Page 44 of Dirty Ginger

“He has,” Amelia said. “And I have no idea how to help him. Even after all this time, I still don’t know how to reach into his heart and make everything better. And once again, he’s shutting me out. It just feels like we’re back to square one. I thought we’d grown so much since then.”

Maisie said, “You should read Pops’ letter.”

“Pops’ letter?” Amelia asked, leaning against the counter.

“Yeah,” Maisie said with a nod. “The letter that Pops left you in his estate, read that.”

Gosh, Amelia had forgotten all about the letter that had been in his Last Will and Testament. Each letter was in a sealed envelope with their names handwritten by Pops, and in each was a quote. One last piece of advice.

Amelia looked to Clara, and she shrugged. “It actually did help me a lot.”

“Well, right now, I’ll give anything a shot.” Amelia moved into the dining room, and in the hutch’s drawer, she took out her letter. When she returned to her sisters, she opened the envelope and read the note.

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” -F. Scott Fitzgerald

And with those few words, it was like Pops was whispering in her ear. She saw the quote differently now than when she’d read the letter after Pops passed.

Maisie asked, “So, by your face right now, this means something to you?”

Amelia’s hands shook and she set the paper down on the counter. She knew exactly why Pops left this quote for her, and her heart warmed. “It’s means that Beckett and I have been rowing boats against a rough tide, but no matter where we go, we are always brought back to where we started. Our past. We can’t outrun it.” Amelia swallowed back the remainder of emotion tightening her throat. She drew in a big, deep breath, sending the rest of the rawness in her chest away, thinking only of Pops now and of his wonderful love. So many conversations, hard and easy, they shared around this table. So many truths were told, no matter how hard they were to admit. So many tears shed and so many smiles had. Her heart opened in ways it never had before, under Pops’ love and last final piece of advice. “But we can turn the boat around and go in another direction, a better tide, a smoother one.” Amelia’s heart swelled, her way forward so clear now. “From the moment Beckett punched Luka in the face, he’s been fighting for my love and protecting my heart.”

Clara cocked her head. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that maybe it’s about time I do the same.”

* * *

Beckett’s exhaustionfelt soul deep, eating away at dreams and hopes. He felt the same thing after his mother and grandfather passed, and again when depression stole his father away. While Nash had told him to take time off work, Beckett needed to get his mind off the stabbing pain in the center of his chest. Especially considering this afternoon, while looking through his bank records, he noticed that Amelia had cashed his check. Nothing felt right. He seemed lost without her at his side, and yet, he didn’t want her anywhere near him. Until he could sort out why the loss of his father had him spinning out of control, he needed to stay away. He knew he was pushing her away again, and he hated himself for it. But more than that, he knew he needed to protect her. He would figure out his emotions and then he’d go back to her. He just needed a little more time. He settled the bridle on Autumn’s head and stroked her neck. “Today’s the day, girl. I need this ride as much as you do. It’s time to take a leap of faith.”

She rubbed her head into his shoulder, and he hoped that was a good sign.

Beckett left the fence where he’d been tacking her up and brought Autumn into the middle of the ring. She stood patiently, calmly, as he tightened the cinch. Before he slipped his foot in the stirrup, he exhaled slowly, letting go of the tension simmering through him. Only when his felt his muscles loosen did he swing his leg over the saddle and take up the reins, and then he waited for the explosion. For the second she decided he wasn’t worthy to remain on her back, but as the seconds ticked on, he never felt her tense up or take a wrong step. He gave a click of his tongue, the same click he’d used when he’d been moving her out on the ground. She walked forward with ease, her gait steady and unhurried, her head low, jaw relaxed. Another click from his mouth, and she stepped up into the trot, and not long after that fell into a lope. Beckett didn’t mess with her, didn’t fuss with her mouth, he let her enjoy the ride. When he felt comfortable that she wasn’t going to hurt him or herself, he called, “Whoa.” She slowed back to a walk, and he steered her to the gate and bent over to unlock it. Once through, he directed her past the house to the field where the broodmares had recently been living. The land was flat, and the grass was short.

Autumn’s walk became more animated with each step, obviously feeling Beckett’s excitement. By the time they headed through the gate, Autumn was bouncing in a trot, a feeling akin to being in the gate before the calf was sent out and he’d burst out with his rope ready. He missed that feeling, that adrenaline. “All right, Autumn, let’s see what you’ve got little lady.” He released the tension on the reins and Autumn shot forward, like she’d done this a thousand times before, galloping toward the mid-day sun, stealing Beckett’s heartache as she went.

By the time they returned to the farm, Autumn’s walk was quiet and slow, and Beckett felt the smile rise on his face, enjoying the joy she’d brought him. He quickly untacked her and then hosed her off before letting her loose in her paddock again.

“She’s fast as hell.”

Beckett glanced over his shoulder at Nash. “Shockingly fast.”

Nash studied Beckett’s face before he crossed his arms. “She looked good. Great job with her.”

“She needs more training,” Beckett said. “But she’s got heart, and a lot of it.”

Nash agreed with a nod, then gestured to Beckett’s truck. “Since I already told you not to come in today, I’ll say it again. Go home, Beckett. Now’s the time to be with friends, and that’s not a request.”

Beckett watched Nash return to his house, and knew Nash meant well. Everyone meant well, but being home was the last place Beckett wanted to be. This morning, he poured all the booze he had in his house down the sink and threw out the bottles, not trusting himself not to drown his sadness in the bottle, just like his father. He felt unsettled, restless, and wasn’t sure how to gain his footing again.

Autumn gave him a final look before she settled in front of her hay, and he got into his truck and hit the road. They had a way to go before he’d end their training, but today went better than he could have anticipated.

The drive home was quiet, he left the radio off. His window was rolled down, and the warm breeze brushed scents of wildflowers and summer days against his nose. When he arrived home, the lightness in his chest from the ride with Autumn sank as he found Hayes and Sullivan sitting on his porch. He’d been dodging their calls, dodging life, and he knew it.

Beckett parked his truck and got out a second later. “I thought you were heading back to Boston?” he asked by way of greeting, approaching his house.

Sitting on the porch in the old worn wood chair, Sullivan shook his head. “Coach gave me the go-ahead to stay until after the funeral.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Beckett said, taking the seat next to Sullivan.

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