Page 150 of Role Play
“A heifer is a young female who hasn’t given birth yet. Dad’s current cows all had at least one calf.” Or more accurately, Dad had to let his heifers go early to try to make money at market. It’s expensive to maintain and breed.
“Our calving season is winter,” Dad adds. “We start them early so they have time to get a little bigger before market. More weight, more money.”
Dakota decides to insert herself back into the conversation at the most inconvenient time. “Why do the cows go to market?”
Turning once again, Sora and I meet each other’s eyes with wide stares. “Papaw goes to market to sell the cows to other families who need them.”
“Like pets?” Koda asks.
“Yup,” Sora annexes my lie seamlessly. “Exactly.”
Dad shoots me a look. “I thought you told me she was advanced? The lil one doesn’t know what a burger is?”
“Hush,” I hiss. “She’s four. And unless you want her in tears for the rest of the day, as far as we’re concerned, you sell cows like puppies, okay?”
We pull up to the house, and my dad cuts the engine. The sudden silence feels thick after the constant rumble of the truck.
“Home sweet home,” he announces, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice as if he’s suddenly worried it won’t measure up to expectations. “Let’s get inside and warm up. November air’s got a bite to it, even in the morning.”
As he helps Dakota out of her car seat, there’s a tenderness to his movements that belies his rugged exterior. He may have only just met her in person, but it’s clear my daughter has already wrapped him around her little finger.
“I brought my coat, Papaw. Can I go outside and see the ranch later?” she asks, looking around with eager curiosity.
“Course you can,” he confirms. “I’ll give you the grand tour. Show you the barn, the old chicken coop, even the creek that runs along the back of the property.”
“And then we can make chili?” She bounces on her toes.
“That’s right,” he promises. “You can be my special helper.”
“And Sora too! She makes really good cookies. Maybe we can have cookies for dessert?”
My dad looks at Sora with amusement. “Thought Forrest implied you were a little…inexperienced in the kitchen.”
“Cookies are my one exception,” she admits with a laugh. “Everything else is a disaster, but somehow cookies always work out.”
“Well then,” he says, “sounds like we’ve got ourselves a plan. Chili for dinner, cookies for dessert.”
The image of my stoic father cooking alongside Sora and Dakota makes my heart constrict with a mixture of love and regret. All the years we’ve missed, all the moments he should have had just like this…
But we’re here now, at least.
I help Sora out of the truck while my dad leads a hopping Dakota toward the house, pointing out features of the ranch with an animation I never knew he possessed. I start unloading our bags from the truck bed, pausing to take in the sight of them together—my father, my daughter, and Sora, framed against the backdrop of home,my real home.
As I close the truck door, something catches my eye—a small plastic tag still affixed to the side of the car seat through the truck window. Curious, I move closer to read it: $249.99.
Nearly half a month’s worth of groceries for my dad.
My stomach twists with even more guilt. I know exactly how tight money is for him these days. The ranch hasn’t been profitable in years, and the support I send is barely enough to keep the place running. Yet he spent over two hundred dollars on a car seat that will be used for what—three days?
And the space heater for Sora’s room. And who knows what else he’s done to prepare for our visit in the past week, stretching his limited resources to make us comfortable, to make this homecoming special.He wants them to love being here, so I’ll bring them back. And he won’t feel so alone.
“Need help with those bags?” my dad calls from the porch, Dakota now excitedly pointing at something in the distance as he patiently explains what it is.
“Got it,” I holler, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
Sora appears at my side, taking one of the bags. “Your dad is wonderful,” she says softly. “I can see where you get your heart.”
I look at her, surprised and touched by the observation. “He’s really making an effort. He’s usually much more…”
