Cooking always made her nerves settle. Rose rolled chicken in flour and chile powder, fried it to a crisp, and assembled all the ingredients for Mexican potato salad: black beans, yellow potatoes, peppers, and bacon bits. When she got to the ranch, she’d add the dressing: It was a blend of mayonnaise, shallots, pickled chipotles, Lawry’s salt, a scant tablespoon of bacon grease, and whatever amount of milk necessary to thin the mixture. Shep’d grown so thin since the prostate surgery that she always liked to bring him a meal. Some- times it seemed he antici-
pated her visits. She’d drive up, and there would be Alfred, her fa- vorite horse, spit-shined and ready for saddling. She wrapped the chicken in foil and loaded up the cooler. Chachi danced at her feet.
“Relax, I already said you get to come along.”
Winky stepped nervously into the trailer after she watched Max do it. Rose double-checked the hitch. Half an hour later, moving at a leisurely pace, they pulled into the circular driveway under the swinging metal sign announcing El Rancho Costa Plente. At the fork in the drive, Rose veered right, parking behind the barn instead of in the driveway. She unloaded Winky into the arena. At once the mare began braying her presence, and the other horses, skittery at changes, neighed back. Max nickered to old friends, and that seemed to calm Winky down a little. For a second Rose stood watching her mare, hoping that this show of anxiety would pass quickly, that Winky wouldn’t pass her tentative nature on to her colt. Shep had some herbal supplements he called “Arab medicine,” which he gave to horses who had trouble settling down. The nickname evolved from his primal dislike of the notoriously high-strung breed. Winky didn’t have any Arab in her, but she was finer-boned than most quarter horses. Her coat was a lovely dappled gray, and the stallion Rose had bred her to was also gray.
She’s going to throw a perfect, calm, healthy colt
, Rose insisted to herself.
Beautiful, too
, and fetched the cooler from the Bronco. She called Shep’s name as she walked around the bunkhouse. There was a fancy white luxury car parked in front. Prospective buyers often came along when her father wasn’t here. Shep could show horses and deal as well as Chance. When Shep didn’t answer, Rose figured he was out on horseback some- where. She hustled Chachi up the steps and opened the screen door. At once a chubby blue heeler flung himself at her dog and bared his teeth. The scrappy Jack Russell, essentially a big dog in a small dog’s body, returned the favor, and the dogs began to tumble and fight.
Rose dropped the cooler on the floor. “Chachi,
no
!” She grabbed a broom from the front hall closet and began smacking the blue heeler on the butt. “Let him go, you bully!”
The heeler whimpered and backed off, and Rose took hold of Chachi’s collar. He strained, barking nonstop, and Rose could barely keep him in hand. She held the broom in front of her, bristles facing out. Her plan was to shut Chachi in the downstairs bath and shoo the rowdy ranch dog out of the house, but when she opened the bathroom
door, standing in front of the mirror, pinning up her hair, she saw her sister, Lily.
Lily removed a hairpin from her mouth. “Hi, Rose.”
Rose’s heart ached at seeing her after so much time apart. “Lily?” The blue heeler scrambled into the bathroom and squeezed himself behind the toilet. “What’s going on out there? Did I hear barking?”
Rose pointed. “That strange dog was attacking Chachi. What are you doing here?”
Lily laughed. “That strange dog is mine. Buddy, you knock that crap off.” The blue heeler cowered behind the porcelain. “We’re on vacation.”
“You can’t take a vacation here,” Rose said. “Why in hell not?”
“Because
I
need a vacation. That’s why.”
“Really.” Lily stabbed the last pin into her French twist. Rose thought her sister looked like Audrey Hepburn, if Hepburn had fancied tattoos and had sex partners that approached the triple digits. “So take one, nobody’s stopping you.”
“I was planning to take it
here
.” “Good thing it’s a big house.”
The two sisters eyed each other. Neither one was about to back down. Rose let Chachi go, and he snapped twice at Buddy, then ran out of the room and huddled under her father’s desk. “Look, we can’t both be here at the same time. It’s as simple as that.”
“Why not, Rose? Because it offends your precious morals to have your bad sister in the same room with you? Because you can hold a grudge longer than the Ayatollah Khomeini, who, by the way, is dead? How mature. Let me just pack up and check into a motel, because Rose always gets her way, doesn’t she?”
“That isn’t true, and you know it.” Here she was, forty years old, and still Lily could reduce her to tears. If only Rose knew how to play the game. Amanda she could sometimes handle, but Lily? No way. “Besides, what about your job? Or did you get fired?”
Lily smiled. “Not yet, but the day is still young. Does that make you feel better, Rose? Knowing your sister’s in career misery? PS, I also recently broke up with yet another boyfriend. Guess this is turning out to be a red letter day for you.”
Rose bit her lip. “Actually, it’s a major relief to know something
goes wrong in your life once in awhile. Somehow I always picture you out there in California living the high life. You were the one who always got her way. You dressed nicer, too.”
“Horse manure.” “No, it’s true.”
“Well, I’m glad we got this part over with.” Lily stepped forward and embraced her sister. “Still, you could at least
pretend
to be sorry about my boyfriend.”
“I am sorry, Lily. Was he ‘the one’?”
“Hell, no. But I sure tried to believe he was. Oh, well,” she started to say, and both sisters recited in unison, “They come and they go, but mostly, they go.”
Their laughter rang out in the bathroom. It had felt so odd to feel her sister’s arms around her that Rose could only pat Lily’s back awkwardly.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I was sorry about Second Chance’s graduation.”
“I figured you were.”
“So you finally forgive me?”
“Me? Only about four years ago. The Martínezes? Never.” “Jeez, why didn’t you say so?”
“Must be that stubborn Wilder streak.”
“No kidding. Rose, I’m so sorry about Philip. I would have come home for the funeral if you’d let me.”
Rose felt sorrow choke her throat like an old tradition. “I guess I should have. I hardly remember that time. Everything is such a blur. It’s funny, Lily.”
“Funerals are
funny
?”
“No, of course not. I know I should still be sad, but I hardly miss him at all. I mean, I miss certain things, like the way he always took the trash out without me asking, having someone to cook for, going out to dinner or the movies, and somebody warm next to me in the sheets, those things I miss. But it’s as if Philip’s dying left this huge chunk of ice inside me. A glacier or something. I’ve tried to move past it, but so far no luck.”
Lily looked away, as if Rose’s confession made her uncomfortable. “What have you tried?”
“The usual. Grief group, also known as pity party. Working hard.
Riding the horse Amanda had to have and then left behind. I pray.” “All that holy crap isn’t going to heal you. You need to get laid.” Rose sighed. “Isn’t that just like you.”
“What?”
“We’re together less than five minutes and already you’re bad- mouthing my faith and talking about sex.”
Lily took her sister’s hand. “No, I’m talking about getting laid. Major difference. Hey, are you hungry? I bought this weird salsa at the hardware store. Apparently no one in Floralee has ever heard of pesto.”
“Well, actually, I brought along some food.” “What?”
“Nothing much. Fried chicken, potato salad, fruit, and I made some tortillas.”
“That’s my sister, Rose, all four food groups. Come on, let’s go find Shep. We can set a place for him, then talk dirty and watch him turn red.”
Rose followed her sister from the bathroom into the living room, where her cooler sat in vaguely the same place where she’d dropped it, only now there were tooth marks on its aqua-and-white handle. Chachi and Buddy lay side by side on a Storm Pattern rug. As Rose looked from one dog face to the other, she tried to match the fang marks to the owner. It appeared that sometime in the last few minutes, these boys had formed an alliance, a canine bond approach- ing that of siblings. The inherent code was, “No matter what, never rat each other out.” To Rose it paralleled herself and Lily a little too closely, a partnership that seemed way too good to last.
ily half expected her sister to fold the lunch napkins into swans. When they were teenagers, Rose had always felt compelled to pretty up the ordinary. Their grandmother had made such a big deal over it, as if the ability to tie a really terrific bow and embroider French knots was going to carry Rose through life. Lily, whom Grandma had never quite approved of, didn’t bother to compete. That lacy kind of house crap was utterly impractical, on a par with the way hotel maids were paid to fold the toilet paper roll into a pleat. Of course, Mami defended Rose, calling her needlework
style
, and frequently pointed out that Rose naturally possessed what Lily had to work to attain. Well, newsflash, nobody at this table was a teenager anymore, paper swans didn’t erase heartache, Lily had mastered style, and Rose, in her faded jeans and ratty blue T-shirt, had about as much élan as a gym towel. Not to mention that her hair could use a good colorist and a shaping from somewhere other than Supercuts. There was something about her sister, however, that Lily found hard to define. The way Rose moved, her easy smile, that uniqueness even in the way she spoke—what could you call
that—grace or grief?
“Hey, Shep,” Lily said, passing the platter across the table. “Look here. Rose saved you the chicken’s titties. Wasn’t that thoughtful of her?”
The old horseman loaded up his plate with potato salad and eyed the platter suspiciously. He made a face and shook the salt shaker over his chicken breast. “A chicken only has one tit.”
“Too much salt will kill you,” Lily warned.
He set the shaker down with an audible thump. “Well, I hope it does. If nothing else, I want to go out with a good taste in my mouth.”
Rose pointed with her fork, which rested in her fingers like a paintbrush. “The corporate world sure hasn’t taught my sister any manners, has it, Shepherd?”
“Ha,” Lily said. “You think manners is what business is about? You should see me in a suit. I can haul ashes just like a big boy. Half of them think I have a dick.”
“Count me in,” Shep said. “You came out of your mother kicking and screaming, and as soon as you could manage a fist, you were whaling on the local boys, sending them all running to their mamas in tears.”
Lily spit the mint leaf into her palm and took a drink of her lem- onade. “Somebody had to prepare them for the real world. Dispense a few calluses.”
“Yes,” Rose said, “Somebody always has to be the bully.” Lily stuck out her tongue. “I wasn’t a bully, I was a leader.” “So was Hitler.”
Shep set down his fork. “Girls…”
“Apparently,” Rose said, “we have different vocabularies.” “That’s because we inhabit different worlds. Like to see you do
my job. You’d be crying within the first ten minutes.” Lily turned her face to the ranch foreman. “Come riding with us this afternoon, Shep. It’ll be like old times.”
He stood up and took his plate in hand. “Hell, no. I’m going out back and finish my meal in peace. The dogs have got to be better company.”
He threw his napkin on the table and beat a retreat for the door. Chachi got up to follow, then seemed to think staying close to the chicken offered better odds. He lay down, head on his paws, brown eyes wide and begging. Buddy sidled in closer to Lily and sprawled across her bare feet. “Well,” Lily said. “I guess we’ve been royally dismissed.”
“What did you expect? I don’t understand why you tease him like that,” Rose said. “Poor guy had his prostate out last year. He couldn’t make a fist if he wanted to.”
“His prostate? How was I supposed to know that? Bantering’s always kind of been a tradition with Shep and me. Is he all right? I swear, no one in this family ever tells me anything.”
“Bantering’s cruel. Shep’s fine. And some traditions should be done away with.”
“What’s this? Sister Rose, who sends Arbor Day cards, bad- mouthing the tried and true? I wonder what earth-shattering thing she’ll try next—white shoes after Labor Day?”
“Shut up, Lily.” “You shut up first.”
They finished lunch in a silence that dripped with the weight of unspoken argument, truly like old times. Lily took bites of everything but left most of the food on her plate. Her sister ate all of her chicken but picked the black beans out of her salad and left the chunks of potato sitting in the dressing. Now Rose was clearing away the leftovers, packing the chicken in foil and putting plastic wrap over the salad. Lily watched, impressed by her sister’s efficiency. She never tore off so much as one centimeter more of the wrap than she needed. Rose wound that seal around the bowl like Betty Crocker. Lily left open jars sitting on the counters, generally forgetting them until they smelled funky, which was when she tossed them out.
Rose stood at the sink, her back to Lily. She sighed, and as her shoulders dropped, Lily had to admit, even her gestures of defeat possessed elegance. Rose turned, and Lily could see that her mouth was set in the old familiar hard line that meant incipient sermon. Her sister took a breath. “I’d still like to ride the horses. But maybe we could not talk for awhile.”
“Fine with me. You don’t have to get all snooty about it.”
A quarter mile into the trail ride, Rose was explaining about Max’s chiropractic adjustments, and how since she worked for Dr. Donavan, he gave the horse free treatment. Lily’s suspicions were aroused, but she figured she’d let Rose chatter on a little longer, see where all this was leading.
“He says it helps him to practice, and that’s payment enough. It’s a great deal for me, and kind of him to do it. He has a way with Max.”