“I hope it won’t come to that, but my parents really let things go around here. My siblings and I put money into this place, but it was like adding drops to a leaky bucket.”
“Would you be willing to share what your main issues are? Maybe I can help brainstorm some solutions.” She was the chief financial officer of a successful business, so I knew she wasn’t asking that question casually.
I rubbed the tension in the back of my neck. “Where do I begin?”
I didn’t owe her an explanation, but part of me wanted to talk about everything I’d been holding inside of me for so long. I started detailing the immediate cash flow problems, then moved on to infrastructure issues, the decline in bookings, and competition from a growing number of guest ranches in surrounding areas. At first, I was reluctant to open up, but once I got going, it was as if a pressure valve had been released. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to talk to someone about my problems, someone who would truly understand and hopefully not judge me.
“Thank you,” I said when I finished venting. “I have no idea why you haven’t stopped me before now, but I appreciate you listening to me.”
“I’m happy to listen,” she said. “It sounds like you walked into a minefield of problems and issues, which was further complicated by your sentimental attachment to the ranch. I’m sure you want to keep it going for Gigi, too.”
I hadn’t even brought up the emotional component, but, clearly, she already understood. “It breaks my heart to think about selling, but my siblings don’t feel the same connection to it I do.”
“I can’t believe that. I’ve only been here a few weeks, and I feel connected to it already.”
She always seemed to say the right thing.
“Even Walt is thinking about leaving Silver Sage. I feel like I’m the only one who believes we can keep it going.”
“I’m so sorry, Matthew. Please let me help in any way I can.” She leaned in and kissed me, and for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was in this mess alone.
Thank goodness we weren’t doing anything scandalous because Gigi chose that moment to wander downstairs with drowsy eyes and messy hair. “I had a nightmare.” Her voice was croaky from sleep. “Can I sit with you guys for a few minutes?”
“Of course,” Lauren said before I could tell Gigi I’d take her upstairs and tuck her in. She made space for Gigi between us on the couch and patted the cushion, and my heart swelled to about twice its size with affection for her.
Gigi plopped down between us and rested against me, her little body still warm and relaxed. “I don’t want to leave Loki. Can’t I stay here for fifth grade and you can homeschool me? You could talk to Mom about it.”
It ripped my heart out when she said things like this. Her mom and stepdad would be at the ranch in two days to take her home, and neither of us was happy about it.
“I love that idea,” I said, “except for the part where I try to teach school.”
“So I’ll take the bus to public school,” she said. “And before you say that it’s too hard to get off the ranch in the winter, I’ve already thought that through.” She paused dramatically. “We get a snowmobile.”
Lauren looked over Gigi’s head and raised her eyebrows, silently asking me if I was going to cave in. The choice wasn’t mine to make, unfortunately, because a court agreement stated Gigi had to go back to Denver for the school year.
“I understand you want to stay longer,” I said, “and I wish you could too, but then your mom would miss you. We decided together this was best, but I know it’s hard leaving Loki.” She was always missing one of her parents, and one of us had to miss her, too. Divorced parenting sucked, even when the situation was amicable.
Gigi sighed and nestled against me. “I don’t think it’s best for me to leave Silver Sage.”
I looked over at Lauren, who was watching us with soft eyes and a sad smile on her lips. The ache in my chest was nearly unbearable.
“You’ll be back before you know it,” I said. “I get you for Thanksgiving this year, remember?”
Gigi looked unconvinced. “I hate the end of summer.”
It was Lauren’s turn to sigh. “Me too.”
“Me three.” It was the truth. If wishes came true, Silver Sage would stay open forever, and Gigi would move here and live with me full time. Heck, if I was dreaming, Lauren would be here with us, too, wearing those red cowgirl boots and joining the smutty book club. Walt would stay on, and I’d be able to hire more staff and fill these cabins.
Wishing wouldn’t make all of that happen though, and reality was quickly closing in on me. Payroll was due and my debts were mounting. Something had to give.
* * *
The following evening,I was feeling nostalgic at the campfire cookout, knowing it was mostly likely the last one for Silver Sage. The fact that it was Lauren’s first and only cookout, made it even more bittersweet. As Walt told cowboy tales to the guests, I felt tears gather in my eyes. How could something so special just go out like a candle? And how could I have let it go?
After I put Gigi to bed that night, I came across the urn in the hall closet containing my mother’s ashes. Although I had nothing against cremation, it felt strange and a little creepy to have her remains sitting on a shelf between a box of flashlights and a stack of umbrellas. Long ago, Dad had purchased two plots in a Laramie cemetery where he expected one day to be buried alongside his wife, but it turned out Mom had other plans for her eternal rest. She’d secretly put it in her will to be cremated and spread around the ranch, a fun fact we discovered after their deaths. My father was one of those husbands who had the final say on everything—head of the household and all of that—and my guess was she felt it would be easier to put her final wishes in a legal document rather than try to go up against him.
The funeral home gave her ashes to me a week after we’d buried our father underground. By that time, Bowie and Faith had gone home. Was I supposed to leave our mother’s remains sitting on a closet shelf for years, on the off chance all of my siblings came back here again at the same time? What if we lost the ranch and couldn’t come back to the property ever again? That was a horrifying thought.
