THE COW HE CAME TO BUY

by

Chapter 6

THEME:
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Now it made my stomach turn cold.

"Rosie."

Nobody had called me that since he left.

I heard myself whisper his name.

"Curtis."

Oscar's hand slipped from Clover's neck.

Curtis looked at him.

Something changed in his face.

"Oscar?"

The boy stared.

I had shown him the old photograph once.

Only once.

Children remember faces adults pray they will forget.

"Papa?"

Curtis swung down from the horse.

Oscar did not run to him.

That hurt me in a way I could not explain.

Part of me had feared he would.

Another part had feared he would not.

Curtis took one step.

I moved off the porch.

"Stop there."

His smile faded.

"Rosalie."

"I said stop."

He stopped.

His eyes traveled over me.

Then to Adrien.

Then back.

"Who's he?"

It was so like Curtis to ask that before asking how his son was that any last doubt vanished.

Adrien put on his hat.

"Adrien Brandt."

Recognition sharpened Curtis's expression.

"Brandt Ranch?"

"Yes."

Curtis looked at me again.

"What is he doing here?"

I heard the old claim hidden inside the question.

As if this yard remained his.

As if I remained his.

Something that had been trembling inside me became very still.

"That," I said, "is none of your concern."

Adrien's gaze flicked toward me.

Curtis stared.

Then, strangely, he laughed once.

"Still sharp."

"Why are you here?"

His eyes moved to Oscar.

"I came home."

The word struck harder than I expected.

Home.

I had spent three years rebuilding that word without him.

Curtis looked toward the cabin as though expecting the door to open for him.

"I've had a long road, Rosie."

"Don't call me that."

His face tightened.

"All right. Rosalie."

Oscar stood beside Clover in complete silence.

Curtis opened his arms a little.

"Come here, son."

Oscar looked at me first.

Curtis saw.

A shadow crossed his face.

"Oscar."

The boy swallowed.

"You left."

Curtis lowered his arms.

I closed my eyes for half a second.

There are questions mothers cannot answer for fathers.

Curtis shoved one hand through his hair.

"I know."

"You said you were sorry."

The boy remembered the note.

Of course he did.

I had believed he was too young.

"I was."

"Then why didn't you come back?"

Curtis had no answer ready.

That was the first time I understood something clearly.

He had not rehearsed facing his son.

He had only rehearsed returning.

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