When the Heart Falls(4)

I stop yelling, grief swelling up inside of me and breaking my words in half. “I’m proud of you.”

As the pain chokes me, my father’s face tightens in fury. “Cade, you will apologize right now and—“

Without an appetite, I stand and walk out of the house, silent and tired of fighting the same losing battle over and over.



The sun is setting, my favorite time of the day despite the melancholy it fills me with, or maybe because of it. I haven’t been back into the house, and my dad hasn’t come out to look for me, not that I expected him to. After fixing a shoe on Biscuit and brushing her down, I feed her apples from my hand and smile as her soft horse lips push against my skin. Rubbing her neck, I lean my head against hers. “Why can’t he just listen, for once? Why can’t he at least try to see things from my perspective?”

“Hey!”

I turn and find Leslie strolling up to the barn, her shorts so short that the inside pockets poke out from underneath. She pulls herself up the gate and swings her legs while sucking on a lollipop. “Rich boy still has to do the grunt work?”

Biscuit finishes the last apple, and I wipe my hand on my jeans and let her out to wander the field. “I prefer to take care of my horse myself. Most cowboys do. Plus, Dad likes to keep the business with family.”

She licks lasciviously at her candy. “What do you like?”

I join Leslie by the gate, tempted to speak but unsure of how much truth I want to reveal to a girl I hardly know. “I like architecture.”

“So, you like buildings?”

“Yeah. Buildings. Sounds lame, right?”

She shakes her head, flipping her long braid over her tan and exposed shoulder. “No. Not really. Remember, you’re talking to the girl who wants to be a Disney Princess.”

A smile creeps over my face as we watch the sun set together.

I feel her eyes turn toward me, lollipop forgotten. “You don't belong here, you know.”

I look at her and wonder if she sees more of me than my parents do. “What do you mean?”

Her slim arm flings forward in a wide, sweeping gesture. “You're always looking out at the horizon, dreaming of some far off place. Where you dreaming of?”

“The Eiffel Tower. The Pyramids. The Pantheon. I don't know. Someplace where a man dared to build something his father couldn’t even imagine.”

Leslie nods as if it all makes perfect sense. “That's where you belong.”

“Paris?”

“The future,” she says, offering me her lollipop. “The future’s built by dreamers like you.”



The world is still covered in the shadows of night when I wake and get ready for my trip. Even the rooster is still deep in slumber.

My bags have been packed for weeks, but I hadn't made the decision to actually leave until my talk with Leslie. Funny how someone can cross into your life, like a human intersection, and make such profound observations about you.

I shuffle around in the dark, stacking my luggage by the front door as I wait for the airport shuttle to arrive. I sneak into Stevie's bedroom and kiss his smooth forehead. “I’m going to miss you, little bro. Take care of Mom for me.” As an afterthought I add, “And Dad.”

Speak of the devil, Dad’s standing outside Stevie’s bedroom when I walk out. I stand as tall as him, our 6’5” frames nearly identical in height, muscle and build. Everyone has always told me that I’m a younger version of my father, and I wonder if I’ll be as hard and uncompromising as him when I get older. I hope not. “I’ve decided to go.”

He nods. “Okay. A summer in Paris. I can live with that.”

I think about the college acceptance letter in my suitcase. “It might be more than a summer, Dad.”

“More than a summer?” All kindness in his face vanishes. “Who’s going to help with the ranch for more than a summer? Who's going to take care of your brother for more than a summer?”

My stomach tightens. “He’s—“

Dad raises a fist. “He’s what? What is he?” He steps closer to me, face inches from mine.

I force the words out of my mouth. “He’s not my responsibility.”

Dad stumbles back, as if in shock. “He’s not your responsibility? He’s not your responsibility? We’re family. We’re supposed to help each other.”

“Then help me.” The words come out before I can stop them and the moment I speak, I wish I could take them back.

Dad moves aside, leaving enough space in the hall for me to walk by. “You know, I just realized, you’re not my responsibility, either. So, just go. Go. You want to go. Go. You’re an adult, as you’re so apt to point out. You make your own decisions. So go.”

Acid fills my gut. I don't know when I'll see him or Mom again and I don't want to leave things like this. “Dad, I—“

His fist slams against the cherry wood hall console table. “Get out of my house!”

I shove past him and rush down the stairs with a brief nod to my mother who stands by their bedroom door in her robe, eyes spilling over with tears.

“You are not my responsibility,” my dad reiterates as the front door closes behind me.

The shuttle arrives and a short man with a Hitler mustache loads my luggage into the van as my parents open the door to stand on the front porch with me.