Page 98 of Ashes of the Past
John is quiet, picking at his food. It’s not unusual for him to be a little out of sorts, but the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes dart around the table, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
It’s been a rough couple of weeks with the fire and the insurance adjuster; now the cattle are sick, and the ongoing drought is causing a lot of stress on him. Even with Brynn and me trying to pick up the slack, it’s too much.
I take a sip of my water, keeping an eye on him.
Then, he looks at me.
“Clay.”
The conversation around the table falters for a moment, but no one corrects him. It’s not the first time he’s called me by Brynn’s ex’s name.
I don’t react. Sometimes, it’s best to just let these things go. But John’s eyes narrow, his fingers tightening around his fork.
“I saidClay.” His voice is sharp now, demanding.
The table goes silent.
I glance at Brynn, whose fork is frozen halfway to her mouth. Her eyes flick to John, assessing the situation like she’s done this before.
I set my drink down. “John, it’s me. Jack.”
“Bullshit.” His voice rises. “I know who you are. Think you can sit at my table like nothing happened?”
Brynn slowly lowers her fork, her face calm, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. Olivia is staring at her plate, gripping her napkin in her lap.
John pushes his chair back roughly, his hands clenching into fists. “You think I don’t remember what you did? You got some nerve, Clay.”
I stay still, my instincts telling me not to react, not to feed into his confusion.
Brynn moves first. Her voice is gentle but firm. “Dad.” She stands, taking slow steps toward him. “That’s not Clay. Look at him.”
John’s gaze flickers to her, his breathing heavy.
“Clay’s in Texas, remember?” she says softly. “Riding bulls. He’s not here.”
John blinks, his anger faltering. “Texas?”
Brynn nods. “That’s right. He left years ago.”
John’s hands shake slightly as he looks back at me, his expression shifting from anger to something lost. “Texas…”
Brynn steps closer and lays a hand on his arm. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs, okay?”
John looks at her, his body deflating. He nods hesitantly.
She leads him away, her touch light, her voice steady as she murmurs to him. Olivia watches them go, her face unreadable.
The table remains silent until they disappear upstairs. Then, as if on cue, the conversation resumes—talk of the drought, the cattle, the new fencing needed before winter. Just like that, everyone moves on, as if nothing happened.
I glance at Olivia. She’s still staring at her plate, pushing food around with her fork.
When Brynn returns, she moves straight to the kitchen and begins to clean up. I watch her for a moment, taking in the quiet strength in the way she holds herself. Olivia is done eating, so she gets up and carries her plate into the kitchen. She starts to help her mom clean up.
“Olivia,” she says, not looking up. “Take Barney outside for a bit, will you?”
She hesitates but finally nods. I get up and empty my plate in the garbage before grabbing my hat. “I’ll go with her.”
Outside, the air is crisp, the sun setting in the distance, casting long shadows over the barn. Olivia throws a stick for Barney, watching as he bounds after it. She’s quiet, too quiet.
