Feeling This Page 9

  I ignore his nickname and ask, “That guy who was here before. He said something about a job.”

  “Bert? Yeah, the one over at the Bruin ranch.”

  “How do I get to the Bruin ranch?”

  “That’s easy. Take Main Street north through town. It’ll turn into Highway 50, take it out ten miles. You’ll come to the Bruin farm on the right side of the road. It spans probably ’bout two hundred acres. When all you can see is cows and fields, you’re probably there.”

  “Okay… Gabe, right? Thanks.” I shake his hand over the bar and turn toward the door again.

  Remembering I don’t really have anywhere to stay, I spin back on my heel, calling out, “One more thing. Is there a hotel around?”

  He chuckles. “Down the road is the Derby Motel. That’s about the best you’re gonna get in these parts.”

  “Thanks again.”

  This time I walk back to my car with more of a purpose. I’ve got something else to think about now. If my mind is busy, I won’t have to think about Susan.

  Gabe was right. The drive to the ranch is pretty much exactly ten miles. A wide dirt drive peeks out between tall white ash trees at the edge of the property. A white mailbox has Bruin mottled across the side. Once I start down the drive, I pass under a large wooden sign hovering above the path with the words, Bruin Ranch. The lane winds through a canopy of trees finally ending at a circular drive before a wide, grey, two-story house. A wooden porch extends the length of the house on both floors with a white picket railing on the top floor.

  I turn the engine off, glancing around as I get out of the car. A tall man with a receding hairline, greying at the temples steps out on the porch through a swinging screen door. As I walk toward him, I notice his bulky frame and very dirty white shirt and jeans. He places his hands on his hips and asks in a deep voice, “Hello there. What can I do for ya?”

  I walk a little faster, coming to the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch and introduce myself. “Hello, sir. My name is Jordan Rhodes. I understand you might have a job available.”

  He eyes me curiously as he walks down the steps slowly, stopping one above the last. He stretches his hand out and I grasp it firmly. He utters, “Pleased to meet you, Jordan Rhodes. I’m Stanley Bruin.”

  He withdraws his hand, taking the last step. We’re face to face and I notice he still towers over me by a couple of inches. I’m not that short at six one. This guy must be at least six three. He looks aged and worn with skin darkened by the sun.

  “I just might have somethin’ for ya. But first I need to know some things.” He walks over to the edge of the porch and sits, gesturing that I should do the same.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Well, I can tell from yer hands this isn’t the kinda work yer’ accustomed to.”

  I turn my hands over and stare at them, thinking about what to say. This was such a spur of the moment decision; I really didn’t think things through. I decide as little of the truth as I can get out is best.

  “Yes, you’re pretty right on. I wanted to try something different.”

  “Can I ask, different from what?”

  “Well, I’ve been working in an office for a while now. I wanted to do something outdoors for a change.”

  He chuckles. “This work ain’t just workin’ outside in a garden or anything like that. You do understand that, don’t ya?”

  “Yes, sir. Can you give me a chance and I’ll show you? I’m a hard worker and not afraid to get my hands dirty.” These words surprise me. I’ve never had to convince anyone I’m worthy of working hard.

  He laughs a full belly laugh. His rather large middle jiggles. He places his hands on the edges of his knees, looking to me, “Okay, Jordan Rhodes, you got the job. I can pay you eighty-five a day and you get Saturdays off. I need someone as soon as possible, though. Can you start tomorrow?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He stands and holds his hand out once again. I grasp it. His grip this time is loose and he asks before letting go, “Can I ask where yer from?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m from Dallas.”

  He lets my hand go and turns, taking a couple of steps up the porch. He calls back over his shoulder, “Okay, Jordan from Dallas, we start bright and early at five in the mornin’. See you then.”

  He makes his way back into the house and the door swings closed, echoing with a loud thud.

  ***

  The alarm near my head beeps at the turn of the clock to 4:30. Oh man, what did I get myself into by taking this job? I make my way to the bathroom and splash cold water all over my face for five full minutes, trying to wake up. The faucet squeaks as I turn it off. I pull on a pair of jeans, a grey shirt, and my black boots. Grabbing my keys, I make my way out to my car for the short drive out to the Bruin ranch. I stop for a coffee and a bagel at a little mom and pop shop at the end of Main Street. It’s still dark out, making me long to go back to bed.

  Once I pull into the drive, a man stops me. I put the window down as he explains that Mr. Bruin likes the help to park out behind the barn. He takes a step back and eyes my car, claiming, “Ahh, maybe you should just pull up to the house. I don’t think this here car will make it out to the barn.”

  I nod, roll the window back up and drive the rest of the way to the main house. Mr. Bruin comes out the same door as yesterday as I pull up. He laughs. “Did Mike tell you to come all the way up?”

  I nod, not sure who really told me, but I assume it’s Mike. He agrees. “Yeah, that car woulda got stuck in the mud. Come on out. I’ll show ya where the barn is and introduce you to the boys.”

  As we walk out he talks, slowly drawling out his words. “First thing are the cows. You ever ridden a horse? I probably shoulda asked that yesterday.”

  “Yes, sir. I, umm, learned when I was young.”

  “Good. Then you’ll do just fine. I’ll pair you up with Joe. He’s our newest on the ranch but he knows his stuff. Mike is my foreman. He can get ya what you need or help in any way, too.”

  When we approach the barn, a group of men are standing around talking quietly. A couple of them spit chewing tobacco while waiting for the rest of the crew. Mr. Bruin calls out, “Hey fellas, come on over. This here’s Jordan Rhodes from Dallas. He’s gonna take Bert’s spot.”

  I’m introduced to everyone and told to stay with Joe for the day to get the hang of everything. Joe looks to be a little older than I am. He’s about my height with short brown hair. His clothes look as if they’ve already seen a day’s work. Actually, most of the men standing around are dressed in worn, stained clothing.

  Unfortunately, Joe has been working on a broken part of the fence on the back side of the property. We head out before first light and work for hours hauling round, wooden posts to the post holes we dig. Then we attach the wire fence to the posts. It’s long and laborious. By the time Joe looks at his watch, the sun is high above us, beating down, and I’m drenched in sweat. He announces, “Grub time. Let’s head back.”

  I follow him back to the barn silently. He has been pretty quiet most of the day. The questions he did ask were pretty general, so my answers gave nothing away about why I’m here. We are the last to arrive at the barn. I find a spot about ten feet away from the rest of them. I settle on a bale of hay, savoring the chance to sit and rest.

  The rest of the ranch hands are all laughing and joking. Joe calls out something about a sister. I glance up, wondering who he’s talking to. My eyes land on a petite girl with long dirty blonde hair that reflects the sunlight when she moves. Her skin is flawlessly white and she’s dressed in a little blue sundress with silver flip flops. She’s handing out brown paper bags to each of the ranch hands. She rolls her eyes at something Joe said. When she turns in my direction, my eyes move to look at the ground and I find a piece of hay to twirl.

  I feel her presence as she approaches me, so I glance up at her. I take the bag she offers, uttering a thank you and meet her eyes. They are the color of the sky wh
en dusk is settling, a pretty blue-grey. Quickly, I look the other way. When she turns to go back the way she came, I watch her retreating figure and feel completely guilty for even looking, as if I’m betraying Susan. I avert my gaze and concentrate on my lunch.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kimber

  I dial Heidi and she picks up on the first ring. “Hu’lo Kimber.”

  “Hey, whatcha up to? I just left the Bruins’.”

  The tone of her voice changes and lowers an octave, “You mean who am I up to.”

  Incredulity colors my words. “Really? Why’d you pick up the phone then? Obviously, he’s not a keeper if he can’t hold your attention.”

  She laughs., “He went off somewhere. I think he’s in the bathroom or something. No, not a keeper. He was done with me once he got off. Can’t a girl get a decent orgasm?”

  I’m embarrassed at her boldness. I shouldn’t be surprised, Heidi lost her virginity very early and she’s been obsessed with sex ever since. The one thing I hope for her is that she finds the ‘right’ one. I know that’s what she really wants, though she would never come right out and admit it.

  “Well, maybe someone new will come along. No, let me rephrase that, tomorrow is always another day.”

  “Ha, you know it, girl. So what’s the plan tonight? Gonna come hang with me so I don’t have to find someone else to do?”

  Her implication makes me chuckle. Okay, so tomorrow is not soon enough, tonight instead.

  “Heidi, you know I have to work. You wanna make another Duck appearance? That would be two in the same week, a record.”

  “Uh, no, but if I have nothing else to do…”

  “Okay, I’ll see ya then. By the way, Andrew asked me out on a date.”

  She starts screaming, almost deafening me. Suddenly, it’s cut off and I can hear a voice in the background. It turns more muffled as if she’s placed her hand over the phone but I can still hear her say to whoever it is, “Just go home, Tyler. It’s not gonna work out with us.”

  A different voice pleads, “Come on, baby, it was good, right? You know you want me again.” Heidi’s hand must have fallen from the phone because I hear her voice loud and clear proclaim, “No Tyler, it was not good. Sorry to break it to you but on a scale of one to ten, you’re a four, and that’s being generous.”

  I hear a door slam and she calls into the phone, “Hey, Kimber, you still there?”

  “Yeah, way to let him down easy. Do you have no compassion for other people’s feelings?”

  “Come off it, I did him a favor. Better he realizes now that he’s lacking in some departments than to believe he’s God’s gift to women. Where were we? Oh yes, you were telling me, as an afterthought, about Andrew. Damn it, Kimber, why do you always do that? You should start a conversation with the great news, not end with it. When did he ask? Where are you going? When?”

  I roll my eyes at her rant, and shift the car into gear to stop at a red light. My hand instinctively moves to the dashboard to pat it, as if this will keep it from stalling.

  “Sorry. He asked this morning. He was waiting for me on the side of the road, down a few houses from mine. I was pretty shocked because of what happened last month at the Duck.”

  She interrupts before I can utter another word. “Uh, what happened, as in the lemon drop night? Why do you never share? It’s as if I have to drag things out of you, Kimber. What happened? Did he jump your bones? I told you sex is the answer. You feel better, right?”

  I huff in frustration. She is so exhausting sometimes.

  “No, I jumped his bones and he rejected me. Sex is way overrated.”

  She starts giggling. “Well, I’ll have to agree with you if it’s with Tyler. But if Andrew rejected you, why are you going on a date with him?”

  When she phrases it like that, I’m not really sure myself. What if he rejects me again? I won’t give him the chance. I’ll keep my legs closed this time. He did seek me out to ask. Ugh! I’m so confused.

  “I don’t know, Heidi. It’s Andrew; I guess that’s my only reason.”

  I change the subject, tired of thinking about it. “By the way, did you say Tyler? As in, drummer for that garage band that plays at the Duck sometimes?”

  Her voice turns soft. “Be careful. He hurt you once, Kimber. And yes, Tyler, schmyler, not a good lay.”

  I chuckle, thinking that Becca would beg to differ. No wonder it was so short lived, Heidi was waiting in the wings. Becca has nothing on my beautiful best friend. Yes, Becca is small and petite, more of a cute girl. Heidi is platinum blonde, thin and tall. She is perfect and curvy, hence her sexcapades.

  “I will. Are you comin’ tonight or not?”

  “Are you singing tonight?”

  Her mention of my new Friday night gig brings a flutter to my stomach. I’ve avoided thinking about it all day to prevent the nerves. Damn you, Heidi.

  “Yes, I am, so have I twisted your arm?”

  She relents. “I’ll see you tonight, girl.”

  We hang up just as I’m pulling into the dirt drive of the house I share with Momma. Once the car is off, I sit for a moment looking through the window at the small one-story brown square in front of me. The windows are surrounded with peeling white shutters, my mom’s attempt at making it look homey when we moved in. That was before she got sick. Hovering on top of the roof is a tiny steeple with white trim. Across the front lays a concrete slab overshadowed by a small extension of the roof. I remember ten years ago when she found this house and she thought we would be happier here rather than the apartment. For as long as I can remember before that, we lived in an apartment. But when she saw this house, she was sold. I didn’t know any better except that it was surrounded by tall trees and a lot of grass. Both of which I had never known.

  We worked on the outside for weeks, painting and planting a garden. I turn to glance at the corner of the house. She found some border bricks and built it up around mounds of soil. We planted and grew vegetables for a couple of years in that garden before she was diagnosed. I was fifteen when we found out. Since then, she’s sunk deeper and deeper, just like the garden that is now even with the rest of the yard, full of grass and weeds, masking that there was ever a garden there.

  I turn to get out of the car and make my way through the front door. I need to get myself mentally ready for tonight. Singing in front of a crowd at the Duck isn’t glamorous by any means, but still daunting.

  As I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my body, my reflection catches my eye. I have my mom’s dirty blonde highlights slightly with lighter streaks, Heidi’s attempt at making me look more fashionable. My eyes are totally my mom’s but my face otherwise looks nothing like her. It’s oval and my skin has a speckling of freckles around my nose. She never talks about my dad. He left before I was born. I don’t know much else except that she stares at me for long moments at a time occasionally. I wonder if she sees him in me.

  I turn to go and get ready. Scanning my closet, I choose a white tank top and pair it with jeans. I slip my feet into some black Converse and brush out my hair. After a smear of lip gloss over my lips, I head toward the kitchen to see Momma. She’s not in her normal spot at the table. Before looking for her I find a yogurt in the fridge and grab a spoon. As I take a bite, I follow the short hall to her bedroom. The door is closed but muffled voices fill the air. Slowly, I grasp the handle and turn it, trying not to wake her in case she’s asleep. Her smell meets my nostrils once the door is open. It’s a mix between her lack of showers and cigarettes. Slowly my feet shuffle to the edge of the bed. She’s sleeping, as I thought, but not really, more like passed out. Sitting next to the bed on the table is a half empty bottle of vodka and an empty glass.

  I lean down to pull the blanket up over her thin body. She stirs but doesn’t wake up. It breaks my heart that she does this, if she would just care. I grab the bottle between two fingers as if it’s deadly and walk back out of the room, turning the T.V. off. Carefully, I close the door behi
nd me and trek to the kitchen to pour the remains of the bottle down the sink. She’ll probably let me have it later but I don’t care. It’s killing her faster than the disease is.

  After locking up and repeating the silent prayer for my car, I drive down the narrow dirt road to the highway. Passing the spot where Andrew waited this morning, a smile spreads over my lips. I wonder if he’ll be at the Duck tonight. That would be a nice surprise.

  The parking lot is filling up pretty quickly when I pull in. I grab my guitar case and walk nervously through the heavy doors, my eyes adjusting to the low lighting and smoke. I walk straight to the entrance in the back. Derek turns as I come through the slatted bar doors and smiles, glancing back down at the register while punching buttons. He calls to me, “You ready for your big debut?”

  I smirk and scan the bar. Every chair at the bar is full. The tables are filling quickly. A man at the curve in the bar motions to me. I strut down and ask, “Hey, what can I get for you?”

  “How about a beer?”

  I turn and make my way to the tap, waiting while Derek pours one for his customer. He looks over, frowning this time, and asks, “You talk to your sister yet?”

  I shake my head. The look in his eyes tells me I might not want to talk to her but I ask, “Why? What did she do?”