Page 18 of Cherry Tree Ranch

“Grandpa Charlie never wanted to talk about it.” She shrugs. “He was a baby when Daisy and Clara died, and I was really young when he died, so I never got the full story.”

“Huh. And Dottie never knew what happened to them?”

She lets out a heavy sigh. “Not that I know of.”

We sit and stare off into the distance until I remember something I read. “Mom, did you know sweet cherry trees are only supposed to live ten to fifteen years and sour cherry trees twenty to twenty-five?”

She waves a hand up at the orchard. “Those trees are ancient then.”

“No kidding. It’s crazy, right?”

“Or maybe it’s not.” She smirks. A meadowlark sings its tune in the distance, and she turns to listen. Birds rarely visit the ranch, and, if they do, they come to the trees by the pond, or to the orchard. There isn’t enough life here for them to stay long.

“You don’t think the trees living five to ten times as long as they should is weird?”

“There’s always been something special about this ranch. The longer I live the more I realize some things aren’t easy to explain.”

Chapter Nine

I’m riding Blue bareback around the ranch the next day, still feeling the glow of my first market success, when Dad calls me.

My thumb hovers over the answer button, my heart beating awkwardly in my chest. Answering will mean finding out what he wants, but not answering will mean a guilt trip later. I’m instantly on edge with him, never knowing if he’ll be in a good mood and feeling generous (although there’s always a catch), or if he’s on the brink of exploding or ghosting me for a week because I said something wrong.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, my breath hiding behind my ribs. Despite his high IQ, Dad doesn’t hear the hesitation or false cheer in my voice. His emotional quotient is the inverse of his intelligence quotient.

“I want to talk to you before you come tomorrow,” he says. “Please stop what you’re doing and give me your attention.”

I ask Blue to halt under a tree as panic creeps its way up my throat. I’m supposed to be meeting Dad today to pick up my new truck. “What’s up?” I try to sound confident and not like a cowering four-year-old.

“I’ve decided to give Emery the truck instead.”

And there it is – confirmation I should always be on guard with him, always prepare for him to over-promise and under-deliver. I clench my teeth and throw my forehead into Blue’s neck.

“Dahlia,” he says, trying to engage me.

“I heard. I … I don’t understand,” I say through Blue’s mane. “Emery doesn’t need a pick-up.”

“She needs a vehicle, and that’s what’s important,” he says. “The damage from her accident is taking a while to repair. European parts take time to import, and I’m not buying her a new car. She’s got to get around this summer and back to college in the fall.”

“But I need the truck to get cherries to the market. I don’t have enough room in Mom’s car, and the honey will be ready soon too,” I plead, red heat rising up my neck. “Can’t she drive something else? A rental?”

“Dahlia, you shouldn’t be wasting time selling cherries. You don’t have any idea how to manage a ranch – or farm, whatever it’s called these days.”

Dad’s right about what we call it. It’s technically a farm because of the cherries, but long ago it was a sheep ranch and that’s what we’ve always called it.

“The only crop that will ever produce money on that godforsaken place is hay, and you’ve got none,” he says. “You’re going to have a lot of expenses there. You need to have a better plan than cherries and honey.”

“I’m working on it. I—”

“Dahlia, if you sell the place, you could do so much with that money. Not many people your age want to run a ranch or pass up a couple million dollars.” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I can’t believe your mom convinced you to drop college. How about you go to the community college, and you and your mom move back into an apartment? Or you can come stay with me. Your life would be much easier.”

“Mom left the decision up to me,” I whisper. “And I don’t want easy. Dad, haven’t you ever wanted something so badly … something worth fighting for? Something exciting, not just a boring desk job?”

I know going to college is an opportunity not afforded to everyone – but I have the chance to save this place. In my mind, that’s the greatest privilege I can imagine. I may fail miserably, but I have to try.

“Dad? Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t answer. I look at the screen – call ended. That’s not the first time he’s hung up on me. I know he didn’t lose service; he’s at the office. His boring desk job. I rest my head against Blue again and scream into his soft neck. I didn’t mean it like that – I was thinking of my imaginary future, not his career. But Dad will never forgive me unless I grovel. So, I call back.