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"That's what phones are for, Slade, and letters, and, hell, even the internet. You didn't have to drive all the way here, loiter on my doorstep, and scare me half to death."
"I wrote. I'm guessing you threw it out without opening it."
"So what if I did?" I turned toward him and looked past him, without meeting his gaze. "Second Chance Ranch is part of my past. A small part. The part I left behind. I don't need to go back for some fake family Christmas for misfits."
He shook his head, knowing as I did, that every word was a lie. I'd have given anything for one more Christmas at the ranch. They were the only real Christmases I had ever had in my life.
Our eyes locked, and I could feel his reading me, just like he had always been able to do. I could feel that shit in my soul.
"You are full of it, short stuff," he blustered, glaring darkly. Slade didn't abide lies.
"It doesn't matter," I responded sullenly. "I'm not going back, ever. It won't change anything."
"What if you're wrong?" It was a challenge, and I could feel myself getting pulled into a battle of wills that could easily go on all night. We were equally stubborn, I knew.
I needed to shut the door in his face. It was the only way to end it, even if it was a temporary solution.
I stepped inside and gripped the handle, staring at him to memorize his face. Just one last time.
Finally, I began to slowly push the door shut, waiting for him to grab it once more. He didn't. He didn't need to. The words he spoke next stopped me in my tracks.
"Nan's sick, Merry. And whatever you think of the ranch, or me, or the past, or, hell, even Christmas, you are an old woman's dying wish. And so help me, God, I will do everything in my power to make that wish come true. So go ahead. Close the door; get some sleep. Open the letter. Do some thinking. Whatever you have to do. Just know, I will be back, tomorrow, and this conversation is not over."
I did shut the door then, so he wouldn't see me cry. Loud noisy wails, as I collapsed against the shut door and sank down against it.
The final straw in a horrible day. Unable to move, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. Over my boyfriend, my job, my car, piles of dog shit, and thinking I was going to get murdered, and then for Slade. And Nan. And the ranch.
I sobbed until my hands were drenched, along with my jeans, where I had wiped my hands, again and again.
And, finally, I stood, shuffled over to the garbage can, and removed the pink mottled envelope I had tossed there, hours ago. I drew a deep breath as I opened it, but nothing in there could be as scary or as painful as seeing Slade in the flesh had been.
My eyes scanned the letter quickly, finding it to be exactly what I had expected. Nan's yearly invite to Christmas, with a note from Slade thrown in at the bottom—a plea, a promise, and a phone number.
Sighing, I peeked out the window. He was still there, sitting on the porch steps, staring at his hands.
He had won this round. I opened the door and peeked my head out.
"If you still want to talk, I'm ready to listen."
