Eighteen years ago.
His dad has been dead for six months, and despite the pastor’s and everyone else’s promises that things will get easier—that they’ll be easier, any minute now—Robbie still feels either numb or terrified, all the time.
In the numb moments, he’s susceptible to his uncle’s claim that Robbie’s too young to take care of two kids. That he has his whole life ahead of him. That he should follow his girlfriend to college like he’s planned, and leave the raising of his brothers to a man who his parents hated so much that they barely spoke his name in the house, despite he and Robbie’s dad being one another’s only living relatives.
In the terrified moments, he wonders how he can handle the task he’s been given. How can he possibly be the parent to the boys that his father would have been? And how is he so selfish that he can’t set aside his own grief to share anyone else’s?
In the numb moments, he sometimes looks at the boys and feels almost nothing, like all of his other emotions are eclipsed by his sadness, and he’ll never get any of the good ones back.
At least Johnny will be back in school soon, and Danny is old enough for preschool. Robbie’s tired of seeing them drifting around the house like ghosts while Robbie tries to sanitize the rooms of all of their small reminders of their father. He keeps everything he picks up—pictures, old cowboy paperbacks, handfuls of flint arrowheads—in shoe boxes filed in the basement. One day, he plans to bring them back and spread them out. But he has to wait until things get easier.
Because they will get easier. Everyone says so. And if he lets himself doubt that promise, then the hollow moments are going to swallow him, and that’s all he’ll be.
He’s thinking about washing the pile of dishes in the sink that’s been there almost a week when he hears a noise from outside and glances out the window above the faucet. Johnny is charging by on a horse, bent over its neck, galloping headlong through the grass. It’s Johnny’s horse, a gentle old gelding who’s a former mount of their dad’s, so seeing Johnny riding it wouldn’t ordinarily bother him. Johnny’s been coaxing the gelding up next to the fence so he can crawl on bareback to avoid asking anyone to help him with the saddle that’s still too heavy for him. Today, though, eight-year-old Johnny isn’t just bareback—there’s not a halter or bridle on the horse, either.
“Robbie, Robbie!” cries four-year-old Danny from the porch. “Johnny’s on the horse and he didn’t tell nobody!”
“Stay there!” Robbie orders, not pausing as he brushes past his younger brother and races into the yard, toward the meadow where Johnny’s mount is thundering by. But he breaks stride halfway to the fence when he realizes that, rather than grimacing in terror, Johnny is grinning hugely. And rather than running blind, the horse has one ear cocked back toward Johnny, and each stride is measured, controlled. Johnny sees Robbie watching and throws up his hands, that cocky smile broader than it’s been since the funeral. He guides the horse into a circle using just his seat and legs, like a pint-sized circus performer.
Danny appears at Robbie’s side, because of course he wouldn’t do a thing Robbie tells him, including staying on the porch in the presence of what Robbie had thought to be a runaway horse.
“He’s in trouble, isn’t he, Robbie?” Danny demands, scowling. “He’s supposed to tell somebody if he’s getting on the horse.”
Robbie can’t help it. He laughs. He laughs so hard that he has to bend over and brace his hands against his legs.
Danny pats him on the back, his little face solemn. “It’s okay if you forget the rules sometimes. I remember. I can tell you.”
Robbie, still laughing, grabs Danny around the waist and picks him up, upside down, until he’s giggling.
“Don’t be so serious,” Robbie says, mock-sternly, and kisses him. “That’s my job.”
Danny’s little arms go around his neck, and Johnny rides the horse, and the sunlight comes down. Their dad always loved the fall. Robbie remembers how he pointed out all of the colors to Robbie when Robbie was about Danny’s size. So, he puts Danny on his hip and they call out the shades of gold and auburn and russet together.
Even those moments are still backlit by enormous grief. But all of the people who made that same promise to Robbie were right, after all—it’s suddenly just a little bit easier.
Today.
When you need to make up your mind about something, go for a long ride.
Another piece of advice that Robbie hears in his head, in his father’s voice, just as it sounded more than twenty years ago. Like all the rest, this bit of his dad’s wisdom has always held true.
He goes to the gate, but for once, Poco isn’t waiting for him. He’s deep in a mutual grooming session with one of Johnny’s bays, his head twisted around so that he can nibble delicately at the sensitive skin of the other gelding’s flank. The other bay looks on, a hind leg cocked, dozing despite the brisk wind that combs through his dense coat. The snow is trampled down to grey slush in their pen.
Robbie hears the whisper and crunch of hooves dragging through the snow, and looks askance to find Dusty approaching him. She meets his gaze with calm willingness, and he feels a rush of gratitude as he steps up to her and slips the halter meant for Poco onto her head instead. It seems fitting to ponder these strange, yet somehow inevitable circumstances he finds himself in on the back of his oldest living friend.
He remembers Dusty from when she was a foal, sunshine-yellow and full of energy at the side of her dam, a horse his father had bred and raised himself. He remembers the first few rides his father put on her. Robbie watched every second of those sessions, dangling from the round pen fence with his arms hooked over the top rail, fascinated. He remembers the day from a couple years later when his father suggested, “Why don’t you ride Dusty today?” and how his grin felt like it took up his whole face, but was nothing compared to the radiance of his dad’s warm, answering smile.
In the barn, Robbie snaps a loose crosstie to either side of Dusty’s halter. She seems no worse for the wear after her dip in the icy creek, but Robbie gives each of her legs a careful once-over, just to be sure. Then, he runs his hands firmly down her back and shoulders, looking for soreness. She doesn’t stir, except to stretch her head down as far as the ties will allow and inspect one of the barn cats who’s rolling enthusiastically in the bits of straw scattering the barn aisle.
“Such a strong old girl,” he tells her as he strokes her neck. Her eyes fall half-closed, but that’s as close as she’ll get to showing appreciation. Dusty has always had this dignified air about her, like she’s just allowing people the privilege of petting her out of the graciousness of her noble heart, but Robbie knows better. She has tells. He digs his fingers in at the base of her neck, the spot she likes best, and smiles when she curls her upper lip with pleasure before she can stop herself.
He saddles her up and they head up the trail. It’s evident before they’ve gone far that the wild ones are back in the trees. He and Dusty come upon the bachelors first, which means that they make the rest of their way with Kyle and his band filing after them on the trail like a string of pack horses. Kyle keeps daring to get close enough to sniff at Dusty’s tail, which makes her give a guttural squeal and tense in the hindquarters, ready to aim a kick. Kyle hastily backs off every time but can’t contain himself for long before he edges nearer again.
A couple times over the past few days, Robbie has rolled over in the darkness beside a sleepy Lance, and thought with a rush of adrenaline that he could just go. He could find someone to mind the ranch and follow Lance to Chicago. Maybe he’d enroll in college. In this little fantasy, Lance wants to be followed and wants Robbie to stick around. In the same fantasy, Robbie gets to see Lance in his element, the brightest-shining facet of a shining city, a precious stone in the setting it deserves—one honed from gold, not of rough wood and wire. Robbie gets to chase one of the degrees on his list of interests, a list he built without ever expecting to actually pursue any of them. He could leave for a weekend and visit one of the places on his list of dream destinations, places he only ever expected to read about, because you can’t leave a ranch full of horses and responsibilities even for a weekend vacation.
In his fantasy, his uncle doesn’t find out; there are no consequences. In his fantasy, he has someone he can trust who’s actually capable of fulfilling such a massive favor as minding the entire ranch, and for however long Robbie wants to be gone.
It was easier to shake off the allure of the impossible when the boys were here. Caring for them rooted him more strongly to the ranch. Caring for the horses does that, too, but only to an extent. It hasn’t been the same since both Johnny and Danny left.
Dusty comes down a slick place in the slope with careful steps. Robbie adjusts his balance so that he won’t throw her weight. He’s focused on the snowy way just ahead of them until they reach the bottom, and level ground, where they’re ready to cross the frozen creek in a shallow place that’s as much rocks and fallen branches as it is frozen water. He looks up and finds himself practically face to face with the elusive Bandit, who’s standing a dozen feet in the direction that would be upstream, if the water were still flowing instead of stuck in winter’s lock.
More of his father’s words drift into his head. “People will tell you they’re ‘just horses.’ People are damn idiots, sometimes.”
Bandit’s winter coat is such a thick, luxurious black, she could be a streak of midnight sky left over from the evening before. It always surprises Robbie to remember that she’s one of the smallest of the mustangs, but standing there, facing him with her head raised and her dark eyes locked on his, she has the presence of a much larger horse. Her band seethes behind her uneasily. It’s been some time since Robbie has seen them, and he can’t think of when he was last so close. He’s relieved to see they all look fat, healthy, and well.
He doesn’t know why Bandit chose this moment to show herself to him. But she watches him for several long moments, steam trailing from her nostrils, which are frosted by her breath. Then, she turns and trots off, pushing her band down the bending path of ice and out of sight.
Robbie’s heart is full, and heavy. Maybe those two things are the same. What he knows is that he’s not going anywhere. And he suspects that Lance is going somewhere, and soon.
Robbie’s back at the house making the calf’s bottle when Danny calls. He turns off the water, dries his hands, and answers. “Hey, kid.”
“Hey. I just wanted to see how everything is going. Is he doing okay? It’s been a few days. Do you know anything about what happened?”
Robbie does his best to answer, but his tone is clipped. Danny must notice, because instead of firing off another string of questions, he’s uncharacteristically quiet. Robbie does nothing to fill the silence and make it easier. He doesn’t feel quite himself; it’s like he’s still drifting up the trail to the meadow, a part of him carried by each of the wild horses he walked amongst an hour ago.
“Is everything okay?”
Robbie doesn’t mean for his laugh to be quite so bitter, or to let the petulant words escape him. “Do you really want to know?”
“Of course.”
Robbie rubs between his eyes. “I don’t think I’m okay. I don’t know.”
Everything had been okay the day before. No, everything had been perfect. He doesn’t know how to talk to Danny about yesterday. It isn’t shame that makes him reluctant to confess what happened with Lance. He just doesn’t want to do it on the phone. Maybe he’ll never tell Danny at all. Maybe it will be a secret he keeps to himself. When Lance goes, maybe he’ll want to shelter the memories of that stolen time together, rather than sharing them with someone whose reaction might tarnish something he intends to cherish.
“Is it Lance?”
Trust Danny to be astute, but for some reason, his very valid question fuels Robbie’s bad temper. “What if I say no? If it doesn’t have anything to do with Lance, are you still going to care?”
“What? Rob—”
Rob, Dan, John. They’ve only ever called each other that. Robbie dashes at the tears gathering under his eyes and fights to keep his voice steady. “It’s hard sometimes, out here all alone.” With that enormous, shameful sentiment out of him, he deflates, most of the anger leaving him in the same rush. “I don’t mean I don’t love it. But it can be…hard.” He swallows.
There’s silence on the line again, but this feels different than before.
“I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“I don’t—it’s not always.” He’s kept any thoughts of this kind to himself, always. His brothers have gone, and he never wanted them to feel like they had to stay. But the words come out of him, a tumble he can’t stop, like rocks knocked loose from a cliff face. “I’m just lonely, I guess.”
“Oh.” Danny’s voice is so small, almost a whisper. There’s a flash of static, like he’s cleared his throat but with his phone a little too close to his mouth. Then he breathes, “Me, too, sometimes.”
Robbie stands up straight, pushing himself upright from the countertop. “I didn’t know that.”
A huff comes—one of Danny’s humorless laughs. “I didn’t want you to think I was ungrateful. For all you did, and for what you didn’t get to do because you were taking care of us. But even though all I ever wanted when I was growing up was to get off the ranch…as soon as I got out here, all I wanted was to come home.”
Robbie is floored. He doesn’t know what to say except, “I wish you’d felt like you could tell me.”
“Well, likewise.”
“You know I love you?”
“Yeah. I do. And me, too. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.” Robbie rubs a hand over his faint smile, heart a little fuller, and the strain of the pressure causes him a faint pain. “Yeah. I know that.”
There’s an almost comical irony when he figures it out—that burst of strange adrenaline that makes a body want to laugh even though something’s not exactly funny. How has it taken him this long, he wonders, to realize that it wasn’t only taking care of the boys that made him content here on the ranch? It was caring for them and being cared for in return.
He misses having someone to take care of. But what he misses as much, and maybe yearns to have on a level he hasn’t in the past, is to be taken care of himself.
He considers his father’s advice about solving problems on a long ride, but he thinks it might have less to do with being on the back of a horse and more to do with moving, preferably through trees and grass. Somewhere you can hear water running. He thinks of playing by the creek as a child with only his imagination and the quiet trees for company. He used to wish his parents would have another kid—someone he could play with. Part of the reason he was so glad when Lance first showed up in their lives was because it meant that Danny wasn’t so alone.
That memory leads to thoughts of Lance; not as he is now, but as he was then. It leads to Lance at sixteen, recklessly and bravely asking Robbie for something Robbie didn’t have to give, and then fleeing the farmhouse, disappearing into the dark.
Robbie has never been sure whether he made a mistake by not following Lance that night. It seems like anything he could have done or said would have hurt more than it could have helped. But he’s pretty fucking sure he made a mistake by not following Lance this morning.
Maybe it should be no surprise that his feet are carrying him toward that point in the tree line where he got so accustomed to seeing Lance appear as a slip of a kid with a head of messy curls, clear blue eyes, and a wide, shy smile. Robbie only ever wanted the ranch to be a safe place for Lance, and that hasn’t changed. But the role that Robbie has to play in that safe harbor has.
He thinks it should feel more strange than it does, his shift in feeling. Maybe some people wouldn’t understand, but in his own head and heart, it feels clear. Right.
Robbie has almost reached the shallow part of the creek where he knows the boys liked to cross when he hears the high, lilting voice of a child, and freezes, wondering briefly if he’s stepped back in time. But, no, it’s not one of the three boys whose shouts and cries kept him worried for a decade—and still, to an extent, do; it’s an unfamiliar little girl in a pastel snowsuit.
In the same instant he spies her, she seems to see him, and after a half-second’s stare, she bolts like a rabbit, leaving Robbie on his side of the creek while she flees from hers.
Lance must have been right about someone staying in the house. Robbie pauses at the edge of the ice and looks down. Then, seized by some strange impulse, he steps onto the slippery surface. He holds his balance with a careful reorganization of his weight, keeping one toe skimming a piece of fallen wood that’s half-buried in the ice.
It feels symbolic, standing upon the creek like this. If he looks ahead, he can trace the winding path in his mind that leads all the way to the river.
He’s still thinking of that, of the way tributaries find their way, and all the little drops of water that feed and flow to them, when a familiar voice calls his name like he’s been conjured by the magic of ice and land and sheer force of will.