. The only things remaining are the stainless steel fridge, oven, and the rocks from the hearth Dad built two summers ago. Basically, the place is decimated.

“What are you going to do?” I ask when we return to Colt’s truck.

“Rebuild,” Dad says. “I’m consulting on the final plans tonight. We start in a few days.”

“But I thought with the drought, your bank account...“

"Went dry?” Colt suggests.

“Watch yourself, son.” Dad’s fake brightness grows dark.

Colt throws up his hand, the other still resting on my back. “Kidding, kidding. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Sorry.”

“This is what it is. It doesn’t need lightening.” Dad wipes sweat from his brow. There—that’s the father I want to see, the real one. “Shit, I hate this heat,” he mumbles. He squints up at the setting sun, then turns back to me, ignoring Colt. “Autumn, we can rebuild with our house insurance.”

Why does he still say we?

“The process will take a little time and we can afford basic furnishings. It’s all going to work out.”

I nod, glancing at the standing appliances and the pile of stones from his gourmet kitchen and great room. His last attempt to win me home. Clearly, this isn’t meant to be. Every effort he’s made to make this summer perfect has been destroyed. He needs to read the signs, relax his expectations, and let me go.

But to Paris?

Dad and Colt talk about plans for the house, but I ignore them. Focusing on the cracks running through the earth to keep myself from freaking out. I don’t know how I feel about Paris anymore and being near Colt brings more peace then I've had in years. I love how uncomplicated it is—we simply are, together. Going to Paris would be like taking off the perfect pair of running shoes and jamming my feet into four-inch stilettos, but there’s nothing like the power of walking into a room wearing a pair of those. Paris will bring that buzz for me–– people, delicate foods, museum, and, of course, the nightlife.

And Mom. Mom’s in Paris. Well actually, right now she’s in Greece at another business meeting again. My eyes sting. I miss her, but couldn't let her come after the fire. I didn’t want her here. It’d be impossible to handle Mom and Dad together right now. I don’t want to be stuck in the middle of their secrets. She’d go crazy here anyway. It’s better for her to do her own thing. It’s not like I ever went crying to her with my issues before, so I’m not about to start now. Not when she’s got so much to do. I refuse to be someone who holds her back from her dream come true.

“Will you help me?” Dad asks, messing up my brainwaves.

“Oh, sorry. I’m… stunned. What do you want help with?”

“I want you to help build the new house.”

“Um, sure. But warning, I’ve never held a hammer.”

“Not true. You helped build the back deck when you were six.” He doesn’t look at me, instead studying the ashes that used to be the deck.

“It’s not like I did anything though.” I brought him lemonade, played with a small kitchen hammer, and sat on boards cheering him on.

“Any hand helps, Autumn. Always.” Dad wanders forward into the soot. He stands there for a while, rubbing his chin. He turns, hand glued to his hips like a superhero. “Yes, you and me. We’re building this house together. I know this summer has been a disaster, but this
will
work out."

“To keep me here?” I ask under my breath. Thankfully he doesn’t hear. Colt does though. His finger traces a circle on my spine. My back, neck, and scalp tingle crazy good.

“So what do you say?” Dad asks with an odd, almost fresh look that I haven’t seen since I was little. Dare I call it hope?

“Why not?” My heart twists pretzel style. Why am I leading him on? I’m a horrible daughter. “This is going to eat up all your time to run the ranch,” I offer.