His girl.
Drama.
Then easy.
Jesus, but he’d fucked up. He could have had that for a decade and, more, given it to her.
Oh yeah. Fuck yeah.
He’d fucked up.
They sat in silence awhile before Reece got up and ordered pizza.
Then they drank, ate, and drank some more.
And, later, Zara earned her trophy.
Then she passed out.
But she did it cuddled close in his arms.
Chapter Fourteen
Two Different Things
Six days later…
“You know, Cotton,” I called to the old man’s back as we trudged through the mountains, “they have digital cameras these days. Most of them are small and none of them require film and all this other stuff I’m lugging through the perilous off-trail Rocky Mountains.”
I wasn’t joking. We weren’t on a trail. I had to admit, the views were stunning but still, the terrain was treacherous. So treacherous, the old guy’s easy pace moving through it flipped me out. Then again, he wasn’t carrying a heavy camera bag on his shoulder like I was.
“Did you come to bellyache or did you come to see a master at work?” Cotton asked, not turning back to me.
“I came to see a master at work but, prior to that, you failed to divulge you were a slave driver.”
He stopped abruptly, murmured reverently, “There she is,” then reached an arm back toward me, again without looking at me but snapping his fingers and demanding, “Give me my bag, girl.”
I gratefully pulled the strap off my shoulder and positioned the handles in his hand.
His fingers curled around the handles and he went right to work, unzipping the bag, yanking out his camera, then dropping to a knee with the camera up to his face.
I got close and looked at the view he was shooting.
Then I lost my breath.
All my life, I’d lived in the Rockies and never, not once, did I get used to their splendor.
They might be hard to climb, difficult to traverse, and the weather in them unpredictable, but none of that meant that God didn’t know exactly what He was doing when He created them.
Once I’d drunk in the view, my eyes moved to Cotton.
I was more than pleased that I’d found time to go out with him on a shoot. Or more to the point, I was more than pleased he’d phoned me way early that morning, waking me after a few hours of sleep since I’d had a shift the night before, and telling me to haul my behind to his place to get him because we were going out.
I left a disgruntled but soon-back-to-fast-asleep Ham in his bed in order to have this opportunity.
But navigating dangerous mountain passes was worth the view. More, watching Cotton, who looked like Rocky Mountain Santa with his shock of white hair, white beard, jolly belly, and red nose, focused on creating what I knew once the photos were done would be sheer beauty made it even more worth it.
I drank this in, too, and did it until Cotton dropped the camera then sat on his ass on the boulder we were perched on and looked up at me.
“Thermos ’a joe in that bag, Zara, coupla mugs. Pour us some lead,” he ordered.
I dropped to my ass on the boulder and did as told. I handed him his travel mug and wrapped my gloved hands around mine.
“How’d you know this was here?” I asked after I took a sip, motioning to the view with my head.
“Lotta years on me, girl,” Cotton answered. “Spent ’em high and low, traipsin’ through these hills. Saw this spot years ago. But this spot, the light’s gotta be right. Woke up and just got the feelin’, the light would be right. Luckily, I was not wrong. So here we are and, finally, I caught that old girl’s glory.”
I looked to the “old girl,” a sweeping range of Rockies that punctuated a cloudless blue sky, the sun stark on its planes, shaded through its angles.
It was phenomenal. Cotton’s feeling was spot on. Then again, that was why he was world famous and became that way exposing the beautiful mysteries of America’s mountains’ majesty.
“You gotta know, whole town’s talkin’ about your boy,” he muttered and my eyes went from the majesty to Cotton.
I didn’t know which “boy” he was talking about. Ham could be a boy to him, considering Cotton’s age. Or he could mean Zander. I did know that whatever this was he was bringing up was why I was there, he’d asked me to come before the Zander news broke, so I suspected it was Ham.
“You wanna explain that, Cotton?” I asked.
He took a sip from his mug and his eyes came to me.
“Xenia’s son,” he answered, surprising me but I nodded.
I’d told Mindy and Becca about Zander the night of Xenia’s funeral. I’d also told Arlene. Mins and Becs could keep their mouths shut. Arlene, no way in hell.
“’Spect you know this already, Zara, but your daddy’s a sumabitch,” Cotton shared.
I drank from my coffee and looked to the mountain. “Yeah, Cotton, learned that when I was around three.”
“He hurt you girls?” Cotton asked, and my gaze shot back to him.
“Cotton—”
“Did Xavier take his hand to you girls?” Cotton asked firmly.
“Yes,” I whispered, telling him something only Ham, Mins, Neens, Becs, Maybelle, Wanda, and my dead friend Kim knew, outside of Xenia, of course, but she was there.
“Dang nab it,” he muttered.
His head dropping, he looked at his lap.
“Cotton, it was a while ago,” I told him gently.
His gaze came back to mine before he said bizarrely, “Takes a village.”
“What?” I asked.
“It takes a village, Zara. You won’t know this, won’t have remembered her that way. If I recall, by the time you and your sister could cipher, she’d lost it so you didn’t get her that way, but Amy Cinders before she became a Cinders was the prettiest girl in town before she gave our town you and your sister. And that’s sayin’ somethin’, seein’ as we got a lot of talent about. Thing about her was, she wasn’t just pretty, she was sweet. Couldn’t tell a joke and wouldn’t, seein’ as she was a might shy, but you’d work hard to make her laugh, hear that sound that was pretty as her, watch her face light up.”
His eyes grew sharp on me before he finished.
“And she laughed a lot back then, girl.”
I didn’t like this, knowing Mom was pretty… once. Happy… once. Laughed… once.
Cotton was right. I never saw her smile, definitely not laugh, and by the time I could “cipher,” although it wasn’t lost on me she was vaguely attractive, that was defined as “vaguely” due to the fact that timidity shrouded her and fear poured off her in waves.
I didn’t like knowing she’d lost that. More, I didn’t like knowing she gave it up, apparently without much of a fight.
“I’m not sure I want to hear this,” I told him carefully, also not wanting to offend him.
“What I’m sayin’ is, he broke her. So we knew. The town did. Xenia and you hightailin’ it outta there the minute you could. Xenia abusin’ her body in an effort to dull the pain. We knew. And we shoulda done somethin’ about it.”
I felt bad for him because he clearly felt bad about all this but it was way past the point anything could be done now.
“You seem to be takin’ this hard, Cotton, and I won’t say it wasn’t tough but it was a long time ago and there were people closer to the situation who should have done something about it.”
“Your mother,” he said.
“Yes,” I agreed.
“You’re right,” he stated.
“I know I am,” I told him.
“Your man now, what’s that about?” he changed the subject suddenly.
And there we were, just as I suspected.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t confused at his question.
“I’m not following,” I replied.
“He’s got years on you, girl,” he shared something I knew
.
“And you had years on Alana,” I returned the favor, referring to his wife, a beauty, Native American, statuesque, graceful, soft-spoken, kind, and now, upsettingly, gone.
It was before the time I could “cipher,” but I knew she’d been in her twenties when they married, Cotton in his forties. That didn’t stop them from building a family, which they did, all adopted because Alana got ovarian cancer when she was way too young, had her entire womb removed, enjoyed a good spell with her man then it came back and devoured her.
But unlike my friend Kim, who died within months of diagnosis, for Alana, it took its time the second time around, drew it out, so when Alana finally faded away, it was a relief, even to Cotton, who was ravaged by her illness, his powerlessness against it but not her loss. His relief was so great, you could see it, feel it. It wasn’t a celebration. It was a stillness of expression and manner. And it lasted a long time.
Then he got crotchety and now he was a new Cotton, one who didn’t smile as much as I remembered him doing when I was a kid. And he didn’t laugh as much either.
He found his way to live on without the woman he adored.
But it wasn’t the same.
“We’re not talkin’ ’bout Alana, Zara. We’re talkin’ ’bout you,” Cotton shot back.
“Cotton, you’re grumpy but I love you. You know it. Still, I don’t know where you’re aimin’ so I don’t know where to put my shield.”
He didn’t pull any punches when he finally spit it out.
“Girls come from homes like yours sometimes find their daddies.”
I blinked.
Then I stared.
After I did that for a while, I burst out laughing.
“I’m not bein’ funny, girl,” Cotton groused through my laughter.
Also through my laughter, I forced out, “You so totally are.”
“Zara, straighten up and listen to me. I’m bein’ very serious.”
I choked down my laughter and looked at him.
“Darlin’, he even looks mean,” Cotton stated quietly when he got my attention.
“Yeah, he does,” I agreed. “But he’s the gentlest, most affectionate man I’ve ever met.”
“Zara—”
I cut him off.
“When I broke my wrist, he drove hundreds of miles to cook and clean for me for a week. When Kim died, he couldn’t get here until two days after the funeral because of work but he busted his ass to get here. He had only three days off and he didn’t sleep a wink in those days due to driving and spending time looking after me. And when I found out about Xenia, I couldn’t hold myself up and Ham was right down on the kitchen floor with me, holding me in his arms while I cried.”
I leaned forward and batted his knee with my hand before I leaned back, but through all this, I held his eyes.
“He’s not my dad, Cotton. He’s a big man who’s worked in bars his whole life so he’s got a look about him that you just don’t mess with him. But he got that through his profession. He doesn’t practice it in life.”
“Max likes him,” Cotton told me, sounding peeved, like he didn’t want to admit that.
But that was when I knew that Max also had reservations about Ham, maybe because of the way he looked, maybe Nina had shared some of our history, and that was why Max was cautious at first at The Rooster.
But Ham had won Max over and Max had shared this with Cotton.
“Give him a chance. There’s a lot to like,” I assured Cotton.
“He gonna give me that chance or is he gonna blow town and leave you again but leavin’ you this time maybe with a boy to raise?” Cotton asked.
“You know, I love you all the more because you care enough to bring me out here and have this talk, even if your honesty is off-base. But Ham’s stayin’,” I replied and Cotton’s eyes grew shrewd.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“And how are you sure?”
“Because he told me.”
“Girl—”
I scooted across the boulder to get closer to him and once there, I leaned in farther.
“He loves me, Cotton.”
“He tell you that?”
I felt my chin jerk back.
He hadn’t.
Ham had never said that.
He showed it, all the time.
But he’d never said it.
Not when he talked about committing to Gnaw Bone, committing to me. Not while we were cozied up, watching TV. Not during sex. Not cuddling after sex prior to falling asleep.
Not ever.
“You got a whale of a fight on your hands, darlin’,” Cotton said and I focused on him again. “Choose who you got in the corner of your ring wisely. You take on a child, your life becomes about that child and it’s harder to take life’s knocks when they hit you. You definitely shouldn’t be courtin’ them.”
“Ham’s a good guy,” I whispered.
“I believe you,” Cotton replied. “But a good guy and good for you are two different things, Zara.”
It was getting on my nerves when people made sense when they were talking about Ham even when I knew deep down they had no clue what they were talking about.
“I’m suddenly rethinking being your camera-bag-lugging girl,” I shared in order to express this and he grinned. It didn’t quite catch his eyes but he did it.
“Truth hurts. Then again, it also sets you free,” he stated. “Talk to your man and make sure his head is where you need it to be. You get that boy away from your daddy’s family, you gotta teach him to look after himself and the best way to do that is by example.”
“Ham’ll win you over,” I promised.
“Not me he’s gotta win,” Cotton returned. “But I’ll take it, though only after I know he’s pulled out all the stops to win you.”
That was sweet but I felt my eyes narrow. “How can you be scary, nosy, irritating, and lovable all at the same time?”
Cotton grinned even as he shrugged. “It’s just me.”
It was and had been since Alana died.
“You gonna take pictures or is there more of my world you wanna rock?” I asked, being flippant in the face of sudden uncertainty.
“I’m gonna take pictures but only after I say one more thing.”
I looked to the blue skies and muttered, “Great.”
“Zara,” Cotton called.
I looked at him.
“Alana was like you,” he said quietly and I pulled in a breath because, from Cotton, this was the highest of compliments. “She was young but old at heart. She knew what she wanted and God smiled His Heavenly light on me when she found that in me. Never happier in my life than when I had her, not before, absolutely not after. The age we had between us never touched us, not with the love we had. Her parents didn’t like it but she didn’t care. The day I won them over, I reckon, was the day she died. They’d watched me stick by her side through the better but mostly through the worse. This man of yours is who you think he is, I see you think you got that, too. And, if this man is who you think he is, I couldn’t be happier for you.”
“Now you’re tippin’ the scales, Cotton,” I kept up with my flippancy, this time in order not to cry. “You’re supposed to balance lovable and grumpy. Now you’re bein’ way more lovable than grumpy.”
He sucked back more coffee, then handed me his cup, stating, “Then you best get off your keister, girl. There’s mountains to climb and pictures to take.”
I looked again to the skies and repeated, “Great.”
“Up,” he grunted, shoving up to his feet.
I sucked back my coffee and followed him.
Then I followed him through the scrub and rocks and boulders and I did this successfully not falling down the side of the mountain or, less dramatically, twisting my ankle.
And Cotton showed me beauty.
It was what I knew it would be, a marvel watching a master at work even if it was simply watching a man snap pictures.
That didn’t mean I didn’t do it with my mind weighed heavily with thoughts about what he said.
This sucked, shadowing a great morning.
But Ham and I had never finished talking about his history, his problems with women. So much had happened since then—we’d been involved with Zander, Xenia dying, work, and settling into life together—we never got back to it.
And he’d never told me he loved me. I’d told him he was the love of my life, but he never shared anything close to that sentiment. Not with words.
And I’d learned the hard way with how I grew up, with the way Xenia went off the rails, that Cotton was right.
I had to look after myself.
Which meant I had to talk to Ham.
* * *
I sat on the couch in Ham’s office at The Dog, my legs crossed under me.
After my early morning in the mountains with very little sleep and an evening on my feet carrying drinks, I was dog-tired. There was nothing I wanted more than to fall into bed and sleep until tomorrow where I could go back to work and make more tips in hopes of using them to win my sister’s son into my life.
But my eyes were on Ham at his desk. He was standing, bent over the desk scribbling stuff in books and shoving money in moneybags he’d put in the safe when he was done cashing out completely. And it occurred to me that, unless we were in bed or Ham was stretched out watching TV, he rarely sat. Years of life working on his feet, he was used to it and kept them, probably out of habit.
“Tell me about February.”
Those words were said in my voice because they came from my mouth.
Ham, still bent over the desk, tipped only his head back to look at me.
“What?” he asked.
I’d started it. I didn’t mean to. I had other things to say. Other things to ask.
But I’d done it because I wanted to know. I’d wanted to know for a while. So I had to go with it.
“We never got done talkin’ the other night at The Rooster. You didn’t get to the part about February Owens.”
Ham didn’t move, body nor eyes, when he asked, “What about her?”
This wasn’t new, awesomer, forthcoming Ham. This was don’t-ask, don’t-tell Ham and him going back to that, especially on this particular topic, sent a chill spreading over my skin.