She’s Gone Country (23 page)

I love him. It’s that simple and that complex. I love him and want him and need him more than I’ve ever wanted or needed anyone.

I’m still straddling his hips, my breasts pressed to his bare chest, and one of his hands rests on my thigh while the other tangles in my hair.

“I’m so crazy about you,” I whisper. “So terribly, insanely crazy.”

“As I am for you,” he answers, lifting the hair from my neck to place a kiss at the base of my throat and then higher, just below the jaw. “I just hope this wasn’t a mistake.”

Our bodies are still warm and slick. With anyone else I’d feel self-conscious, but with Dane it’s natural and right. I touch my mouth to his, kiss him gently and then hungrily, feeling famished and starved for him again already. “Why would it be a mistake?”

“There are still so many unknowns in your life—”

“Like what?”

“You’re still married,” he retorts grimly.

“But not for much longer.”

I can see his jaw work, tighten. “But what does that mean? How long is that? Weeks? Months? Years?”

“I don’t know. These things take time. There’s the whole custody issue, and then in New York you can’t have a no-fault divorce—”

“But are you pushing your lawyer to get things moving, or are you just letting it ride?”

“Well, I haven’t pushed hard because I guess I worry about the custody stuff. I don’t want to lose them.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to just know? To have it all settled rather than left in limbo?”

He makes a good point, as I think I do prefer the limbo. I’m nervous about having everything settled, nervous that the court could rule against me. Although I don’t think it’ll happen, it could… but then Dane’s right. At this point, I don’t know, and I can’t really plan my future.

The truck’s still running and the heater’s on, but I’m beginning to feel naked and cold.

“You’re right,” I say faintly, carefully climbing off his lap and onto my side of the seat to begin putting on my clothes. “I need to make the divorce a priority. Need to get my lawyer moving things forward.”

“You sound pretty reluctant.”

I struggle to get my jeans up. “I’m afraid. Afraid a judge will rule that the boys need to be in New York, or living together, or split evenly between John and me, which would mean… it’d mean…”

“You’d return to New York,” Dane finishes for me as he watches me dress.

“But it won’t happen. I’m just being paranoid. Worst-case scenario and all,” I add, tugging my navy cashmere sweater over my head. “And the bottom line is, John won’t take the kids from me. He wouldn’t do that. He knows I’ve always put them first.”

“You trust him that much?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t. If he could deceive you all those years about his sexuality, I think he could deceive you about his intentions when it comes to the boys.”

“John’s not like that. He’s not a threat.”

“Of course he’s a threat. He’s the father of your boys and your partner for the last seventeen years. He’s a huge threat until your divorce is final and the boys’ custody is settled. Because otherwise he’ll always have the upper hand.”

He’s made another good point, but I’m not about to tell him so, and we finish dressing in silence. Once I buckle my seat belt, Dane shifts into drive and we head for my house. The drive home is so much longer than the drive to dinner.

At the house, we sit in the truck, engine idling, but I don’t move to get out. I feel terrible, horrible, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next.

“I don’t know what to say.” My voice is quiet, and I keep my gaze fixed on the string of colored lights Cooper tacked around the front porch yesterday. The Christmas lights are crooked and gaudy, but they remind me of my kids and I wouldn’t have them any other way.

“I don’t know, either.”

“Are you ending things with me?”

He sighs and runs a tired hand over his jaw. “Shey, no. But I also don’t think we’ve even gotten started.”

My stomach’s in knots as I turn to face him. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Things were going so good. Dinner was great. Sex was great—”

“Yeah, sex was great. Damn fantastic. But that’s because I have feelings for you, Shey. And yes, you have feelings for me, but my gut is telling me you’re still not available. And frankly, I can’t share you. I won’t.”

“You don’t have to!”

“I’m sharing you right now. John is still legally your husband. He has power over you. Your kids don’t know where they’re going to live. And Cooper tells me all the time that he’s afraid you’re moving back to New York this spring—”

“I’ve never said that!”

“You don’t have to. You look like you’re a short-timer. You haven’t bought your own car, fixed up this house, made any friends. You’re killing time here, not living here.”

“You’re wrong. I’m ready to settle down, ready to move forward, ready to make this my permanent home.”

“I hope so, darlin’. I really do.”

His voice is low and rough. I just stare into Dane’s face. His gaze is intense. “You won’t lose me, Dane. I’m nuts about you, and you have no idea how much I need you—”

“But that’s just it. I think I do. Your kids are a handful. Your husband’s gay. You’re lonelier than hell. It’s pretty obvious you’ve got some big holes in your life. But I’m not putty, and I can’t be a rebound. Not with you.”

The next morning, the boys help me haul Mama’s Christmas decorations down from the attic. While we sort through the mismatched ornaments and old strings of lights, I find myself thinking about Dane and only Dane.

I want to see him. Want to hear from him. Want, want, want. But what is the proper etiquette for an almost forty-year-old woman who has just reunited with her first love? Do I have to wait for him to call me? And how long is he going to wait before he does call?

But he doesn’t call. He drops by instead Sunday afternoon while I’m changing the sheets on my bed. I’m struggling to get the comforter back in its cover when I hear the engine of Dane’s big truck. I know it’s his and not Brick’s truck just by the sound of it.

Goose bumps cover my arms as I drop laundry onto the bed in my room, and I glance self-consciously into the mirror above the 1930s dresser. Jeans, red T-shirt, long, straight blond hair. No makeup. Just me, the real me.

“Mom,” Cooper shouts from the living room. “Dane’s here.”

And there goes my heart, I think, wiping my hands on the butt of my jeans before heading down the hall and out the front door to find Dane standing on the front walk. It’s almost dark, and his charcoal coat blends with the twilight.

“Hi,” I say, descending the front steps and walking toward him.

“Hello,” he answers. “How are you?”

“Good. Just doing laundry.”

He nods, glances past me to the house. “Any problems with the security system?”

I look at the house, too, and realize I haven’t yet plugged in the Christmas lights. “Did you drive all the way here to ask about the security system?”

“No. But I’m curious.”

“It’s great, although very high-tech. I don’t think NASA could install a more sophisticated system.”

“NASA actually uses the same Pelco cameras.”

“Yikes. That’s going to be a big bill.”

“It’s already taken care of.”

“You can’t pay for it—”

“I didn’t.” He sees my expression and adds, “Brick and I worked out a deal. We bartered services in exchange for the security system. I get hay and grain. You get motion detectors and alarms.”

“Thank you. It’s very kind of you—”

“Not kind,” he interrupts, the smile fading somewhat. “Concerned. I worry about you here all alone.”

“I’ve got the boys.”

“And they’re getting ready to leave again.”

“I’ve also got Brick.”

“He’s a mile away.”

“Dane,” I say, striving for patience, “I appreciate your concern, but I already have two big brothers who are overprotective. I don’t need another one.”

“Good. Because I don’t feel the least bit brotherly towards you. Not once. Not ever.” Then he turns and goes to his truck and opens the door. When he faces me, he has a wiggling brown-and-tan puppy in his arms.

He walks over to me and plunks the pup in my arms.

A German shepherd puppy.

“The final touches of your new security system,” Dane says, ruffling the pup’s head and scratching behind one small ear. “And a little more cuddly than motion detectors and cameras.”

I’ve got the puppy against my chest, which is a mistake since she’s determined to lick my chin. I love dogs, always had them in the family growing up, but it’s been years since I had one of my own. But a dog now? A dog when everything is so chaotic? “Oh, Dane, this isn’t a good idea. I’ve got my hands full as it is!”

“You’ll be fine, and the boys can help train her.”

“They don’t even listen to me. What makes you think they’ll be responsible—” And then my voice is drowned out as Cooper appears in the doorway and spots the puppy in my arms and shouts for his brother to come.

In seconds, both boys come bounding out of the house.

“A puppy!” Cooper exclaims, reaching my side first.

“Whose?” Bo demands, reaching in to give the puppy a welcoming pat.

“Yours,” Dane answers.

“Ours?” the boys practically chorus, looking from Dane to me and back again.

“You’ve got to train her, and help housebreak her, but she’s a very smart dog and she’ll be a good watchdog for your mom when you guys aren’t around.” Dane looks at me, and that small crooked smile is back. “As long as your mom agrees that you can keep her, of course.”

Dane is in so much trouble.

“We will, Mom, we promise,” Coop pleads, sounding more like a six-year-old than a sixth grader. “Please, Mom!”

Cooper doesn’t realize that I’ve already capitulated. The puppy’s adorable, and her little lick of the chin sealed the deal. Besides, there’s no way I can fight Dane. Against him, I’ve never stood a chance.

“Fine,” I answer, avoiding meeting Dane’s eyes. “But I will hold you two responsible for house-training her.”

Dane smiles. “Figured you could use a girl in the house, Shey. You know, that whole estrogen thing.”

The boys take the pup into the house, and I give Dane a long, level look. “A puppy, Dane?”

“You love dogs.”

I don’t think he’s ever looked more rakish and rugged and appealing, but I’m seriously annoyed. “You can’t give someone a puppy and then drop-kick them out of your life.”

“You haven’t been drop-kicked out of my life. If anything, I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe so you’ll be in my life.”

“But Friday night you were upset.”

“I just think we both have to be careful. We can’t rush things. We should take it slow so we can make it work.”

“You’re not a rebound.”

“Good, because I don’t bounce real well.”

I grin and then remember the puppy. “But Dane… A German shepherd. She’s going to become a big dog.”

“You live on a big ranch.”

“What if we have to go back to New York? What do we do with her then?”

And just like that, the energy changes and Dane draws back. His expression is strange, shuttered, even mistrustful. “You give her to me, then,” he says in a curiously unemotional voice. And then with a faintly mocking smile, he returns to his truck.

At first, I don’t understand what happened. He went from warm to cold as if a switch had been thrown. What the hell happened?

And then I hear my voice in my head:
What if we have to go back to
New York
…

Weird. Why did I say that? Why would I say that? I have no intention of returning to New York…

Do I?

Flustered, I chase after him. “Dane. Wait. I’m sorry—”

“No apologies necessary.” He cuts me off as he slides behind the steering wheel. “You said exactly what I needed to hear.”

I watch him leave, more confused than ever. He took what I said the wrong way. He took it completely out of context.

But then as his tires kick up gravel and dust, I hear his voice:
You won’t be staying. You’ll be gone within a year. Two if you’re stupid.

And of course I just confirmed his suspicions.

M
onday morning after dropping the boys at school, I get a call from Dane. “I’m going to be in New Mexico for the next few days,” he tells me. “Will you let Cooper know I’ll be gone this week but I’ll call him once I’m back and we’ll resume training?”

“Of course.” And then I bite the bullet and ask, “Do you have plans for Christmas?”

“I’m scheduled to be in Brazil.”

“Brazil?”

“I’ve been working with PBR Brazil and agreed to participate in their big summer rodeo.”

“How long will you be there?”

“One week. Maybe two.”

I’m so disappointed. I’ve been looking forward to spending Christmas with him, picturing us sitting on the couch, sipping mulled wine and listening to carols. Hokey, sentimental stuff, but also romantic. “If I didn’t have the boys for Christmas, I’d beg you to take me along,” I tell him huskily, my chest tight, tears not far off.

“If you didn’t have the boys, I’d insist you come along.”

“Do you ever wish I didn’t have them?”

“That’s a ridiculous question. And no. Never. Ever. And don’t ask that again.”

“Okay.”

“I better go. They’re boarding my flight. I’ll call you when I’m back in town.”

Dane’s gone, but the pup is here to stay. She immediately bonds with the boys and takes to sleeping with Bo in his bed. I warn Bo that she won’t always be so small, but he loves the company and is adamant that Lacey, or Spacey Lacey, as they like to call her, is his dog.

Over the next few days, Bo spends so much time in bed with Lacey curled next to him that I begin to worry about him again.

He’s very low, and strangely lethargic, but I’m determined not to project my worries onto him. Kids are full of hormones. Problems are part of life. I’ll let Bo come to me when he’s ready to talk.

But the week passes and he doesn’t come to me. He just retreats further, living in his dark, cavelike room.

I open his door late Thursday afternoon and he’s in bed, in the dark, just as he was yesterday afternoon. “What’s going on?” I ask quietly.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Are you coming down with something?”

“No.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

“You’re okay?”

“Yes.”

I leave him then and return to the kitchen to finish addressing Christmas cards. He passes on dinner and I don’t press, but by bedtime when he doesn’t get up, I’m really uncomfortable.

I return to his room, open his door, and find him texting in the dark. “Who are you texting?”

“No one.”

“Bo, you’re texting someone.”

“Just a kid at school.”

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Suddenly, I’ve had it. With the phone. All his texting. Never mind his attitude. “You’re taking a break from your phone. I want it for the weekend. You can have it back on Monday—”

“No!”

“What do you mean, no?”

“Take the computer. My Xbox. Take away TV.”

“But the phone is the problem. I want the phone.”

He loses it then, loses it in a way I’ve never seen him lose control. Shouting. Crying. Begging. I’m shocked. Horrified. But the more upset he gets, the more determined I am to take the phone. His attachment scares me. He’s behaving like an addict who could resort to violence.

“What are you doing?” I’m practically yelling to be heard over him. “Have you lost your mind? It’s a phone, Bo, not oxygen.”

“It is to me. Just let me have it. Let me have it. Please, Mom—”

“No. Now give it to me.” I hold out my hand, palm up. “Bo. Now.”

As I’m talking he’s wildly deleting messages, clearing out his in-box and sent folders. I try to snatch the phone from him, but he turns away. This has become a contest of wills, but I’m the parent. I cannot lose.

“You have to the count of three, Bo, or I tell your dad to cancel the service and it’s gone forever. And I mean it. One. Two. Th—”

Bo thrusts the phone into my hand, and he’s crying, sobbing as though I’ve just destroyed his world. “Just don’t read any of the messages, Mom. Promise me you won’t read them.”

“You’ve erased them all.”

“But if they come in. Don’t read them. They’re not meant for you.”

“And they’re so bad I can’t read them?”

“Just promise me.”

“I can’t make that promise, Bo. I’m sorry.”

He lets out an anguished cry and I walk away, desperate to escape. The whole situation is impossible. I go to my room, hide the phone in my nightstand drawer behind my sunglasses and pedicure kit, and then pace the bedroom floor, trying to process what just transpired.

Bo’s totally out of control. His addiction to his phone scares me. How can any kid be so attached to a piece of technology? And what kind of messages is he sending and receiving that I can’t see?

I wonder if they’re about drugs or alcohol. Or are they possibly sexual? I can’t imagine him engaging in phone sex, but you never know… kids are exposed to so many things now that I never was.

I wish I could call Dane, would love to talk to Dane about this, but I need to be able to handle my kids’ problems on my own. I want him to realize that I’m with him not because I need him to solve my problems or handle the tough stuff for me, but because I love him and enjoy him and want to be with him.

I’m still worked up even after the boys have finally gone to bed. I read for a while to try to calm down, but my mind can’t stay focused on the story.

Minutes pass and I’m still on the same page, rereading the same paragraph over and over. I give up on reading and turn out the light. I’m just starting to fall asleep when my bedside drawer buzzes and then, a minute later, buzzes again.

Bo’s phone.

I look at the clock. Eleven twenty-five. That’s so late for him to be getting messages. I’m tempted to look at the message, but it doesn’t seem right. I’ve never been a snoop. It’s not my place.

But Bo was so hysterical. So panicked that I’d see his messages. What could be so bad that I’m not allowed to see it?

I’m still debating what to do when the phone vibrates again. Another text message has come in. I glance at the clock. Eleven thirty-three.

That’s it. I want to know, have to know. I turn on the light, open the drawer and retrieve the phone. It takes me a moment to figure out how to find his in-box and then how to read new messages. And when I do, the message is so strange that I read it once and then again.

You are so pathetic and ugly. No one likes you. No one wants you. Why don’t you just kill yourself?

My hand shakes. My eyes burn. My heart feels as if it’s going to explode, but I go to the next message.

Hey asswipe. Are you dead yet?

Oh my God. Oh my God.

How can any kid write that? How can any kid suggest such a thing?

I cover my face, press my hand hard to my mouth to stifle the sound, and scream.

I scream my rage, scream at the injustice, scream for my son, who has so much sadness inside of him and yet still has to deal with children who are driven to inflict pain.

How does this happen?

And where are all the parents?

I don’t sleep.

I don’t even try to go to bed. Instead, I call Verizon and turn off his phone. I uncover Bo’s Facebook password and take down his page—noting as I do the number of put-downs that pass as “funny” comments.

I know I’m not cool; my boys tell me that all the time. But I always thought Facebook and MySpace were supposed to be for friends and friendship. This isn’t friendship. This isn’t socializing. This is just one more example of kids being given too much technology and a false sense of power.

Bo’s going to be upset when he wakes up and finds out what I’ve done. He might even decide to return to New York to live with John, too. But if that’s the case, fine. I’m going to do what I need to do, and that’s protect my children while they live in my house.

In the morning, Bo and Cooper are at the breakfast table eating their breakfast when Bo asks me how long I am going to keep his phone.

I’ve been waiting for this moment since eleven thirty-five last night.

I drop the damp sponge I’ve been holding into the sink and go sit at the table in a chair next to Bo’s. My heart’s beating hard, and I flex my fingers ever so slightly, anticipating the scene that’s about to unfold.

I look at him a moment, watch him eat, thinking he has no idea how much I love him. My emotional, awkward red-haired boy.

God, I love him. Love him with all my heart.

And then I think of Delilah and how she’s fourteen, too, and struggling. But unlike Bo, she has no one on her side, no parent there to help her fight the good fight.

“I can give you the phone back, Bo, but you should know it’s no longer in service. I called Verizon last night and had them disconnect your number.”

His spoon clatters from his hand into the nearly empty bowl, but I just keep my eyes on his face. He has the darkest blue eyes, eyes so intense that they look navy, and the thickest lashes. If people only took the time to really see him, they’d realize he’s beautiful.

“You had two texts come in late last night,” I continue, praying I can keep my voice steady. “They were horrible messages. I’m sorry I snooped, but not sorry to know the kind of awful, hateful things kids have been saying to you.”

His jaw works and I’m waiting for him to explode, waiting for the shouting and the anger, the rage and the blame. “What did they say?” he asks at last.

Coop’s listening intently, and part of me thinks this discussion is best in private. But then another part of me thinks if we’re going to make it as a family, then we need to act like a family, which means fewer secrets and more support.

“They were mean,” I say, unable to repeat the messages word for word.

“Come on, Mom, tell me.”

I can’t look away from Bo’s face, can’t look away from the boy I made. He may be fourteen, but he’ll always be my baby. “I can’t repeat it.” My eyes fill with tears, but still I hold his gaze. “They broke my heart.”

Cooper gets abruptly to his feet, knocking the table and sending his juice sloshing out of the glass. I don’t stop him from walking out.

I don’t blame him if he’s upset.

He’s the youngest, but he worships his big brothers. He’d fight their battles if he could.

“How long has this texting stuff been going on, Bo?” I ask.

I don’t think he’s going to answer me, but then he looks at me and his eyes swim with tears. “Since October.”

Two months. Two months of hate.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

“I guess I thought I could make them stop. Make them go away.”

I reach out, brush his thick hair back from his broad forehead. “Who is doing this?”

“Just some kids.”

“Which kids?”

“Does it matter?”

Yeah. It matters a lot. Everything that affects my kids matters. “Would I know any of them?”

“You might know some of their parents. I think you went to school with them.”

And that just makes me crazier. Who are these parents who let their kids text so much hate? “Do you know why they’re doing this, Bo?”

“No.” He looks at me, and I see from the confusion in his eyes that he’s genuinely baffled. “I guess I’m just not cool.”

Cool. Cool. Oh, my God, who is cool? And who gets to decide who’s not cool?

This blows my mind.

I swallow back my fury, determined to keep focused on what matters most—Bo. But I’m going to look into this, to get to the bottom of it. “You think you can handle school today?”

He shrugs carelessly. “Sure. Why not? Things can’t get much worse.”

Coop corners me in the hallway just before we head out to the truck. “What did the messages say?” he demand, eyes bright with anger.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does, because I know who sent them. Carly and April, two girls in his social studies class. They’ve been mean to him for weeks now.”

“You knew?”

He hunches his shoulders. “Bo told me it was just a joke.”

“Telling someone to kill himself isn’t a joke.”

Cooper’s jaw clenches. “They told Bo he should kill himself?”

“I thought you said you knew.”

“I know what they were saying a couple weeks ago.”

“And what was that?”

“That he was so ugly and stupid that no one would ever want to have sex with him.”

I suck in a breath. These are eighth graders saying these things. Eighth graders. “You should have told me, Coop. You should have come to me—”

“Bo told me not to. He made me promise.”

“I don’t care. I’m the mom. This is something I needed to know.”

I’ve just dropped Cooper at his school and am on the way to Mineral Wells to take Bo to his junior high when Bo says in a very quiet voice, “I want to die.”

The words hang between us, and time seems to freeze so that I have a moment of stunning clarity. Bo slunk against the cracked vinyl seat next to me. The 180 shrouded in fog. The fields around us glittering with frost.

“Bo,” I whisper in protest.

“It’s too hard, Mom. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

The world has shrunk to just us. The truck is old and the heater coughs weakly and my son is exhausted by life.