and bedding, everything except a cell phone, their horses, and an old Coleman lantern. How that might have turned into a positive memory for them was a private story between father and son.
Beth emerged into the kitchen. The sliding glass door between the kitchen and porch stood open, and the new-earth scents kicked up by the rain came into the house on a breeze.
The lamp formed a halo between Rose and the screens, reducing her to a dim, bowed version of her strong self. She sat on a wicker chair facing the sleeping morning.
Beyond her, Herriot’s forelegs were propped against the low wall, nose twitching against the flimsy wire mesh, as if to detect what the humans’ senses couldn’t. Her tail waved calmly. Outside, the distortion of rain transformed the nearby barn’s moth light into a bobbing firefly.
Beth hesitated in the kitchen, unsure if it was the right time to approach her mother, and if it was, what the proper posture would be: Comforting? Penitent? Grieved? Reassuring?
“Beth’s up.” Her mother was looking at Herriot, and her chilly tone rooted Beth to the floor.
Half of Levi’s face came into the lamplight. The other half, like the dark side of the moon, stayed in shadow. Levi was looking at their mother with barely veiled impatience. He didn’t seem to care if Beth was up, but she withdrew into the kitchen shadows.
“Don’t bury him here,” Levi said.
“All the Borzois who ever set foot on American soil are buried here,” her mother replied.
“You’d put him in the very ground that you intend to sell?”
“Maybe I don’t want to sell it after all. The insurance—”
“By the time you pay for the hospital and the funeral, you won’t have enough left over to buy that fat jockey Darling a breakfast!”
“Levi. Watch your volume.”
He complied but stood up and leaned over her, trading one form of intensity for another. Their mother seemed unaffected by his show.
“Don’t tell me a measly life-insurance policy changed your mind.”
“My mind was never made up. I only thought that selling this place would be essential to his recovery. But now—I can’t help but wonder if the very suggestion was what killed him.”
“Beth killed him,” Levi said.
Her mother didn’t defend her.
Levi’s voice dropped so that it was difficult for Beth to hear. “What does it matter? He’s gone now. Danny’s not old enough to take on this piece of hell on earth, and I don’t want it.”
“No one’s making you stay, Levi.”
“You can’t make a go of this place without me.”
Yes, we can, Beth thought. We have Jacob and Roy, Emory and Eric. We just don’t have any money.
“Now’s not the time to be making such big decisions,” Rose said.
“When will it be right? Eighteen months will find us without our shirts in the middle of winter, and we’ll all pretend to be surprised by that. Unless we act now.”
“What do you propose? You want to sell this place just so you can get your investment out of the dirt and run off to your own life? Where would you go? What would you do?”
“I’d make a living. What kind of life is this, breaking our backs day in and day out? I pour my sweat and blood into the filth of this land, and it’s never, ever satisfied.” Levi’s voice was filled with disgust. “I want wealth. That’s all I ask for.”
“You have no idea what true wealth is,” Rose said.
Levi changed his approach. He squatted next to his mother’s chair and took her hand, softened his tone. “Every day we hold on to this ranch we get deeper and deeper into the money hole.”
Rose shook her head. “Men rely on us. We can’t pretend they’re not a factor.”
“How do you expect to take care of them or pay Beth’s debts if we don’t do something drastic?”
At the screens, Herriot went still. A low growl vibrated at the bottom of her throat. Beth watched her dog through rising tears. Levi and Rose were too wrapped up in their own dilemma to worry about Herriot’s distraction.
“The market for selling might be better next spring—”
“Mom, this trouble is bigger than we are.”
Rose supported her forehead with her other hand. “Who wants a ranch these days? It’s too big for the romantic types who think ranching is a dreamy life; it’s too small for the commercial ventures.”
“We’re sitting on prime real estate.”
“Parts of it are—what are you suggesting? That we subdivide it? What a nightmare. I wouldn’t have what it takes. It would be like