When You Fall... (8 page)

“It’s been cleaned?” Gloria asked, her eyes roaming around, her face fixed in an expression of distaste. Carter ignored her, and turned toward her dad.

“Jack Shine isn’t the property manager anymore?” he asked, looking around, having held out the chair for his wife. He took a seat next to her, and motioned for Carter to sit, too.

“No, he’s gone. At least that’s what the new neighbor said. This guy that purchased the old Sandler spread. Seems Jack made our home his own,” she said, taking a seat at the table next to her father.

“I know about the new neighbor, but not the property’s manager absence or the fact that he was living here. Living on the premises was not a part of his contract.”

“Well he was living here, and he hasn’t been here since a week ago Monday. Our new neighbor has been looking after the house and the horse. I’ve taken over the horse’s care,” she said.

“A horse, you say?” he asked.

“Yes, he was left alone in our barn,” Carter said.

Her father stood, unbuttoning his suit coat, letting it slide from his arms before he folded it in half, laying it neatly across the back of a chair, before regaining his seat.

“We’ll come back to that in a moment,” he said, leaning forward on the table, glancing at Gloria before starting. “What would ever make you think breaking up a wedding was a good idea, Carter?” he asked, getting right to the heart of the matter. Her dad didn’t mince words. He had this shortest-distance-between-two-points , straight-line approach to tackling every problem. And she was back to being 15 again.

“I thought you wanted me to get married,” she said, laughing, hoping to diffuse whatever this was.

“This isn’t some joke, Carter. This isn’t another one of your jokes. There are consequences to what you do. How many times have I told you that?”

“More times than you can count,” she said, softly. His eyes jumped to hers and there was anger brimming within them. How often had she seen that look on his face? It was usually after one of her teenage infractions.

“To tell you we are disappointed would be an understatement. We are hurt, disappointed, angry and embarrassed.”

“I know.”

“What did you think? You could just waltz in and waltz out with a husband—somebody else’s husband? The women in this family are better than your antics at that young man’s wedding. He didn’t deserve to have his wedding day ruined by you. Our family does not do things like that. Ever,” he said, loud and controlled, venting the full force of his anger into the room. He took a deep breath and looked out the back window. He was quiet for a second. “I have taught you better than this, Carter,” he said, eyes glued to some place outside the window. “Gloria, how often have I spoken to the girls regarding the attributes necessary to secure husbands of quality?” he said.

“Often, Carl,” Gloria responded.

It was quiet.

“Carter, haven’t I?” he asked.

“Yes sir, you have,” she said.

“What happened to following my advice?”

She shrugged, tired all of a sudden. “I don’t know, Dad.”

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. It was another familiar mannerism in his dealing with this daughter. “How could this behavior ever make us proud? It has embarrassed us, is what it’s done. And you’ve lost your job, too, running here with your tail between your legs to hide.” He stood up.

“Why must everything be so hard for you?” he asked, looking down at her. “I spoke to Mr. Johnson. Of course he called me after he fired you. Wanted to make sure I understood his reasoning, given his firm’s relationship with my business. I told him I understood, and told him I’ve never spared my girls the consequences of their actions. You know that.”

She remained quiet, hurt again that he hadn’t stood up for her. Yes, she knew that, they all did. Her dad was big on living with one’s consequences.

“What can we do for you now, Carter? Are you going crazy? Do you need to seek professional help? I’m not sold on the idea, but I’ve reached a point with you where I’m considering it very strongly. Gloria thinks it may be what you need,” he said.

“Carl,” Gloria said, laying a hand on his arm.

“What he means to say is that there must be something seriously wrong if you are resorting to breaking up weddings. We just want to help you to be happy, like your sisters. We’ve always only wanted you to be happy,” she said.

Carter was quiet.

“What are you going to do now?” her father asked, looking at her. “And please give me the dignity of hearing a response from you,” he said.

“I thought I might stick around here. I could continue to look after the horse and the house. I’ve already started a list of things to do. You know, to get it in shape to sell. I could start my job search from here, too.”

He sighed and sat back down, like a balloon losing the last of its air; deflated was the best word to describe him.

“Why do you make your life so hard?” he said, concerned, but a little more bewildered.

“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t intend to,” she said.

“We only want what’s best for you,” Gloria said.

“I know,” she said. She wished she could give them what they wanted. She’d been trying to for so long. The last half of her life had been one big attempt to make them proud of her.

They all sat in silence for a few minutes more, privately mulling over their thoughts.

“I’ll check into the property manager situation and call you later on in the week. In the meantime, I guess it wouldn’t hurt for you to start working around here. You of all people should remember what it looked like in its glory days. I didn’t realize it had fallen into such a state,” her father said, uncomfortable with her. Nothing new there.

Her dad was not one for drama. He’d reminded her and her stepsisters of that fact often enough growing up. Quiet and dignified was his personal creed. He put his jacket over his arm and stood, waiting for Gloria.

“We are going to try and make dinner this afternoon, so we can’t stay any longer. It’s Samantha’s turn,” Gloria said.

“Sure, I understand,” Carter said, standing up with them.

“Sorry you won’t be with us, but you know what? I’m going to get your sisters together next week, for an intervention,” she said, looking over at her husband, proud of her new plan to bring Carter into her successful sibling fold.

“An intervention?” both Carter and her dad said in unison.

“Yes, saw one on TV on the Oprah show or maybe it was Dr. Phil, or maybe it was Dr. Drew… doesn’t matter. It’s where the family members get together to talk sense into the family member that is having trouble with their life; usually it’s some type of addiction. But aren’t we lucky it’s not an addiction with you,” she said, looking at Carter, pleasure in her gaze.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Carter said.

“No, it’s okay. Your sisters will make time. I’ve already spoken to Savannah and Madison. They had no idea that you’d gotten this desperate. Maybe they can give you some tips on how to proceed. Yes, that’s it, that’s what we’ll do. You stay safe, baby,” she said, looking at Carter with sympathy.

Her dad was quiet. His eyes were still filled with disappointment, and no amount of a new plan could erase it.

Carter followed them to the door, lifting her face for Gloria’s kiss. Her dad didn’t try to kiss her, but squeezed her arm instead. It would take him a while to get past this. It always did. Carter locked the door behind them, watching the car’s taillights until they disappeared from view.

#

Sunday evening

Rafael pulled up to the Woodson home around dusk. Why was he here again? Her in her short-shorts with a hint of something peeking out underneath provided some of his motivation, if he were being honest with himself; which he tried to do. Mostly though, he was here to check on the horse; short-shorts was just the icing on the cake. He wanted to make sure she hadn’t killed him. Horses were work, especially for the novice.

Honestly, he was surprised that she was still here. He’d been equally surprised to find her cleaning up the kitchen the other night. He’d had the pleasure of being around Jack. He was not for the faint of heart—a real slob’s slob. He’d hold out yet to see if she would remain around long enough to clean out the rest of the house, let alone the outside.

He parked behind her car. It had moved since he was here last. He knocked on the door. No answer so he headed for the barn.

He heard noise as he entered, and found Carter standing outside of the horse’s stall, talking to the horse, apparently. It confirmed his earlier flighty assessment and the slightly crazy part as well, because this wasn’t a casual conversation by the look of it. Her face was pressed closed to the horse, a hand rubbing his sides as she talked. She looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“Hey, look who’s here. Mr. October,” she said, her hands falling away from the horse as she stepped back and gave him a smile.

He smiled his usual smug smile and glided over to her. Glide was the best way to describe Rafael’s gait. Slow, cocky, sure, and confident were also adjectives that belonged to him, she thought, all topped off with a heavy sprinkling of good old-fashioned sexiness.

“You haven’t killed him yet. That’s good,” he said, coming to a stop next to her.

“I’m okay. We’re okay. You don’t have to keep stopping by,” she said.

“I don’t mind. I had gotten used to stopping by anyway,” he said, watching as she walked away, picking up the water hose.

“Well, I’m taking over, as you can see,” she said.

“Slow down. It’s only been two days,” he said, watching as she bent over to turn on the faucet. “Need any help?” he asked, not making any move to help, instead leaning against the stall watching her.

“No, I’m good,” she said.

That might be true
he thought, at least by outside appearances. He was content to watch her bend over in her jeans; nice ass. And she
was
pretty. He’d thought the same thing about her the night of the pepper spray incident, and pretty much every time he’d encountered her since. Flighty but pretty; and she was shorter than she looked in the video.

She filled her bucket with water, walked around him and inside the stall, placing it next to the feeder. She looked inside the feeder before walking back out. He stood, still watching.

“Got to get some hay,” she said, and started walking toward the barn door. She was surprised to find him fall into step with her, holding the door open for her to walk through. She looked over at him.

“You might need some help,” he said.

“I’ll need to buy some more hay soon; a serious supply. I picked up two square bales when I went into town today. But what I really need are a few round ones. Our property manager sucked supremely, as I’m sure you know. I can’t believe this place has been so neglected,” she said, talking to him as he followed her out the door.

“This place didn’t always look like this,” she said, to his silence. They’d arrived at the hay shed, where two small square bales sat forlornly in the corner, lost in the largeness of the shed. “This place used to be filled to the rafters with hay,” she said, reaching for one. “We also had enough horses to consume it all.”

“Long time ago.”

“Yes, a long time ago.”

“It’s been what?… 80 years,” he said, watching her struggle with the bale.

“How do you know that?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“My great-grandfather, Carter Woodson—my namesake, by the way—built most of what you see, piecemeal. He believed in being owners of land. In those days, landowners were the most prosperous. So after he became a free man, he worked to do the same.”

“It’s a nice legacy to leave for his heirs, however little they appreciate it,” he added.

“I’m not going to get into an argument with you. I’m grateful to you for looking after the horse and our place. So be careful you don’t use up all your goodwill,” she said, still struggling.

“I’m still bugged about the pepper spray.”

“You broke in. I didn’t know you from Adam. Liked the way you scream though; kind of like a girl,” she said, laughing now.

He chuckled. “Let me,” he said, reaching for the hay bale.

She hesitated.

“You’ll be here all night dragging it across the yard. It’s too heavy for you. I promise I won’t think less of you if you admit that,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, handing it off to him. She followed behind him as he walked back to the barn. “How long have you lived next door anyway? she asked, changing the subject.

“Five years, give or take. I owned the land the first year, but couldn’t afford to do much else. Later on I added the other stuff. When was the last time you were here?”

“My great-grandfather died in 2004, so I came back for that funeral, and then two years afterward, so that was ’06. I can’t believe it’s been five years,” she said. She seemed surprised by that admission. “What are you doing with your land?”

“Organic farming. Just completed my organic certification. How much do you know about organic farming?” he asked.

“Not much. Not much into farming. This was a horse operation mostly. My great-grandfather loved horses; preferred them over people, I believe,” she said, holding the stable door open for him.

“I wish I knew his name,” she said, pointing toward the horse.

“Grey,” Rafael said, setting the bale on the ground before cutting the string with his knife. He grabbed enough for Grey’s nightly feeding.

“Grey it is, then,” she said, looking at Rafael. “If I hadn’t asked you, would you have told me?’ she asked, taking the hay from his hand and laying it on the floor of Grey’s stall.

“I wanted to make sure you were going to stick around, otherwise you didn’t need to know.”

“Are you this nice to all the girls, or is it just me?” she said.

He smiled.

She gave the horse a final pat before heading toward the front of the barn and back outside. He fell in step next to her. Neither spoke until they reached his truck.

“So what’s up for tomorrow?” he asked.

“Cutting pasture for Grey.”