When the Heart Falls(94)

"My dad's the millionaire. I don't get my inheritance for another five years."

She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean. You can have anything." With a slender finger, she twirls a piece of my hair. "And anyone."

My lips curl up in a smirk. It figures that everyone thinks my life is perfect, why wouldn't they? They only see the whitewashed facade that is my life, not the stench of death that lives in my home, corrupting everything and everyone. "Hypothetically, if you had what I have, the money, the car, the great family with the family business.... Everything. Would you give it all up for something you really wanted to do?"

She frowns, her full lips turning down into a pout. "Would I lose all the money?"

"In this hypothetical situation, yes."

"Depends. What do I want to do?”

My mind spins, landing on the center of my childhood fantasies. "Something you've dreamed about doing your whole life."

"Like being a Disney Princess?"

I shrug. "Sure."

"But that's impossible."

My eyes wander back to her, leaving the stars in the sky to their own dreams. "But if it wasn't? If you could really be a Disney Princess?"

"If it wasn't, then… " She thinks about it and smiles. "I'd be a Princess."

"You wouldn't miss all that money? How about your family?"

"Oh, I'd miss them all right, but I'd be happy. Truly happy." She flops onto her back, staring up at the sky, perhaps dreaming of being a princess. "How many people can say that?"

I nod, smiling. "Not many."

"Not many." She takes a sip of the wine cooler by her side. "Besides, as a Princess I'd better have some f*cking money."

I chuckle and lay back down, staring back up at the stars.

One star breaks off from the others, shooting across the sky, a bright light trailing behind it, and I finally understand why people wish on dying stars.

Because something always has to die for life to give birth to a new dream.





Like sweet tea, watermelon and hayrides, Sunday morning church is a staple in Texas. Sitting in our family pew, eyes glazed over as I stare at the Bible and hymnal stuck into the back of the pew in front of me, Pastor Mackay finishes his sermon on the importance of family.

The closing prayer seems to drone on for hours, as the pastor stretches his final moments to reach us with his words. When he finally closes with an "Amen," we stand and sing a hymn and then file out of our pews to greet each other, talk about the week, the weather, the kids, the next social event—business as usual.

Pastor Mackay clasps my hands as we leave. "Best of luck to you, Cade. We're all mighty proud of you."

I nod and duck out, resigned to wait in the dry heat for my parents to finish socializing. It's a long-standing tradition that we drive to church together each week. My mom thinks this will bind us to each other in some spiritual way, allowing us to overcome our differences. So far it hasn't worked.

While I wait, I study the architecture of the church. The Gothic-styled windows never get old, neither do the bright paintings that cover almost every surface. They transport me back to the 19th century, and I imagine a simple life of tending cattle, of coming home to a warm meal and loving family.

The building is the only reason I still agree to attend church with my family each week. That and we have enough strife amongst us; I'm loath to add more.

On the drive home my dad breaks the awkward silence by talking about the sermon. "Family gives strength," he says, quoting the pastor. "I like that. I really like that." He turns to Mom. "What do you think, dear?"

She pats his hand. "I thought it was good. Families should support each other."

"Right, but they have to be together to do that," he says. "That's the other part I liked. Families must stay together, must hold each other close. That's an important part. I don't think a lot of people think about that."

My mom pulls back her hand, fussing with her purse. "I think it was more metaphorical, dear."

"What was metaphorical about that?" He slaps the steering wheel. "Family gives strength. Family has to stay together. Nothing metaphorical about that."

Mom just shakes her head.

I shift in the backseat, stretching my long legs to the side to keep them from cramping, my Stetson boots pressing up against the other door. "If family gives one strength, shouldn't family help each other achieve one's goals?"

Dad nods. "Absolutely. Family goals."

I clench and unclench my fist. "I don't remember the pastor saying that."

"Strength means working together on things, achieving things together. That's how we stay happy."

My lips curl up. "Guess it was metaphorical after all."

Dad grunts. "The Bible says children should obey their parents. God knew what he was doing, putting parents at the head of the family. Putting fathers at the head of the family."

"The Bible also says fathers shouldn't provoke their children to anger. You might want to work on that one."

His face turns red as he clenches his jaw. "You might want to learn some respect."

Dad pulls up to our house, and I'm ready to jump out the moment he puts the brakes on. "This is all well and good," I say, "and we could do this all day. But there's one thing you're forgetting, Dad."