Page 5 of Trusting Blake
“Yeah. My mom is on her way.”
“Ohh,” he says, but the change in his tone is unmistakable. No more panicking that I’m heading out of town. “I feel so fucking bad, Mila,” he mumbles after a moment of silence. “I didn’t mean for you to hear the news from me. . . and especially not from my mom.”
“I’m not mad at you, or even your mom, Blake,” I say gently, because I know exactly who the real villain is in this situation. “I’m mad at my dad.”
“Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you? Let me keep your mind occupied. Let’s take Bailey to the dog park, or let’s head into the city and try out some new honky tonks, or. . . I don’t know. Anything.”
“That sounds nice, but. . . I don’t know if I can right now.” I can’t bear the thought of leaving this ranch and heading out to do anythingnormalwhen my entire world has fallen apart, but I like that Blake has given me the option. It’s comforting to know that despite the mess my life is in, he’s still looking out for me.
“Yeah, yeah, for sure. I get that. But maybe it would help. Get away from all the drama, you know?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”
He’s quiet for a while, then, “Mila,” he says solemnly.
“Yeah?”
His voice is low and full of doubt. “We’re okay, right? You and me?”
“Of course we are,” I whisper. “I just can’t think straight right now, but thank you for checking up on me.”
“No problem. I’m always here if you need me.”
“Thanks.” Then, because I need to be clear with him, I add, “But please don’t call the ranch landline again.”
He laughs, the sound hollow. “Yeah, sorry. I was worried about you, Mila.”
“That’s nice, but don’t be. I’ll be fine,” I reassure him, though there is nothing convincing about my words. There’s nothing to suggest that I’ll be fine. “Talk later. Bye, Blake.”
Without giving him the chance to say anything more, I hang up. It’s the most I can offer him right now – short, blunt answers – but at least he knows now that I’m not leaving. We can see each other again once I figure out what the hell has happened to my family.
Speaking of family. . . I still haven’t spoken to Popeye. There’s a lot of anger in the air, but we can’t simply ignore one another. The next few days, weeks, months. . . they are going to be hard. There will be some really difficult conversations. Things mightnotturn out okay. But I have to face reality.
Having reassured Blake, I now need to check in with Popeye. Grabbing the coffee Sheri made for me, I take a sip that scalds my mouth and then head downstairs, feigning confidence and strength with each step. I need to be brave. What good is sobbing going to do? What will endless crying achieve?
There’s no sound. No TV, no radio, no voices. Popeye and Sheri aren’t downstairs, so I step into a pair of Sheri’s boots by the door and head out into the fresh air, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. My shirt smells musky, I feel like I haven’t brushed my teeth in forever, and I’m pretty sure I have a severe case of matted hair that is going to be painful to fix. But there are worse things in the world right now and I just don’tcare.
Over at the stables, I spot them. Popeye has pulled up a lawn chair at the stable entrance where he sits with his gaze locked on the horizon over the rolling fields that stretch out around us. I hear Sheri shuffling around inside the stables with the horses.
“Hey, Popeye,” I say softly as I approach. The beating sun feels a hundred times worse than usual against my already sticky, sweaty skin.
Popeye cranes his neck to look at me, and he immediately frowns. “Wow, don’t you look. . .”
“Ravishing?” I joke.
“Like trash,” he deadpans. “We do have showers in this place, and you are more than welcome to use them, you know.” A second later, he cracks a smile and I at least manage to roll my eyes. Like with Sheri, it is easier to tiptoe around the real conversation we should be having, but then Popeye’s smile grows sad as he sits up. “Come here, sweet Mila.”
Ugh. So much for no more crying.
I lean down into Popeye, and he pulls me in close for a shaky hug. There is no way to contain your emotions when your grandfather embraces you like this. It’s like when you’re teetering on the brink of a breakdown, and someone decides to ask if you’re okay – instant blubbering mess.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispers into my ear, squeezing me tighter. “Your parents love you, no matter what.”
I nod against his shoulder and then pull back, wiping my cheeks. God, I’ve cried so much that it straight-upburnsto shed a tear now. “But how areyoufeeling, Popeye?”
“Angry. Disappointed,” he grumbles. “The one thing I’m not, however, is confused. Your father has always made choices that don’t make sense to me. We will just have to see how he explains this one.”
“Do you think he’ll call?”
