But I’d had to get used to guys staring, which Sean was doing, rather blatantly. By the time Dad had dumped his napkin into the trash can, Sean was striding over, blond curls peeking out from under his San Francisco Giants ball cap.
Yes, he could’ve been an Abercrombie and Fitch model. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his beige cargo shorts and grinned. “Hey,” he said. “I realize how incredibly random this is going to sound, but could I borrow your notes from Logic? I lost my notebook somewhere between here and campus and we’ve got that big test tomorrow.”
At the time, it had seemed cute, charming, even, and certainly wasn’t what I was expecting the first words out of his mouth to be. After I told him he’d apparently mistaken me for one of his classmates—There’s no way I would forget your face—he asked if he could sit down, then he asked if he could take me out to dinner at La Folie that evening.
I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a logic test to study for?”
But we did end up going out that night, and when he called a few days later, I agreed to meet him down in Palo Alto. My parents were thrilled; I’d never had a serious relationship and, since I was fast approaching twenty-two, I think they were starting to wonder if I’d ever date anyone.
For a while, Sean was as charming as he’d been that first day. But then little red flags began to unfurl, then wave frantically. He didn’t like it when I walked ahead of him, which I did sometimes because I’m a fast walker naturally, and, though he was tall, he shambled along like he was in no particular rush to get anywhere, ever. Or he’d get upset if I said I was going to do something and didn’t—something minor, say, like go for a run when I got done with class.
“But you said you were going to,” he’d argue, as though I’d personally offended him. “You told me that’s what you were going to do.”
My parents loved him, though, because none of that was on display when he was around them. To the outside world we probably seemed like the ideal couple, and people were constantly telling us what a lovely pair we made and how they couldn’t wait for the wedding. Nothing made me want to run screaming from the room faster than the idea of getting married to Sean Wentworth.
Breaking up with him after my parents’ car accident seemed like the natural thing to do. Everything else in my life was completely shattered; might as well let this go, too. It took almost a week. He refused to accept that I wanted to end the relationship, then he got angry, then he cried, then he made threats, and finally, it was over.
Except it’s not, I think, as I take my bag into the bathroom and pluck my toothbrush from the holder. I drop that, my hairbrush, a stick of deodorant, and some shower gel into the gym bag and try to forget about that orchid. It’d been over a month since I’d heard or received anything from Sean and I thought maybe we really had finally come to the end. Apparently not. Luckily, though, I’m headed down to the ranch for the summer, and for as worldly and cultured as Sean likes to think he is, he’s really not one for being out in the great outdoors.
I drive down to the ranch, the sun dipping below the horizon to my right. I park in front of the cabin like I’ve had for the past four years now. It was a cute little one-bedroom cottage that I’ve come to think of as my summer home. I step inside with my duffel bag containing several pairs of jeans, my Sea Horse Ranch t-shirts, and a few pairs of shorts and tank tops. Lorrie’s been in ahead of me and opened the windows, but the cabin still feels a little stuffy. It’s familiar though, the knotty pine panel walls, the wide floorboards with the braided rugs. The cabin is basically a large room that makes up the kitchen, living room, and dining area, and then a small hallway that leads to the bathroom and the bedroom. Everything looks exactly how I remember it. I sit down on the couch for a minute and lean my head back against the cushions. At least I have this, I think. While it might not sound like the most exciting summer job for a college student, it’s exactly what I need right now. Though the rotation of campers changes each year, everything else here is pretty much the same. And so many things in my own life have changed, so many things have not worked out the way I imagined they would, but there is still this, and other than Bill and Lorrie announcing that they’re selling the ranch and shutting down operations, I don’t see how anything could possibly make this summer anything but normal.
And for that, I am grateful.
I join Bill and Lorrie at their house for dinner, and we sit out on the back deck overlooking the barn and the paddocks.
“How is your mom?” Lorrie asks as she scoops quinoa salad onto my plate. “I’m going to try to get up there in the next week or so. I feel terrible I haven’t been better at visiting.”
“We know you’re busy,” I say. “And she’s doing the best she can. I’m going to try to see her every Sunday, if that’s okay with you guys.”
“Of course it is,” Bill says. “Take whatever time you need. I mean, you’re certainly an integral part of the ranch around here, but family first.”
“Speaking of family,” Lorrie says, “Allison has decided to work here this summer. We’re hoping you can kind of take her under your wing. She’s familiar with a lot of the stuff, obviously, but I’m sure she’ll have plenty of questions.”
I force a smile. “Great,” I say. “I’d be happy to help.”
Allison is their daughter, the baby of the family, who, in my mind, will forever be eight and throwing a tantrum about something. The past few summers she worked up in the city at some retail job in Union Square, and I wonder what must have happened to make her resign herself to work here. She’s not exactly the outdoors-y type, though it’s been a while since I’ve seen her so perhaps things have changed.
I get my answer bright and early the next morning. During the summer, I get up at six every day except for Sundays. I go down to the barn and feed the horses, turn them out, then muck out the stalls before going to the lodge to help with breakfast. I don’t mind getting up early, when it’s still semi-dark out and the birds are the only things awake. I like that special time—early in the morning and twilight—when the sun could be about to rise or set. I fill an oversized travel mug with strong, hot coffee and sip it as I go about my work. I’m just finishing up the last stall when I hear someone walking down the barn aisle.
“Hi, Jill.”