THREE

I wondered which way I would have gone if Luz hadn’t come looking for me; if I stayed up there, waiting for something.

My father just waited; he always did that. His patience and quiet ways made most people think he was aloof, that he didn’t care about anything. And it frustrated me, too, to watch him expect things to be predictable, and then try to act unsurprised when what he expected never happened. But I knew things about my father I didn’t have to say; all boys know those things about their dads.

After Will left us, my father stopped talking more than a few words every day, and I thought of him as some kind of professor who was quietly measuring the experiment of our lives with emotionless eyes. And I could tell he wanted to say things, too, but he held them in and I tried to be good and strong like his older boy. And I wanted to tell him things, too, but after my mom died, when it was just us left alone, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, even if I kept telling myself I had to.

As Reno and I made our way down through the trees, I listened to the rush of the river.

I remembered Tommy and Gabriel coming to my house, kidnapping me on my sixteenth birthday, and how my father had insisted I go with my friends as my mother lay sleeping in the room where she would die. And I didn’t want to go; I didn’t want to do anything, but my dad told me to go, and Tommy and Gabe practically dragged me out before I could even get my shirt on. That was when we took out the kayak Tommy found and went over the falls. I lost my shoes and nearly drowned; and I remembered them taking me to the Foreman’s house afterwards, the smell of the cake Luz had baked for me there, and me, completely stripped naked out of my freezing clothes, shivering and wrapped in nothing but a hole-pocked towel, as Luz laughed and insisted on taking a picture of me at their surprise party.

And that night, when I came back home, dressed in Tommy’s clothes, my dad didn’t say anything; didn’t ask where we went, or why I was wearing Tom Buller’s things, even though I knew he noticed, was measuring the changes in me, quietly, at his distance.

Once we had come down into the foothills and passed through the break in the old white plank fence surrounding the apple orchard, Reno began moving purposefully, knowing exactly where and when he would stop. The apples weren’t nearly in yet, but some of them were big enough that Reno spent a few minutes at one of the branches, hanging bent with red-green fruit, before turning away and resuming his quickened pace toward the familiarity of his barn.

It was late afternoon now, the long shadows of mountain, hill, and treetops painting over our white barn with its loose-boarded sides, the broad open breezeway turned at an angle against winter winds. Reno’s stall was positioned along a row of others off to one side, the hen house on the other, all of it contained by a big pipe-and-wire fence. Our three goats stood in front of the breezeway, eating at a fresh flake of hay that must have been dropped there by my father. Hens scratched and squatted in the dirt, cooling their feathers after the long hot day.

I stepped down from Reno and opened the pipe gate to his stall. He went in, chuckling, willingly, on his own. I threw his reins over the top rail and removed his saddle and pad, soaked with sweat, and threw them onto the pipe rail, as well. I looked for the little nail in the wall to make sure his brush still hung there as I freed him from that halter.

“Are you hungry, Reno?”

Those were probably the words he recognized most, and he threw his head up and down, nodding and neighing, smelling the alfalfa there.

“I’ll brush you down when I get you some food.”

I latched the gate behind me and then walked down the breezeway to the small hay room where we stored the feed. I could hear Reno stamping at the bottom rail with his front foot, trying to knock it open, as though he were afraid I’d walk off for good and not feed him first.

“Troy? Troy?”

I heard my father calling me from out by Reno’s stall.

He was standing back at the end of the breezeway when I turned out of the hay room, blue-flowered alfalfa sprinkling down from my cradling arm.

“I’m here, Dad.”

He moved through the hallway straight to me and grabbed me by the shoulders. And then he hugged me hard, pressing the flake of hay into my chest. I think he was crying.

He knocked my hat back off of my head and put his fingers in my hair. He kissed my ear and said, “Oh my God, Troy, don’t you know how much I love you, son?”

Do you know who my favorite boy in the whole world is?

I am.

Do you know how much I love you?

Forever and ever.

We used to play that game when I was four. Every day. Every day until maybe I got too old, or maybe he thought I just forgot the answers. But even when I was four, I knew he was afraid, and that he was trying to hold on to me because he couldn’t hold on to the son who was born first.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I love you. I’m sorry.”

Then he held me back and looked at me, all the way down to my dirty tennis shoes.

“She used to always say you were disappearing. Look at you, boy, you look like you’ve lost twenty pounds that you can’t spare.” And he pulled the waist of my 501s out from my side. They opened a gap out about four inches from my body.

“You look like you haven’t been eating regular either, Dad.”

“Why don’t we do something about that, Troy?”

I looked at all the hay scattering down my front, into my pants, pockets, and the sides of my shoes. “I’ll bet Reno’s wanting us to remember he was out there for all that time, too.”

“Do you think you’ve got enough for him?”

“I’m wearing enough for all the Benavidez horses.” I thought about my mouth. Straight. “And I better go easy on him right now, anyway, or he might get sick.”

My dad didn’t know horses.

He put his hand on my right shoulder and we walked like that out to Reno’s stall. I tossed the flake into his feeder and he went right to it. I brushed him down as he ate.

“You’ve got yourself a good one there, son.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“But I’m surprised he stands still for being brushed by a kid who smells as bad as you do.”

I looked at my dad. Straight mouth, too. I never had noticed that before. “I guess I could use a shower and a change before I eat.”

“I won’t stop you.”

The shower steam was fogging up the mirror. I took my shirt off and dropped it on the counter by the sink, small black circles staining the shoulder from the time I landed on my head after falling asleep on Reno. I realized I hadn’t really looked at myself since before she died. I was way too skinny. And I seemed kind of old, too. I wondered what I looked like to Luz.

The mirror fogged up and I looked like my father. I stared, glassy-eyed at a reflection in which I saw him for the first time; this was my father’s face. Then I wiped away the steam droplets and stared straight into the eyes of my mother. I rubbed the itch from my eyes and got into the shower.

We sat down at the kitchen table across from each other, he just looking at me for the longest time. The yellow pad was gone, replaced by a new, unused one. We ate a dinner of eggs and bacon. He had poured me a glass of milk, even though he knew I couldn’t stand milk. I drank it anyway.

“I missed you a lot, son. It made me crazy there for a while. But I knew—hoped, you’d come back.”

“So did I.” And then I asked: “Luz didn’t come by earlier today?”

“Yeah. She did. So I knew you were okay.”

“Thanks for the dinner, Dad. This is about the best-tasting food I’ve ever had in my life.” And he watched me as I took a difficult swallow of milk. I was trying to make him feel good, even if I knew I couldn’t.

“Where’d you go for all that time? What did you do?”

I told him that I went up onto the mountain. I left some parts of it out, for whatever reasons, but I did describe the cabin to him, and the nice pond where I fished for trout nearly every day.

“I’m jealous, Troy. I wish I could do that. Maybe someday we can go up there together and live like that for a while by ourselves.”

“We need to get you on a horse, first.”

And my dad laughed. He mostly felt about horses the way I felt about milk. But I drank it for him, so I figured he could find a way to tolerate a horse, too.

“I read a couple books, too, Dad. But I’ve got some questions about one of ‘em….”

The morning after I came back I called the Benavidez house to see if Gabe was around. Of course, I was hoping Gabe wouldn’t answer the phone, but that would still have been better than talking to Mrs. Benavidez. As I listened to the phone ring, I played through all the things I’d say depending on which person answered.

Luz answered the phone. And even though I wanted that to happen most of all, I realized I didn’t have a clue as to what to say to her.

“Hi. I got back last night.”

“Hi, Troy.”

“I was going to come by and see Gabey this morning if you’re all not busy or something.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No.” And then I felt really stupid. “You could just tell him, if it’s okay.”

“Okay.”

I panicked, thinking she was about to hang up.

“Luz, you’re not in trouble, are you?”

“No. I’ll tell you later.”

“Oh. ‘Cause Luz,” I gulped, “I’ll be leaving in about ten minutes and coming in through your west gate on Reno. Okay?”

“I’ll see you later, Troy.”

So I knew she would be there.

The west gate to the Benavidez ranch was huge, made from three straight redwood poles, the lintel pole ornately carved with the family name. They had been on this land for more than a hundred years and raised the finest cutting horses and thoroughbreds that could be found anywhere. On both sides of the gate, along the outside of the fence rail, sat benches made from wagon wheels. Luz was sitting there when I rode up.

She was dressed in her usual manner: tight jeans and gray Justin boots (she and Tommy Buller always wore Justins), a loose and untucked shirt unbuttoned at the top, hair down, and hatless.

“You clean up pretty nice, Troy Stotts.”

I got down from Reno. “Once or twice a year,” I said, and as I sat down beside Luz I pulled my hat down straight over my eyebrows, low, the way I liked it.

“Is your dad okay?”

“Yeah, he was pretty happy to see me come home. And I feel a lot better about things now, too. I really want to thank you, Luz, for coming up there to look for me,” I said, and I held her hand, “and for being such a good friend, too. I hope you didn’t get in too much trouble with your mom.”

“She hasn’t even said anything about it yet. After you called, she told me to ask you to come for dinner tonight.”

“Dinner? By myself?”

“No, Troy, the rest of us plan on eating, too. I’ll tell her yes. And Gabey’s real excited about seeing you, too. I had to sneak out just now so he wouldn’t follow me down here. But will you please take that hat off?”

Luz took my hat and set it down on the bench beside me. My dirty-straw…colored hair fell down across my eyes and she combed it back with her left hand. “I like your hair long like this, Troy. Don’t cut it all off again.”

I couldn’t stand it anymore so I kissed her on the cheek, and then she turned and I kissed her mouth; and I know my mouth wasn’t so straight after that. I exhaled, relieved that I had finally made a crossing to the girl.

“Yeah. I can come back for dinner.”

“We’ll send someone to pick you up at five, so you don’t ride that poor horse to death,” she said, and looked right at me, smiling, “and so you don’t smell like horse sweat at the dinner table.”

“Troy Stotts! Troy!” It was Gabriel, running down the road from the house toward us. Gabe was like a brother to me, and I wanted to see him, but my heart kind of sank with the thought that he had seen me kissing his sister.

“Oh God. I’m sorry, Luz.”

“Don’t worry about Gabey. I’ll handle him.”

I waited and waited. It was 5:15, and no one had shown up in our drive yet. I was sweating in my collared shirt, standing there by the door. I wasn’t going to wear my hat, either. My hair was kind of hanging down over my left eye.

“Think it’s about time for a haircut?”

“No.”

“You look like you’re going on a date or something, son.” My dad was sitting in the living room under the big front window, legs crossed, reading. We and the Bullers were the only people I had ever known who didn’t have TV sets. Over the years, I had gotten used to it, but I still liked watching it on rainy days over at Gabe’s.

I sighed. “Oh.”

“Well? Are you?”

I sat down next to my dad.

“Kind of.”

“I like her, too, Troy.”

I sighed again.

“I just wish I could get moving ‘cause I kind of feel sick inside.”

“Relax. I could take you down there—”

“No.”

Finally I heard the clanking of the F-150, kicking up dust and rattling down the drive. I turned and looked past my father and saw Tommy Buller driving up. I knew my dad was about to say something again about how he didn’t really like me riding with Tom, even though the Benavidezes sent him out plenty of times, so I hurried for the door.

“I’ll be back,” I said, wanting to let him know I’d come home this time.

And as I opened the door and moved out into the dusty front yard, my dad called out after me, “Troy! Have fun!”

I opened the rusty door and looked across the cracking bench seat at Tom Buller, who smiled wide enough so I could just see a bit of the tobacco in his lip. He held out his right hand to grab mine and half pull me up into the cab of the truck. Even though he was seventeen, we were in the same grade, but Tom Buller always liked to keep his own schedule when it came to things like school.

“Welcome back, Stottsy. We were all afraid you and that horse had left us for good.” And he smiled as he jammed the grinding column shift down into drive.

“You look a little prettied up for having dinner with Gabe and his family,” Tom said, obviously digging for something.

I didn’t say anything as he U-turned the truck around in front of the house. I rolled the window down and looked out like I didn’t even hear what Tom had just said to me. I could see my dad watching us through the window as we pulled away.

Tom got this wicked coyotelike look on his face, the look he got whenever he was trying to do something funny-mean, like when he got me to take the kayak over the falls.

“Hey, Stotts, want some beer?” And he grabbed an open beer can wedged upright against the dash in the open, dirty ashtray. I knew he was joking, that this was his spit can.

“Oh man, I could sure use a cold beer right now,” I said, and I took the can from his hand and put it right up to my lips and tipped it, but just a little, and pretended to swallow.

“Thanks, Tommy. That was just what I needed.”

Tom burst out laughing.

“Oh man, Stotts, you’re crazy. You scare me.”

But I held the can out, offering. “You want some, too?”

Tom crawled the truck slowly down my drive and then hit the gas hard when we were out of sight of my house, spinning the back tires and causing a slight fishtail as we headed around the lake and south toward the Benavidez ranch.

“You staying for dinner?” I asked.

“Naw.” Tommy spit smoothly. “I already ate.”

Of course I knew the Bullers wouldn’t be eating dinner at their boss’ table, but I asked it anyway. Arturo Benavidez made a fortune raising and selling his horses all over the country, and he respected the Bullers enough to let them live in his Foreman’s house, but they were just workers to him, and he never crossed that line of socialization. So I felt a little stupid and embarrassed that a friend I admired as much as Tommy Buller might think he was a little less privileged than I.

“Well, where you been, Stotts?”

“I don’t know, Tom. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Okay.”

Luz Benavidez wore a dress at dinner, so I was happy I got myself what I’d considered dressed up by putting on a shirt. It was a red dress, tied behind her neck so you could see her shoulders and upper back, tight at her waist, and falling just below her knees. Her hair was tied back, too, which made her shoulders and back even more noticeable. She was about the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. The Benavidez house smelled so good, and I was so hungry, but how could I eat at the table with Luz Benavidez looking like that and not miss my mouth, fumbling with a fork and knife?

Her father and Carl Buller had flown back from Wyoming that afternoon, and when he saw me come in Mr. Benavidez, smelling like soap and cigars, shook my hand hard enough to break bones. And that house seemed so big and vacant to me; it echoed like a cave as I nervously found my seat at their table. So it was just Luz, Gabe, their parents, and me.

Fernanda Benavidez did all the cooking for her family, every day. She didn’t need to, though; they employed dozens of people at the ranch, all told. She was from Italy, and had a thick accent and a deep, loud, carrying voice that was kind of intimidating because she always sounded mad, even though she rarely was.

It was one thing to have my dad cook bacon and eggs for me, but eating at the Benavidez house was like a feast at the finest restaurant. It was too quiet, though, and I had to force myself to keep my eyes down as I nervously worked on a plate sized steak.

“It’s good to have you here, Troy,” Mr. Benavidez said. “How is your father?”

“He’s good, thank you. We’re doing a lot better.”

“You need to eat more, Troy. Look at you.” Mrs. Benavidez scowled. Did all moms say things like that? I don’t know, but I do know everyone picked up on the fact that it made me a little sad to hear anyone’s mother saying so; it made it hard to keep eating. So I took a drink of water. Gabe cleared his throat. But his mom was staring right at me, looking mad. I couldn’t ever figure her out. Luz could talk about my straight-mouthing all she wanted, but Fernanda Benavidez had a mouth that always turned down at the edges, even when she smiled.

“He’s a fast runner,” Gabe protested. “Runners don’t eat a lot. Give him a break, Mom.”

Mr. Benavidez glanced disapprovingly at his son. It made me feel even more uncomfortable. Gabriel never seemed to measure up to his father’s expectations.

“This is an excellent dinner, Mrs. Benavidez.” And I cleared my throat and drank again. “Thank you.”

I wanted Luz to say something. I caught her looking my way from across the table, but she just looked down at her food. Something was wrong; I could tell.

“You’re going into the eleventh grade now, Troy?” Mr. Benavidez asked, but I know he knew the answer because I was in every grade with Luz since kindergarten.

“Yes. And my dad’s getting me some AP tests this fall.”

“Is your father going to come back to teaching?”

My father had taken the last half of the school year off from teaching high school.

“He’s planning on it.”

“The board will be happy to hear that.”

The board of the school consisted of Mr. Benavidez; the sheriff, Clayton Rutledge; and one other parent.

“School’s a long time off,” Gabriel said. “Let’s talk about something happy.”

“Did you get any horses up in Wyoming, Mr. Benavidez?” I asked.

That energized him. “Oh! I’ve never seen such ugly horses. And for so much money. What a waste of time! Even Carl said he’d rather be caught riding a burro.”

I couldn’t eat everything they gave me, and I was a little embarrassed. When we were finished with dinner, Mr. Benavidez sent Luz in with her mother to make coffee and told Gabriel to go get him a brandy. Then he told me, “Let’s go out on the terrace, Troy.”

I’d have just as soon taken a bath in honey and gone out on that terrace alone with a bear, but there was nothing I could do.

I felt pretty sick as he opened the glass-and-wood doors leading off the dining room. “Come on, it’s nice outside.” And he smiled at me.

The terrace was a planked wooden deck, finely furnished, above the ground floor of the house. It was wide and long, with an intricately carved rail around its edge. Potted jasmine grew at perfectly spaced intervals along it. I walked to the railing and took in the broad view of the huge Benavidez holdings, which stretched into the distance, farther than I could see in the moonlight. Art Benavidez followed behind me.

“Do you think one day you’ll be a teacher, also?”

“Only if I can’t do what I really want.”

“And what’s that?”

“Well,” I said, and swallowed, “I’d like to write books. And I’d like to own this ranch.”

He laughed. “You’d have to change your name.”

“Or carve some pretty big redwoods to make some new gates.” His smile was a relief, but it was short-lived.

Gabriel opened the door and came out, carrying a fishbowl-sized glass with about two inches of amber-colored liquid in it.

“Gabriel,” Benavidez said, “will you please excuse us for a few minutes. Troy and I are talking about something important. Go help your mother and sister.”

If I were wearing a necktie, I would have hung myself off that balcony right then and there. So I guess there are times when dressing up pays off. Gabriel looked disappointed and slammed the glass door as he left.

“Your father and I have known each other since we were boys,” Benavidez said. “And except for those years when he was away at college, your family, like mine, has been here on the shores of this lake for a very long time.

“Your father’s father was a farmer. You probably don’t remember him, but he was a good man. He would have been proud to see you, Troy; I know this. We had the ranch on this side of the water, your family farmed on the other. But we were always great friends, despite our differences.” He took a drink. “Do you know the difference between farmers and ranchers?”

Of course I had to stop myself from saying something smart-alecky, like I usually do when I’m nervous or terrified. And so Mr. Benavidez took a drink and went on:

“At the end of the day, at the end of each year, a farmer always totals up what he has lost. But a rancher always counts what he has. This is how I think and how your father thinks, too. It was how we were raised, and even though we think differently, we are still great friends.” He drank again. “So how do you count things?”

I thought I knew the answer, but said, “I don’t know.”

And I never thought coffee could take so long to brew.

“I will talk to your father. I would like you to start working here, beginning Monday morning, at six o’clock. You’re old enough. I will pay you three hundred per week, like I pay Tom Buller.”

I was shocked. Nothing could be better than working on that ranch with all those incredible horses. Nothing.

“I’ll be here.”

Benavidez drank again. He moved closer to me, leaning on the railing, looking straight at me.

“I talked to Luz this afternoon. Her mother was very upset about her not coming home the other night. Very upset. I could tell you that I will not allow you two to ever see each other again, but I don’t think that would be very smart. Luz is growing up, she would find another boy—who?

“My daughter has never lied to me. I am happy for your father that she found you there and brought you back home. Things could have been very different otherwise. But I am telling you, Troy, that what happened the other night must never happen again or I will send her away and you will not see each other. Ever.”

And I looked him right in the eyes then, and I was serious when I said, “I’m sorry. We …” and I stopped myself from saying what I knew he already heard from Luz.

“I like you, Troy,” he said. “Very much. That’s why we’re having this talk right now. That’s why I’m offering you a job. But I am keeping an eye on you now. And my daughter. And I need you to respect that; and to respect Luz as well.”

He turned back to the house and waved at the door. They were all three looking at us through the glass. “Look, here they are with the coffee.”

I must have looked like a ghost.

I was so scared of that man I felt like throwing up. If it weren’t for the railing, my knees would have probably given out. I don’t know if I said three words for the rest of the night, but when the coffee was finished, Benavidez told Gabriel to call Tommy to take me home.

“Can Gabe and I ride along?” Luz said.

I wanted to tell her no, but Mrs. Benavidez said, “You both can go with Troy. That would be nice.” She looked real mad, too, like she always did, even if she wasn’t.

I felt Benavidez’ eyes on me.

“Stop the truck now, Tom,” I said once we had gotten out of sight of the house and through the west gate.

Luz and Gabe were sitting in the bed.

“What?”

“Stop the truck. I’m gonna walk home. I want to.”

Tom stopped the truck right in the middle of the dirt and gravel road.

“You’re not walking home, Stotts,” he said grimly.

I opened the door and got out. Tom got out of the driver’s door, saying “What’re you doing?”

“Why’re we stopping?” Gabe asked, sitting with his back to the cab, arm slung over the side.

I started walking down the road, disappearing out of the sideways cones of headlight into the darkness.

“Troy!” Luz called out. “Tommy! You’re not going to let him walk home by himself!”

I heard the truck start up, the grinding sound of its tires rolling slowly up behind me, could see the lights brightening my path, stretching a long black distortion of me out ahead, then shining white-hot on my back.

“Come on! Get in, Stotts. What’s wrong with you?”

I stopped walking and went back toward the truck. I stopped at the side of the bed. “Get up front, Gabey. I need to talk to your sister.”

“Let’s all just ride back here,” Gabe said.

“How nice,” Tom said, sarcastically.

“Gabe. Please?”

“Oh.”

Gabe got in the cab and I jumped up next to Luz. I sat down right next to her.

“We can go now,” I said, and patted the back window twice.

Tommy pulled the truck forward into the night. Luz and I sat there, talking about her father, talking about our arrangement, and holding hands.

“He’s just trying to scare you and at the same time let you know that he likes you,” she said. “It could be a lot worse. And he’s giving you a job, too.”

“To keep an eye on me.”

“He has a lot of faith in you, Troy. You’re like a part of our family.”

I wanted to kiss her so bad just then, too. And that made me feel madder, so I just looked at my feet.

It was about 10 when we got back to my house. I could see my dad inside, through that big window, moving from the kitchen into the living room. Tommy turned the truck off and I let go of Luz’s hand.

“Hey, Troy,” Gabe said, getting out of the truck, “I want to take Tommy back there to Reno’s stall so he can take a look at that chip in his hoof.”

“Thanks, Gabey.”

Tom Buller was a pretty decent farrier. Gabriel Benavidez was a real slick liar. And even though he was playing a game with me about wanting to sit back there with us, he must have known that I was going to kiss his sister again before I’d go home.

They all three sat up in the cab after Tommy’s ranting about Reno’s hooves being all square and fine when he and Gabe got back from the barn. They drove off down our dusty drive and I let myself into the house.

After that night, Luz and I talked on the phone every day. Tommy and Gabriel teased me that I was always checking in with her, that I had to get her permission to spend time with my friends; but I took their teasing, because I knew they were wrong, that there was something much bigger pulling Luz and me together, and neither one of us could do anything about it, even if we’d wanted to.

“How’d it go?”

My dad was sitting on the couch, arms out along the back-rest, stretched to both sides. He was wearing a white T-shirt and had his reading glasses on.

“Really good,” I said. “They asked about you. We had steaks. And Mr. Benavidez wants me to go to work for him starting Monday, if that’s okay with you.”

I always called Luz’s father “mister.” And ever since he was a kid, my dad called him Arturo, even though most people around Three Points whitewashed the name to Art.

“Wow. Really? That’d be great,” he said. “He’ll work you hard, though. I don’t think you even weigh as much as a bale of hay.”

“I can lift ‘em. It’ll be okay. Good night, Dad.”

And he just quietly watched as I disappeared into my room.