Page 45 of Rootbound
I’m almost finished with my first beer, refreshing and crisp, when I catch Henry hiking back up the hill out of my peripheral vision. The juxtaposition of him, someone so vast and looming, being dwarfed by everything around him, compels me to snap a picture. He looks up from under the brim of his hat right as I do, directly through the lens, right through me. His plain green T-shirt is good and soaked now. A bead of my own sweat tracks down my chest between my breasts as I lower the camera and continue taking him in. Even from a distance I make out that vein snaking down a substantial bicep, and my fingertips twitch. He doesn’t break eye contact as he marches up, up, up, until he comes and settles down against the tree with me. Then, becauseI’m feeling idiotic, an awkward chortle coughs out from between my lips.
The bubble burst, I get up to get another beer.
“Need another?” I ask him over my shoulder, before I see James and Charlie walking closer.
“I’ve got ’em. And sandwiches,” Charlie says, flipping open the chest.
He tosses Henry and James theirs, but walks mine over to me, looking at it in his hands.
“I realize that I don’t know what you like, now that you’re grown up. But I remembered… I know you didn’t like mayo, didn’t like mustard, and only liked lettuce and white cheese.” He chuckles mournfully before continuing, “Hopefully it’s not too plain.” And hands me my food.
I swallow down the emotion that rises, and respond, “It’s perfect. I’m still picky. Thank you.” It’s a sandwich, but it’s also tangible proof that I took up space in his mind, that I existed here. It’s proof that he knew some insignificant part of me, and that maybe he understands—or cares to understand—some of the bigger parts, as well.
Andthat—that thought right there is what I need to avoid. That is what I need to keep in perspective. I can’t fill a twenty-year void with a fucking sandwich.
“You know, I can’t tell you the last time I saw him smiling and laughing this much,” Charlie says with a nod in Henry’s direction. “It’s nice to see that he’s made a… friend.” I don’t miss the question implied.
“Sounds like someone did a number on him too, huh?” I say, and immediately regret casually prying into his life and word-vomiting a bit of mine in one sentence.
It’s usually easy to get others talking about themselves and those they care about, so it’s a habit I haven’t entirelyshaken since being here. The problem is that, no doubt,thesepeople will expect me to reciprocate.
“Yes, and no. I thinkhebeatshimselfup more than anything, and doesn’t trust himself anymore,” he responds, leaving me bewildered.
I don’t see a way to keep up this particular line of conversation without him having to divulge too much, and it doesn’t feel right, so I search for a subject change.
Charlie proceeds before I can come up with anything, though. “He brought someone he loved into all of our lives, got her on with the ranch. The short of it is that she ended up embezzling a pretty huge sum of money over time, and we needed to dismantle the whole equine center. We were looking at having to sell a portion of the land or something—I had already quit ranching, and we had taken on too much with trying to build up the other businesses. We all had stretched ourselves too thin at that time, and it made it easy for someone to take advantage. That’s when Duane came in with the offer for Dollar Mountain that let us hold on to the place. There was no way Henry could have known. We weren’t exactly organized with the finances at the time, until Duane caught everything up and thenhecaught it. But Henry still blames himself. I’m just saying that it’s nice to see him try, though—to try and open up a bit, I mean.”
He talks about Henry’s betrayal and shame—something that obviously affected his business more than he’s letting on—casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal to him either way, and I realize that this was always one of the things that drove Mom crazy about him. He let things gotooeasily. He let everything go too easily. When Mom left, she wanted him to chase her. But he didn’t, and didn’t pursue us by extension.
Why did you stop trying?
It’s there, on the tip of my tongue to ask. Asking is admitting, though, isn’t it? And if I hadn’t been forced to come here, I’d have beenfinenot knowing, fine with his absence, long since forgotten.
I catch a glimpse of Henry again, right before he disappears over the edge of the ridge; and for reasons I’m not fully cognizant of, I want to head in that direction right now, and away from this conversation. I’m up and moving before I think on it too long.
Twenty-Two
Henry
I hear Tait before I see her; her steps somehow manage to sound agitated as they crunch behind me.
“I want to show you something,” I say, the thought escaping before I could consider trying to be smooth about it.
“How’d you know it was me?” she asks, catching up to my side.
“You stomp your feet like the ground pissed in your Cheerios. I noticed it the first night I saw you in the woods. It’s probably why I mistook you for a Sasquatch,” I tell her, and immediately lose the hold on my expression when I see her affronted one. I blow out a quick laugh, and it draws out her smile.
“Ass. I guess that explains why you tried to mount me, then. You finally saw one of your kind and went into rut?”
The word rut, husky and hot from her lips, grabs onto that invisible chord between us and fucking yanks, sendingfire through my core. “You give me whiplash, you know that?” I say, and I don’t bother to temper my tone.
She smirks, fucking wicked—triumphant, even. “What do you mean?” And she doesn’t sell me on her coyness, doesn’t even try.
I scoff, frustrated in more than one way, and turn back to the trail, only now noticing that we’d veered from it. This time,I’mdetermined to stay on track, to stay on the path of least resistance. The path that, ironically,isresisting her.
“Hey, don’t get too far ahead. One of your strides is like four of mine!” she whines.
“Something tells me you can keep up just fine, Tait.”