Shaye had her hand cupped around her mouth and she was shouting. “Callie! Cal!” She had her cute little sundress on, the one decorated with cheerful fruits, oranges and strawberries and watermelon slices. “What are you doing? I was looking everywhere for you.”

She dragged another old lounge chair out of the pool house and set it next to mine. What was I doing? Looking out over the abandoned hole, picturing it sparkling with water. Imagining women in formfitting maillots and high-waisted two-piece bathing suits, chatting and reading magazines. Seeing Shaye and me, diving for pennies as our mother sunned nearby, the fragrance of Sea & Ski in the air.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m just surprised to find myself here.”

“Here, like the ranch here?”

“No, like here here. All of it. I don’t know—” My voice caught.

“Oh, Cal.” She came over to my chair and sat beside me.

“We’re going to break this thing,” I said. I wasn’t sure how to convey what I was feeling or even if I wanted to.

“We’re not going to break it.” She put her arm around my shoulders. “You’ve been so sad, Cal, haven’t you? Even before this, before coming here. The months before Amy’s graduation? I could hear it on the phone.”

“Sad?”

“Sad. Really sad.”

Sad—I hadn’t even called it that myself, but the word took me down like an arrow. My God, the truth slammed into my chest, and I folded my arms across it. The defense seemed necessary. There was a terrible avalanche in there, threatening to spill.

“Why wouldn’t you be? I mean, think about it. The girls leaving home. Your job. Thomas’s mother dying—”

“No. You know how I felt about her.”

“Still, Cal. Still. Come on. That’s a huge piece of your life that’s over. And then Hugo.”

Damn it. Damn her! At the sound of Hugo’s name, I saw him, that big, innocent boy who was my friend, my sweet protector, so sick and then gone. The weight in my chest, it felt more than I could bear. My throat shut tight. “Silly,” I whispered.

“Silly? Are you kidding? It’s loss, Cal. It’s grief. You keep talking about Thomas losing his mother, but, Cal—”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to hear this.” I could barely speak.

“You’re grieving. You’re grieving a lot of things.”

Damn her, damn her, damn her, and damn the truth, and damn everything else that needed damning, everything. The heaviness in my chest was growing greater, pressing so hard that I started to cry, and I hate to cry. My sorry heart was breaking. It was breaking because shoulder pads were gone and so were bad perms, and the little pink potty chair the girls used, and so, too, was the car filled with soccer cleats and rainy, muddy clothes and snacks in foil packages. All of that was finished now, and so was the way Hugo turned in circles before lying down. I didn’t know where the time had gone, and Shaye was right, and I heaved with grief, crying like an idiot for elementary school Valentine’s Day parties and Hugo crunching his breakfast and swimming lessons, that moment—that delicious and perfect moment—of wrapping two small shivering bodies in their towels before heading home. Grief, yes, for the times Thomas and I would be in the front seat of the car with sleeping children in the back, for the quiet satisfaction of that life. The snug capsule of a family, speeding through darkness as rain fell, the windshield wipers going back and forth—how could one ever get over the loss of it.

“Oh, God. God.” I sobbed like a fool, then gathered some last remaining bits of control. I wiped my eyes with the palm of my hand. My nose was running. I was a big damn brokenhearted mess.

Shaye put her other arm around me now, too. I was held in the circle she’d made for me. “Don’t get mad.”

“I’m already mad,” I sniffed.

“Don’t get more mad.”

“What?”

“There’s something else.”

“If it starts with don’t get mad, I’m not going to want to hear this, right?”

“You know how you also keep talking about Thomas going through a midlife crisis? Cal, I think you are having one.”

“Oh, no.”

“It’s totally understandable, you know? That’s what happ—”

“Tell me it’s not true.”

“I think it’s true. I mean, the way you bolted down here in the first place…your camera, the forest-service guy—”

“You encouraged me!”

“I know I did, but Cal, I just think…”

I put my head in my hands. Shit. “You’re right,” I said, but my voice was muffled in my fingers.

“What did you say?”

“I said, You’re right. You’re right, okay?”

“I’m right? Can I record that on video or something?”

“I can’t believe it.” I was struck. I didn’t know what to say. I felt so stupid. How could I have missed this? It was all more complicated and much more simple than I ever thought. “It’s been me.”

“Well, I’m no Dr. Love, but I’d say it’s been both of you. Clearly, you’ve both been hit.”

She held my hands. I was so grateful for this woman, my sister.

We sat in the quiet, while I took in the truth. Birds rattled the branches of a tree, had a conversation about something, maybe us. A lizard darted past as if embarrassed to be caught naked. Nature went on, ignoring our human crises. I felt exhausted, as if my center had been dug out with a spoon. But something new sat there, in that empty, excavated space—the small, slight glimmer of relief.

“Look who’s back,” Shaye said. I thought she meant me at first, but then she hooked her thumb in the direction of the pasture, just beyond the old riding ring.

“That old lug,” I said. It was Rob, with his huge lumberjack shoulders and big dejected head.

“Have you ever noticed he has a beard?”

“It’s a 7-Eleven-guy beard.”

“You know what? I’m actually going to miss him when I go home.”

I really looked at her, for the first time that morning. I turned my teary red eyes right on her. “You’re going home. You decided.”

“I paid that lawyer for his hour and got the hell out of there. Sometimes you need to do something to know you don’t want to do something, right? I’m not ready to give up. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I mean, a stepfamily, God. Two people get married, it’s hard enough, let alone when six people do.”

“I’m glad, Shaye,” I said. “I am. I like Eric. He’s nothing like Mathew was, or Quentin. Nothing like. You needed to leave them, you really did. But in spite of his decisions right now…”

“In spite of his decisions right now, I made a good choice this time. I did. Before, I chose the lightning, hoping it’d save me from the thunder, you know? Does that sound like a country-western song?”

“Bring me your moody, your dark, your psycho masses…”

“Right. Hey, I know my mother when I see him.”

I smiled. “But Eric’s a good guy.”

“He is. That’s what gives me hope. That’s the thing. Thomas, too. We’re lucky.”

“We are.” She squeezed my hands.

“Cal, we’ve got to get out of here before our six weeks are up.”

“I love you, Shamu,” I said.

“Oh, sweetie. I love you, too.”

“You know what we should do tonight? We should raise a glass and toast this damn place and everything that’s happened here,” I said.

“Better believe it. Moo!” Shaye yelled in Rob’s direction.

“Careful. You might get him riled up.”

“Does he look like he’s capable of getting riled up?”

“That’s not what you said when you were screaming your head off the other night.”

“Oh, and you were the picture of bravery? Well, he’s more scared of us than we are of him.”

“Remember? Mom used to say that about the boys in junior high.”

“Mooo!” Shaye yelled again. She did a pretty good cow.

Rob lifted his shaggy head and stared us down. When he took a few bored steps in our direction, Shaye squealed and grabbed my arm, and we jumped up, knocking the lounge chair sideways. We ran into the house as if he was after us, just for the thrill of it.

—

I knew there’d be no gather that day. Kit had told me they’d be on site, sorting horses by sex and age and temperament, deciding which animals got to stay on the rangelands and which would go on to the corral facility just outside Carson City. I was surprised how many different trucks were there. Many large, long trailers were parked in a row near the temporary pens. The first round of mustangs would be going on to their new lives.

“Cowboy, you got a visitor!” Lorraine yelled when she saw me.

“Looks like it’s lunchtime, gang,” Kit said. He hopped over a gate and came my way. His sky-blue T-shirt was half untucked from his jeans, and damn that man if he didn’t nearly saunter.

Steve gave a catcall, whistling with two fingers. “Enough of that, fellas!” Kit called over his shoulder.

“Sorting looks like a horse audition. Him over here, her over there, yes, no…” I said.

“Can you tell? And all of those guys needing medical care.” He gestured toward a small caravan already heading out.

I followed Kit around to the far side of the long line of trailers. A woman closed up the back doors of the last one, shaking the latch to make sure it was secure. I could hear the horses in there. One thrashed against the side, flinging his large body, making his outrage known.

Kit took my hands. “You came to say goodbye.”

I couldn’t answer that. My heart was in my throat. “He wants out.” I nodded toward the truck.

“He only knows that he doesn’t want to be where he is now. It’ll all look different tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Kit…”

“Come here.” He pulled me close. “You don’t have to say anything. I know. I understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what? If you’re sorry, I should be, too. I’m not in any place to…There’s no need for apologies, none at all.”

He held me for a long time. I took in his smell and the feel of him. I took it way in, as if it were a whole lifetime. My heart felt crushed. I could cry again. I would miss this man. Still. I may have drifted like a seed to my life, but even seeds settled where they might best thrive.

Finally, we stepped apart. “I’m going to miss you,” he said.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“You’ve done more for me than you know,” he said. “Thank you. Truly.”

“No, thank you. So much.”

“In here.” He tapped his temple.

“Always.”

The driver of that trailer had gotten in. She honked the horn long and loud to warn of her departure. One arm appeared out the window and she waved, and then the trailer lurched forward, with all its wild and complicated cargo.

—

When I got back to the ranch, only Shaye’s big SUV and Nash’s new Ford Fusion Hybrid were out front. So I was startled to see a third person on the porch, someone with Nash and Shaye. His hands were up over his head, and with those strong shoulders of his, he was lifting the last corner of that swing onto the shiny bolt now screwed into the recently reinforced beam. Shaye held up the other end, and Nash’s arms were crossed, her bossy pose. Tex lay with his chin on his paws, watching, but when he heard my car, he scurried to all fours and sprinted to the driveway, barking his head off. I hadn’t had a greeting like that in a long time.

Or a greeting like the next one.

He ran to the car, and when I got out, he took me into his arms. He held me hard. “God, Cal. You are a sight for sore eyes. I have been such an idiot.”

“Thomas,” I said.

“What have we been doing?”

“This is a surprise,” I said.

“You haven’t been answering your phone, so I called here….I left a message.”

“On the ranch machine? I think it’s broken.” Shaye and Nash still stood on the porch, those snoops, pretending to be busy but clearly trying to listen in. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, Thomas.”

“We do.”

“I’ve got twenty-two years’ worth of things to say to you.”

“We’ve got time, Cal.”

“I am so angry with you.”

“I know. We’ve both been angry. We’ve both been—”

“Lonely. I’ve felt so lonely.”

“We’re going to talk, Cal. As long as we need to. We’ll talk our heads off.”

“Thomas, jeez. We’ve got some stuff to fix. And our house…” I said. I didn’t know where to start.

“It’s too damn big for us.”

“We have so much—”

“Stuff,” he said. “I feel burdened by it.”

“You do? I do, too.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know why suddenly, but I do.” I felt choked up. I always worried that if I cried, I’d never stop, and now look. It was true. I was feeling too much. It seemed like I had been away on a long, long trip, and was once again packing for another.

“We can have a big huge bonfire on the lawn and really give Mrs. Radish something to gawk at.”

I laughed. Stupid Mrs. Radish. Thomas hugged me again.

“I miss our girls so much,” I said into his shoulder. My voice wobbled, near tears. “I don’t even know what to do with myself I miss them so bad.”

“Oh, man. I know. How could they just leave us? God damn them.”

I laughed. So did he. But much passed between Thomas and me when we separated and looked at each other then. Tiny, wrinkled fingers and reading aloud and school plays with costumes made from T-shirts and glitter. Oh, we were pitiful, the way we loved our kids.

“This place. God, Cal, it’s really changed.”

“It’s a mess. All I could see at first was the mess. And everything that needed to be repaired.” At least the swing was up now. Thomas and I, we were so very much alike.

“It’s still beautiful, though. I mean, look.”

I did. I looked at the riding ring and the dirt-filled pool and the acres of dry yellow and orange land stretching out to yellow and orange hills, all still stunning. In spite of the fallen fences and the places where the mustangs stormed the grasses and the plain old passage of time, it took your breath away. It stood fast, against every storm and drought. I was glad he could see what I did.

“I think there’s a rifle in the pool,” Thomas said.

“There is.”

“I was so worried,” Thomas said. “I took the train down! It was fantastic, Cal. We should take the train! But when I got here, there was no one at the station, and I figured you didn’t want to see me, and then they misplaced my bag, and I thought, shit, what else could go wrong.”

Nash and Shaye had finally found their good manners. Nash called from the porch. “If you two will excuse us…”

“We’re going to go start dinner!” Shaye yelled cheerfully.

They disappeared inside, but Tex just sat his little butt down to watch what might happen next.

Well, here’s what happened next. I looked at Thomas, and I saw home.

“It is so good to see you, Mack,” I said.