Page 76 of Road to a Cowboy

“Hey, kiddo.”

It didn’t escape Austin’s notice that Dad’s greeting for Cal was the same as it had been for Austin, and the love he felt for his parents tucked itself in nicely next to the love he had for Cal in his heart.

“Just in time,” his mom said. “I made your favorite.”

“How come you never make my favorite?” Austin grumbled.

“I like Cal better.”

Austin swallowed a laugh and pretended to pout. “Yes, that’s obvious.”

“Aw, don’t worry.” Cal sat next to him, smelling of horses and hay, and kissed his cheek. “I like you best.”

“Somebody better.”

Austin started to rise to help his dad load the dishwasher while Mom dished out bowls of homemade huckleberry ice cream, but then he got a good look at Cal’s face and sat back down.

There was a softness to Cal’s features he’d never seen before, but it was juxtaposed by a tightness to his eyes that was equally out of character.

“Are you okay?” Austin asked quietly. “You look...” Serene. Sad. “Different,” he finally settled on.

Cal squeezed his thigh. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Without an audience then.

Concern crawled up Austin’s throat, lodging there solidly like an annoying friend. “Can you at least tell me if you’re okay? Physically, I mean.”

“Huh? Oh. No. Shit, sorry.” Cal’s eyes went wide and he sat up straight. He grasped Austin’s hand and held tight. “I’m fine. I swear. I just... I had to do something today that was necessary but also really damn hard.”

Austin’s shoulders unknotted. “You had to put an animal down?”

“No, nothing like that.” Lowering his voice as Austin’s parents teased each other at the counter over who had the biggest bowl of ice cream, Cal said, “I told my mom today that I’m done.”

Done? What did he?—

Oh. Done. As in done. Well, shit.

Austin couldn’t help but be happy for him. Cal needed Barbara in his life like he needed faulty ranching equipment. But sadness swept him through too because he couldn’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for Cal to make that decision and then follow through with it.

“I’m sorry, Cal.”

“It needed to be done.” Cal’s shrug was anything but casual. “I didn’t like doing it, but I liked the alternative less.”

“Still.” Austin squeezed the back of Cal’s neck. “I’m sorry you had to do that at all.”

“What are you two whispering about over here?” Mom asked, placing a bowl heaped with ice cream in front of each of them.

“I’m trying to convince Cal that his favorite dessert is banana cream pie so that you might actually make it one day.”

Mom laughed.

Cal grimaced. “Bananas are gross.”

“You could pretend to like them,” Austin muttered.

Cal shuddered.

Later, when the sun began to set, they drove home separately, parking in their own driveways. By the time Austin got out and retrieved his camera bag from the back seat, Cal had plopped himself in one of the two turquoise Adirondack chairs under the tree in Austin’s front yard.

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