When the Heart Falls(95)

He turns to look at me, his face hard and uncompromising. "What's that?"

"I'm not a child anymore. I'm a man. And a man should leave his parents and start his own life."

His eyes narrow, lines forming around them. "A man puts his family first. And as long as you live in my house, and rely on my money to support you, you will follow my rules."

"In five years, I'll have my inheritance from Grandpa, whether you like it or not."

"And what are you going to do for those five years?"

I sigh, pulling my hat lower to cover my scowl. "Does it matter? Is it worth it to you, Dad? Breaking our relationship?"

He unbuckles. "We're family. Our relationships don't get broken."

"Really? Let's count the successful relationships you've had with your children." I hold up two fists. "Look at that, 0 for 3, Dad, 0 for 3." I pull myself out of the car and slam the door before he can reply. Anger sets my heart pounding, my fists desperate to punch something. As my family settles into the house, I saddle Biscuit, my horse, and let out my aggression as we race through the fields, leaping over fences until we're clear to run free.



We use our formal dining room on Sundays, as if God cares where we eat dinner.

My mom brings out the salad and sweet tea, and my dad serves up the barbecued ribs and corn on the cob. Stevie is wheeled up to his customary spot at the table, though he does little but stare at us as we eat in awkward silence.

"Son, please say grace before we begin," my father commands.

I pull my cloth napkin off my lap and toss it to the table by my plate. "I'd rather not."

Unwilling, or maybe unable, to let it go, my dad continues to probe. “Come on Cade, there has to be something you're grateful for. Just say grace.”

Mom, ever the peacekeeper, sides with Dad. “Go on honey, just say grace.”

Stevie’s eyes flicker back and forth, the side of his face that still works drooping into a frown.

I reach for his hand and my mother’s, and we form a lopsided circle around the table. As I open my mouth to speak, the grandfather clock in the living room chimes seven times, and we all sit through it, waiting for the silence to resume. At the last chime, I clear my throat and begin. “Thank you, God, for the wonderful food before us. Thank you for my dear brother and mother. And thank you for my father, who supports me in everything.”

I glance up at him and see him grimace at my words. Filling my voice with false sincerity, I continue. “Thank you for my father, who has always told me to follow my dreams. Thank you for my father, who offered to pay for my tuition, who supports my career choice, and who’s never made fun of me for doing what I love. Thank you—“

Dad's voice barks out in anger. “That's enough, that—“

I shout over him, raising my voice to be heard for once in my life. “Thank you for my father, who gave me a pat on the back when I was accepted into one of the best universities in the world, who said, ‘Good job, Son. I’m proud of you. I'm proud of you!’”

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?”