breath, I hit the “CALL” button.
It rang four times, and then Gramps’s deep, gruff, solid voice answered. “Hello? Who is this?”
“Hi, Gramps. It’s Caden.”
“Caden? Your Pops finally give you a cell phone, did he?”
I laughed nervously. “Yeah. Good grades this year, you know.” I cleared my throat. “So, I’m coming to the ranch this summer.”
“Oh, yeah? Had enough of that artsy-fartsy camper bullshit, did you?”
“Gramps. It was an exclusive program for the most talented kids my age in the country. It was an honor to go last year.”
“But you ain’t goin’ back, though.” I could almost see his eyes narrowing as he said this.
“Yeah, you’re right. I had enough artsy-fartsy bullshit. I’m still an artist, though. So don’t get your hopes up.” He liked to joke that someday I’d come to my senses and decide to move to Wyoming and let him groom me to take over the ranch.
“Well, shit. Got me all excited there for a minute, grandson.”
“Sorry, Gramps.”
He cleared his throat, a signal that jokes were over. “So, when’s your flight get into Cheyenne?”
I hesitated. “Well, that’s the thing, Gramps. I—I’m driving myself this year.”
For once, Gramps was speechless. It took several moments for him to respond. “Bullshit,” he grunted. “You’re barely sixteen. Ain’t no way your Pops will allow that.”
“I left already. I’m halfway to Chicago.”
“The fuck is your dad thinking?” Gramps tried not to curse around me too much when I was younger, but like Dad, the older I got, the less he censored himself.
I wasn’t sure what to say, since I didn’t know what Dad was thinking. “He’s…he’s been working a lot.”
“You didn’t run away, did you?”
“No!” I winced as a semi roared past, rocking the car as it went. “Dad knows.”
Gramps was silent for a long time, but I knew him well enough to know he was thinking it over. “Guess I can’t do much from here. I want you to call me every four hours, Caden. You got it? Every four hours, precise. Means you have to stop and pull over to call me, you got it? No texting or talking while you drive. Keep the music down. Watch your blind spots. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is the dumbest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard of. Sixteen years old and driving damn near thirty hours by your own damn self. I should call Aidan and have a word with him is what I should do.”
“Don’t, Gramps. He’s…just don’t call him. I’ll be fine. I swear.”
“He ain’t dealin’ well with losin’ your mom, is he?”
“No sir, he ain’t.” I felt a pang of loss hit me. I always came back from the ranch talking like Gramps, with a twang and saying “ain’t.” Mom would have a fit every year, whacking my shoulder whenever I said “ain’t” or “don’t got” or anything like that. There’d be no one to care this year.
“It’s a damn shame, Caden. She was a good woman, too good for him, I always said. I know losin’ her is the hardest thing that could happen, but it ain’t no excuse for lettin’ a kid your age go off on a road trip alone.”
“I know, Gramps. But I’m not a kid anymore. Okay? I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now.”
“You’re a good kid, Cade. You’ll be one hell of a man, too. But you’re still a kid. You need your Pops to be a father to you.” He grunted. “Four hours. I better hear from you on the dot. You stop anytime you’re tired, you hear? There ain’t no rush. Just get here safe.”
“I will.”
“’Kay, then. Love you, boy.”
“Love you too, Gramps.” I hung up and set the phone in the cup holder, wiping my face with both hands.
For a moment I was struck by disorientation, doubt, fear. What was I doing? I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t ready. Another semi rushed past, buffeting the Jeep. I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Another. I pushed away the emotions, the doubts. I recited
It rang four times, and then Gramps’s deep, gruff, solid voice answered. “Hello? Who is this?”
“Hi, Gramps. It’s Caden.”
“Caden? Your Pops finally give you a cell phone, did he?”
I laughed nervously. “Yeah. Good grades this year, you know.” I cleared my throat. “So, I’m coming to the ranch this summer.”
“Oh, yeah? Had enough of that artsy-fartsy camper bullshit, did you?”
“Gramps. It was an exclusive program for the most talented kids my age in the country. It was an honor to go last year.”
“But you ain’t goin’ back, though.” I could almost see his eyes narrowing as he said this.
“Yeah, you’re right. I had enough artsy-fartsy bullshit. I’m still an artist, though. So don’t get your hopes up.” He liked to joke that someday I’d come to my senses and decide to move to Wyoming and let him groom me to take over the ranch.
“Well, shit. Got me all excited there for a minute, grandson.”
“Sorry, Gramps.”
He cleared his throat, a signal that jokes were over. “So, when’s your flight get into Cheyenne?”
I hesitated. “Well, that’s the thing, Gramps. I—I’m driving myself this year.”
For once, Gramps was speechless. It took several moments for him to respond. “Bullshit,” he grunted. “You’re barely sixteen. Ain’t no way your Pops will allow that.”
“I left already. I’m halfway to Chicago.”
“The fuck is your dad thinking?” Gramps tried not to curse around me too much when I was younger, but like Dad, the older I got, the less he censored himself.
I wasn’t sure what to say, since I didn’t know what Dad was thinking. “He’s…he’s been working a lot.”
“You didn’t run away, did you?”
“No!” I winced as a semi roared past, rocking the car as it went. “Dad knows.”
Gramps was silent for a long time, but I knew him well enough to know he was thinking it over. “Guess I can’t do much from here. I want you to call me every four hours, Caden. You got it? Every four hours, precise. Means you have to stop and pull over to call me, you got it? No texting or talking while you drive. Keep the music down. Watch your blind spots. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is the dumbest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard of. Sixteen years old and driving damn near thirty hours by your own damn self. I should call Aidan and have a word with him is what I should do.”
“Don’t, Gramps. He’s…just don’t call him. I’ll be fine. I swear.”
“He ain’t dealin’ well with losin’ your mom, is he?”
“No sir, he ain’t.” I felt a pang of loss hit me. I always came back from the ranch talking like Gramps, with a twang and saying “ain’t.” Mom would have a fit every year, whacking my shoulder whenever I said “ain’t” or “don’t got” or anything like that. There’d be no one to care this year.
“It’s a damn shame, Caden. She was a good woman, too good for him, I always said. I know losin’ her is the hardest thing that could happen, but it ain’t no excuse for lettin’ a kid your age go off on a road trip alone.”
“I know, Gramps. But I’m not a kid anymore. Okay? I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now.”
“You’re a good kid, Cade. You’ll be one hell of a man, too. But you’re still a kid. You need your Pops to be a father to you.” He grunted. “Four hours. I better hear from you on the dot. You stop anytime you’re tired, you hear? There ain’t no rush. Just get here safe.”
“I will.”
“’Kay, then. Love you, boy.”
“Love you too, Gramps.” I hung up and set the phone in the cup holder, wiping my face with both hands.
For a moment I was struck by disorientation, doubt, fear. What was I doing? I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t ready. Another semi rushed past, buffeting the Jeep. I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Another. I pushed away the emotions, the doubts. I recited
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