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Her eyes pool up with tears. “I know what you’re going to say. I know what I need to do. I’m just … I’m too old now. I’m turning fifty this year, Rose. I can’t get a job. I can’t date. I can’t start over. I still love your father.”
She exhales before taking a long sip of the pure alcohol.
“You can sleep in my bed tonight. I like the couch better anyway.” I scoot closer to her, sharing my blanket with her and wrapping my arm around her slim shoulders. It’s all I know to do.
My mother was a pageant queen in her early twenties. Sheri Belle was crowned the most beautiful woman in Kowata County five years in a row and once as Miss Texas in ’97. My father proposed to her that night, right after she walked off the stage, while she was still wearing her crown and sash.
“I really don’t think I could even get a job if I tried. What would I do? Work at the Walmart in Elmott? Become a night stocker at the gas station?”
She starts shaking and crying silently. I squeeze her shoulders tighter.
Once, when I was fifteen, I called her, ugly-crying, to come pick me up from school because I’d been cut from the cheerleading team. She scolded me at pickup, reprimanding me with a harsh reminder that we only cry when we absolutely have to, in private, and even then, we keep our grief quiet.
I’ve never heard my mother cry out loud, and I’ve never been able to cry out loud since.
“It’s the second-best day of the year, Rosie! We’re making enchiladas.”
Dolly’s eternal good mood seems to still be with us. She’s always been an optimist, but since Holden’s release, it’s like she’s on Prozac. She canceled the welcome-home party at his request. We’ve been cooking big meals every night.
“What’s the second-best day of the year?” I ask.
“Bull testing day! Holden’s release is the first best, obviously.” She pulls a nine-by-thirteen pan out of the cabinet before gathering up ingredients.
“I’ve actually never been here for bull testing day.”
Dolly’s mouth drops open as her eyes grow wide. “Oh, honey, you’re going to love it. They’re flushing out the real competitive, money-making bulls from the duds. They could use weighted dummies to test them, but the ranch hands and my brothers just prefer to risk their lives instead. After we get the food in the oven, we’ll go watch with popcorn and mimosas.”
I laugh, nodding my agreement. “I can’t turn that down.”
We work quickly, making homemade chicken and beef enchiladas. I don’t mind cooking, but baking is my preference. Dolly loves it all. She was made to be barefoot in a giant ranch kitchen. I’ve tried to encourage her to write a cookbook because she’s always creating new recipes.
“Okay, I’ll just set the timer on my phone so we can go out to the arena,” Dolly says after we put the big pans of enchiladas into the oven.
I already made us popcorn and filled our tumblers with champagne and orange juice. We put on our boots on the back porch—a very necessary step before venturing out to the muddy arena, our arms filled with our snacks.
“It poured rain last night. I know they’re all going to be filthy. Installing the outdoor shower was the best decision I ever made for this place.” Dolly leads the way over to the enormous red barn. We walk through it, passing the stacks of hay bales and bags of cow feed piled up.
Every time I’m in here, I inevitably flashback to when I walked in on Holden and Madi in an unseemly position in the hay. I’ve tried to forget everything that happened that night, but it’s forever burned into my memory, like a recurring nightmare I can’t escape.
Dolly is speed-walking ahead of me, eager to get to the arena. We’re both wearing high-waisted jeans, but I have on a red tank top with an unzipped gray hoodie over it, and she’s wearing a pale blue sweater. We’re nearly the same size, except my boobs are a few cup sizes bigger than hers. We share whatever clothes we can both fit into.
We hear them before they come into view, hoots and hollers in male voices filtering through the barn doors. I push open the heavy sliding door, the mid-morning light illuminating the scene before us.
Mud is caked on the hide of the animal in the middle of the oval-shaped arena. The cowboy currently riding the bull gets thrown off, flying into the air before he lands on the muddy, trampled ground.
Dolly is still leading me quickly over to the raised platform that overlooks the main area of the bulls and their riders. Cash is up on the platform already with Mr. Redford—Pops. Cash is making marks in a notebook, clearly not having taken his turn on a bull, as his jeans, boots, and button-down shirt are still clean. The tattoo that covers his entire arm and hand is peeking out beneath his sleeve. Pops is smoking a cigarette, but he smiles at me and his daughter when we climb the last iron stair.
“Hey, ladies. Come to see the boys get their asses kicked?”
Dolly hugs her dad’s neck before pulling a bench closer to the railing. She pats the seat next to her, and I plant my butt on it.
“Who’s up next? Any good bulls this season?” Dolly asks.
“Got a couple winners. Ain’t seen many yet,” Cash replies, clearly focused on making his notes. He never says much.
I pop a piece of popcorn into my mouth, shading my eyes from the glaring sunlight to see who’s riding next.
Cash stands up, leaning against the iron rail. “You sure you’re ready for the big boy, brother? Been a while.”
