And there it is, the topic I’ve been waiting to discuss with him, delivered directly to the breakfast table.
My father’s face turns red, and I hope like hell I won’t have to administer CPR in a minute.
“There’s a lot of layers to this one,” Carl says.
“That’s an understatement,” I say. I look at my father. “Dad, you haven’t said a word.”
“Not much to say,” he says. He pushes back from the table. “I need to get dressed. Horses haven’t been fed yet.”
Once he leaves the kitchen, I turn back to Carl. “Wish you’d have called me first.”
Debby starts washing pots, and even though she looks preoccupied, I know she’s listening.
“That makes two of us,” Carl says. “Sorry.” He fidgets with his coffee cup. “Grant Greene? Correct?” he says to Grant.
Grant nods. “Carl Frost, correct?”
Carl nods and says, “This is not going to be a good look if it gets out.”
“No, it’s not,” I say.
Grant reaches over and pats my arm. “We’ll handle whatever happens. I’m here.”
I know he means it and not just because he’s trained to help people. Because he’s walked the walk and been honest with me about it.
Carl pushes back from the table. “Take care of her,” he says, looking at Grant.
“I will,” Grant says.
“I don’t need someone to take care of me,” I say to both of them, pulling my arm away from Grant. But even as I say it, there’s a part of me that likes the idea. I’ve always held fast to taking care of myself, been proud of that, but Grant makes me question things I never questioned before.
“I’ve got to get back to the hotel and pack up,” Carl says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Grant looks from me to Carl. “Actually, there is something. I need a ride back to the hotel. I’ve got to pack my things up as well.”
I smile up at Carl. “You offered.”
Before they leave, I make sure Grant shows him the back way out and has the code, and I also tell them to avoid the front of the hotel.
“Not my first rodeo,” Carl says, and he walks to his car.
Grant lingers a minute, looks down at me. “You are so unexpected.”
“You’re the unexpected one,” I say.
“That’s exactly how I felt when I brought that casserole to your dad,” Debby says, drying her hands on a checkered dish towel.
Grant and I laugh. “Thanks for that, Debby,” I say.
He leans down and kisses me. “See you later.”
My dad has taken his truck to the horse barn, so Debby said I could take Pearl Ann.
Today no coat is needed. People joke the temperatures in this area are as random as lotto numbers, and today that number is around seventy-five.
Birds swoop and chirp in the open hay shed as I climb down from the spotless F-150. The sounds of my youth are in this barn. The smells. A world away from what I hear and smell in Dallas.
My dad exits, carrying a bale in his gloved hands.
