“Ford, buddy, how’s the homeland treating you?” Miles’s voice was a shot of espresso, even on a scratchy cell connection. “You sound like you’re at a funeral. Or maybe just getting ready for one?”
“Not far off,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “What’s up, Miles?”
He ignored the question, which was his specialty. “I got your email. It was very . . . concise. Not your usual style.”
“I’m busy,” I lied.
Miles tsked, a sound that grated even through a thousand miles of fiber-optic cable. “I know you’re busy. I’ve got about four hundred people in this office who wish you were busy here, instead of wherever the hell you are.”
I let the silence build, hoping he’d get to the point.
“Look,” he finally said, “the Breckenridge people are asking when you’re coming back. They want to schedule the first board meeting in person. They keep saying it’s important to have ‘legacy leadership’ involved. Your name is on all the paperwork, Ford. If you don’t show, they might get antsy.”
“They can get antsy all they want,” I said. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”
“Is this about your mom?” Miles didn’t sound accusatory, just curious. “Or are you just hiding out and eating your weight in huckleberry pie?”
I snorted. “Huckleberry season just ended. The bears ate them all.”
“Bears are a strong metaphor for corporate raiders, don’t you think?”
He waited for me to laugh, but I didn’t. I could see the cut in the trees where the driveway to my parents’ ranch started, and I felt my hands tighten on the wheel. “I’ll be back when I’m back, Miles. Tell the Breckenridge folks to run the meetings without me if they need to. You’ve got power of attorney. And the whole point of selling was to stop doing so much of . . . all that.”
“Yeah, but you know they want the big dog in the room. They want the cowboy genius, the digital prodigy, the?—”
“Don’t,” I said, a little sharper than I meant to.
He stopped. “Sorry. You know I’m just trying to keep things moving. We miss you here, Ford.”
I let the words hang for a second, then said, “Thanks,” because it was easier than telling him what I really felt.
Miles sighed, a little more genuine this time. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t argue. “Alright. Well, let me know if you need anything. And if you get bored of the sticks, Breckenridge put a sushi chef in the company cafeteria now. Can’t get that in Montana.”
“Congrats,” I said, and hung up before he could say anything else.
I turned onto the ranch road, gravel kicking up behind me in a cloud of gray dust. The house was visible from the highway, but the closer I got, the smaller it looked, like the years had shrunk it down to something I could fit in my pocket. The paint was peeling, and there were patches of missing shingles on the roof, and the old cattle fence that used to run the perimeter was busted in three places, sagging under the weight of dead branches.
I killed the engine and just sat there, letting the quiet close around me. My heart was beating a little too fast, and my hands wouldn’t unclench from the steering wheel.
In the distance, I could see a shape moving by the barn. For a second, I thought it was my father, but the gait was wrong, too slow, too careful. My father never walked that way. He always looked like he was about to punch the horizon.
I waited another minute, then got out and started up the front steps, boots crunching on the dead grass. My hands were sweating, even though the air was cold enough to freeze spit before it hit the ground.
I reached the door, stared at it for a second, then knocked.
No answer.
I waited, knocked again, and was about to turn away when I heard the faintest sound of footsteps inside. Shuffling, like slippers on carpet, or maybe just someone dragging their feet because the effort to lift them was too much.
The door opened a crack, and I saw my mother’s eye peering through, suspicious as a magpie.
Then she saw me, and the suspicion melted away, replaced by a kind of bone-deep exhaustion that I recognized all too well. She opened the door wider and leaned against the frame, her hand gripping the wood so tight her knuckles went white.
“Ford,” she said, her voice a whisper. “You came.”
