When You Fall... (26 page)

“You with your chickens and me with my horses,” she said, pulling his attention to her.

“What?” He asked, his attention now focused on her.

“You’re talking to those chickens, like I do to my horses,” she said, smiling. He smiled, returning his attention to his eggs.

“Ran into Stacy,” she said, looking at his face for signs of a reaction.

“Did you?” he said, continuing to deposit eggs into the cartons.

“No more Danielle then. You’ve moved on, huh? How is Stacy holding up against your list? She’s not a bad choice. She’s got the business—it compliments yours. You would be a built-in supplier for her restaurant and it’ll give you an in with the boss lady. She seems like a hard worker, knows how to cook, fills out her jeans nicely, I’d say. What else was on your list?”

“Is that what you stopped by to talk to me about?” he said, glancing over his shoulder. He had turned away from her to wash his hands in the large sink.

“No, not really,” she said. It was Rafael-the-Irritable still.

“Your friend Macy and her two girls stopped by. Their dad is planning to purchase two horses for them. They asked if I would board them, said you sent them over.”

He was silent for a minute.

“And you said?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I told her I’d think about it. Told them it could only be temporary and that it wasn’t my decision to make. Remember, I am one of six girls, and five of those sisters want to sell,” she said.

“I know, Carter, you’ve told me. So you’ve told everyone. You don’t have to say it again. I get the picture. You’re only one of six; no one will listen to you. We got it.”

“Well thanks for lending me an ear,” she said.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, I guess.”

“Okay, then, here’s my opinion
again,
and for the last time. How do you know your sisters or your father won’t listen to you? Have you tried to talk to them? Not as the sister/daughter who can’t get herself together, and breaks up weddings or is in constant competition with them.”

“Excuse me?” she said.

“I’ve heard all of the reasons you can’t, but I can’t understand your willingness to give up before you even try. It’s annoying. How old are you? Talk to your father. Talk to your sisters. Tell them what the ranch means to you. Who knows, maybe they would agree and let you try to take the place on,” he said, continuing to work.

“It’s complicated.”

He was quiet for a moment, closing up the cartons. “Don’t try then, Carter. Quit. Go back to being an accountant, looking for Mr. Bentley.”

“Maybe I could take my share of the sale and buy my own spread, like you’ve done here,” she said, ignoring that last remark.

“That’s an option. Except the property you have here is pretty special. Doesn’t it mean anything to you that your great-grandfather, an ex-slave, purchased it for his family? Do you know how hard that must have been? And for what? For you to give up at the first sign of difficulty? Do you realize how much land has been lost in your communities? African Americans used to own over 15 million acres of land all over this country. That number is now down to less than one million acres,” he said. He’d stopped working altogether now.

“Why does it have to be me that saves the ranch? I’m not the only one in the family. My sisters are chomping at the bit to sell. I think they might need the money, and who am I to prevent that?”

“Who are you to prevent that?” he said, as he stared at her. “You may be the only person in your family that actually realizes its value. But you’re too afraid to stand up for yourself. Will it be difficult? Yes. But try it. Go against the grain for once,” he said, his voice steely and determined.

“I thought I could show you by sending Macy over that there was income to be made. Al knows someone that currently manages a dude ranch. She would connect you to him. You could make it work. But what was I thinking? You can’t even have a say in choosing the man you marry. Too busy seeking your family’s approval for something that is one of the most personal decisions you can make.”

She was quiet. He was angry. From-out-of-nowhere angry.

“Look, you have a point and I’ve considered putting my plan into motion without telling them—my family; try and make the ranch profitable before I bring up the idea of not selling,” she said.

“It will take a while; longer than you know. Why would you put your time and energy into something that’s going to be sold? Don’t sneak behind their backs.”

“I’m not sneaking behind anyone’s back,” she said, angry now.

“What did you tell me your great-grandfather used to say? When you fall off a horse… get back on.”

She took another deep breath. “You know what? You don’t know me. I’ll forget this conversation. We’ve screwed. I told you a little about the way I feel, and you think you can give me all this advice about what will make me happy.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood watching her.

“You aren’t being as helpful as I thought you’d be. Have a nice night with Stacy. I’ll see you around,” she said, walking to the door.

“Carter,” he said.

“What?” she said, from the doorway.

“This is important to you. Talk to your dad,” he said, his tone less pushy, less angry now.

She shrugged again. “I’ll see you later.”

She started crying, marching back to her house, tears of anger this time. When you fall off a horse… get back on. He had some nerve, talking to her like that! Get back on…

She’d been climbing back on since she’d stopped coming out here as a teen. Gotten back on when she had to take those stupid Ritalin drugs, so she could be calm and focus. She’d climbed back on when she’d finished high school and gone off to college, struggling to find a major that could live with her and then working at that mind-numbing job. She knew how to climb back on a horse!

Who was he to tell her to get back on a horse? Not him, with his stupid list of what to look for in a woman. So what if she went after African American men? His list wasn’t so different from hers. Stupid characteristics didn’t say anything about a woman. You couldn’t tell a person’s heart from any list or the color of their skin. Neither gave off any clues as to whether that person was of value of not.

She would talk to her dad, not because he thought it was the thing to do, but because she’d decided that horses were the direction she would take from here on out and she wanted to keep their family’s farm. And she’d made that decision without the aid of Rafael, the Latino farmer of chickens and goats.

She entered her back door, slamming it shut behind her.

#

Rafael watched her slam the door from his front yard. He had followed her out. He could hear it from here. An angry Carter he could handle a lot more than a crying one. He’d watched her march across the field, every angry step back from his place to hers.

“What are you doing?” he asked himself. “Who are you? For someone who hates interference of any kind, why are you standing here interfering?”

Stacy walked up. “How did it go?” she asked.

“It didn’t. I should leave her alone,” he said.

“That’s one option. I’ll see you in town,” she said.

“Bye,” he said a minute after she’d gone. He was still looking over at Carter’s home.

“Leave her alone,” he said out loud. Good advice that he should take, but probably wouldn’t.

#

Friday

Carter parked in the visitor’s parking of her father’s dealership. It was almost a week to the day since she’d argued with Rafael. She’d seen him, he’d waved, but she hadn’t waved back. He continued to wave a couple of times after that, but he eventually stopped. She’d managed to avoid him. She knew his schedule and mostly tried to work around it.

She looked around at her father’s business. It was a bustling beehive of activity, as always. People exiting cars, handing their keys off to her father’s knowledgeable and efficient staff of workers, before moving on to the plush waiting area to enjoy coffee, tea and croissants while their cars were being serviced. Nothing but the best for his customers.

From the looks of this place it was hard to tell that the country was in the throes of a recession—another argument against trying that had taken up residence in her head since she’d made the decision to talk to her father. Her love of the land, her great-grandfather’s legacy, mixed in with Rafael’s stinging
Why don’t you quit? How old are you?
questions were the stimuli that propelled her here today. She
had
to ask, she
had
to stand up for herself, even if she fell. She got that now, but it didn’t make her any less afraid or worried.

She’d entered the main door, smiled at the receptionist, made her way past the windows filled with salesmen and to the back where the executive office was located. She’d decided to show up in person instead of calling, and even made an appointment, just like a professional would. She hoped he would see her in that light instead of the daughter that struggled to get it together sometimes. She marched over to her father’s secretary’s desk. Alice had been with her father since the beginning of time, or at least for as long as she could remember. Carter considered her family.

“Well hello, Carter,” Alice said, looking up from her desk, her face filled with pleasure, and was that sympathy mixed in there, too? “It has been ages since I’ve seen you,” she said, standing up, reaching for Carter’s hands to hold.

“Hi, Alice. It has been a long time. How are you, your family?”

“Sweet of you to ask. They are doing fine. I have five grandchildren now. Times does fly and look at you, still as pretty as a picture,” she said.

“Thank you. Is my father in?”

“Yes. He is waiting for you. And you are on time. You know how much your father values punctuality.”

“I do.”

“Go on in then,” she said. Carter walked away, knocking softly as she reached her father’s door.

“Come in,” he said.

She peeked her head in first followed by the rest of her body. “Hi Daddy,” she said, approaching his desk. She kissed his cheek before taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Thank you for fitting me in to your schedule. I know you’re busy,” she said.

“Not that busy,” he said, sitting back in his chair. Her father was in one of his custom-tailored shirts and snappy ties. He was a handsome man, with a dark complexion like her. “What can I do for you?” he asked, all business now.

“I don’t want to sell the ranch,” she said, getting right to the point.

“That’s nothing new, Carter,” he said, giving her a smile.

“Yes. I know. But since I’ve been living there, working to get it back in shape, I’ve realized that I needed to ask for the opportunity to try and make it profitable.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of this idea.”

“I’ve only recently started to consider it, really, although it was always what I wanted to do, since I was a little kid. But you know that. I am tired of accounting. Don’t like it, not that I’ve ever been good at it, and I’m tired of pretending.”

“Part of being a grown-up is doing things we don’t want to do,” he said.

She smiled to cover her irritation. “I’d would like for us to postpone the sell of the ranch for a while. I would like the chance to make it profitable,” she said again, her voice firm. “Since I’m the only child related by blood to our great-grandfather, I think I should be given the opportunity to do so. I grew up with him. I knew what he wanted that place to be,” she said.

Her father was silent for about three minutes, watching her, scrutinizing her, for signs of what, she wasn’t sure.

“I’ve hired a young woman to be part property manager and salesman. You know, one of those people that specializes in cleanup, staging, helping to showcase properties in the best light. She is set to start in a week,” he said.

“You can always call her and tell her not to come,” she said.

“I’m not going to do that.”

“So that means you’re choosing to dismiss my idea?” she asked.

“You are too close to the land. It means too much to you. You can’t be objective. This is for the best, Carter.”

“Did you hear anything I said?”

“Yes, I did,” he said, sitting up calmly. He was always calm. “That property is very valuable and the funds split six ways would be very beneficial to your sisters, not just you. Your way is only beneficial to you,” he said.

“Our legacy would remain intact, so it’s not just beneficial to me. I understand your desire to help everyone, but I’m the only one that…”

“The only one that what?” he asked.

“The only one that is your flesh and blood, the only true heir, connected by blood to our land. Doesn’t that account for something? Anything?”

Her dad sat back in his chair, studying her.

“I don’t understand you,” she said, her hurt taking over. “I mean for once, would you take my side in an argument? For once, would you back me up—the child you share DNA with?” she said, pointing to herself, standing up, agitated. “I get that you remarried, and that you can’t have biases, or show favorites. How many ways have you shown that to me? I get it. You don’t have favorites. I get that, too. But just once, would you be on my side?” she said, leaning over his desk now. He was still silent. He sat back in his chair and sighed.

“I am not your father,” he said.

Silence. Carter stood back as if she’d been slapped.

“What did you say?” Carter asked.

“I am not your father. My brother is. Sit down,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, serious as a heart attack. Carter could tell. She’d seen this look often enough. Her body folded itself into her seat.

“I am not your father,” he said again.

“I can’t breathe,” she said, looking around for her purse, a little frantic now. She pulled it into her lap and dug through until she found her inhaler. She took a puff and sat back in her chair, eyes glued on the man who was not her father.

“I met your mother in high school and I fell in love with her immediately. She looked just like you and I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen,” he said. He sat back in his chair, staring out the window now.