It’s been three weeks since Thanksgiving and I haven’t gotten anything from Dad. Maybe he lied or maybe it’s going to be something extra special on Christmas? What if he’s coming to see me? No, that can’t be it. I’m beginning to get irritated and Jade has been asking me what is going on. I can honestly say she’s become the one person I turn to, but then there’s also Barrick. Since the day he took me to Asheville, things have been different. I know he likes me because let’s face it, I’m pretty fabulous, but it’s something else. I catch him watching me when we’re working and I don’t find it creepy. I’ve told myself over and over that I don’t need a guy or want one, but if I had to right now, I’d choose him. But he doesn’t need to know that.
Now that Christmas break has arrived, I’m stoked. It means no homework but I still have my farm work and dance. I’m not thrilled about the work, but dance gets me through the day.
As Barrick and I finish in the stalls Monday morning, I see the mail truck stop at the end of the road and the mailman place a big envelope in the mailbox. I wonder if it’s for me. I don’t tell Barrick where I’m going and hurry to the end of the drive. I soon realize I should have taken the Gator.
Opening the mailbox, I find sales ads and an envelope addressed to me. Funny. It’s not from Dad. It’s not his handwriting. I take it and open the envelope. I see that there is a plane ticket dated for the day after Christmas. I pull the Christmas card out, and when I read the sweet note, inside my insides tighten into a ball. She wrote it. It’s her handwriting. Couldn’t he have a least written it himself? Asshole. I want to throw it on the ground, but think twice. I’ve wanted to go back to New York since I left, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to play nice when I get there.
Barrick
Where did she go? I stop what I’m doing and walk to the doorway to see her standing at the mailbox. It takes all of two seconds to see her happiness fade and all I can make out is her moving her hands and obviously yelling about something.
As she starts to walk back, I walk back inside and finish up. “So you got any matches?” she asks, catching me off guard.
“Sorry, I don’t smoke,” I say.
“Me neither, but I’ve got some stuff I want to get rid of. Can you help me?” she asks. I can’t tell her no because she looks like she’s ready to kill someone.
“Sure. This doesn’t involve a dead body, does it?” I ask, trying to make her laugh. She doesn’t find it funny. “I’m kidding. Whatcha got?” I ask, pointing to the mail.
“Oh a flight to New York,” she says with a fake smile.
“Shouldn’t you be happy about that?”
“I should, but it’s who sent it that pisses me off.” I don’t say anything and walk to the closet and rummage around for matches. Bingo.
“I got matches. What are we burning?”
“Everything but the ticket,” she says and we walk toward a metal barrel full of wood that I’ve been meaning to burn. I take some straw and light it first to get it going. “You want to talk about it?” I ask, but she doesn’t say anything as she takes everything but the flight ticket and tosses it in the fire.
“Did you know my dad couldn’t even write me a Christmas card?” she asks as she watches it burn. I have no idea what to say. “Instead, he had that home-wrecking bimbo do it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say to her and she snaps.
“Sorry? Why the hell are you sorry, Barrick? You didn’t do anything wrong. Do you think sorry fixes everything? Cause, guess what? It fucking doesn’t!” she yells at me, and I don’t know what to do. Instead of speaking, I take a step toward her and wrap my arms around her. She tries to pull away, but I tighten them more and she does the thing I least expected; she begins to cry. I don’t say anything. I hold her and let her know I’m here for her. I have no idea what it’s like not having both parents at home, but to know that her dad doesn’t treat her the way she should be treated makes my heart hurt. I know that from this point on, I’m going to make her feel loved whether she likes it or not.