1
Penn
“...motor runnin’... Head out on the highwaaay... Lookin’ for –”
My phone started ringing, but I ignored it. There was nothing in the world that could stop me from blasting this chorus. Maybe I wasn’t exactly born to be wild, but I belted it out my truck window anyway, flying down the rural Colorado highway – carefree and alive.
Life was good – life was amazing. I was one lucky son of a gun, and there wasn’t a lot more I could ask for than what had already been given to me. I still tried my hardest not to come off like the rich kid of a rich dude. My truck was starting to rust in places, I never went to town in anything other than the (probably dirt-stained) t-shirts and ripped jeans that populated my wardrobe, and I’d managed to make it a full year through college a few years back without anyone realizing I was one of “those Hardick’s”.
It had been nice just to be good ol’ Penn. Dorms, classes, the occasional beer bong or flippy cup challenge, and tons of friends who didn’t give a damn about what was in my bank account (because they hadn’t realized there was anything to give a damn about). I would have enjoyed it even more if I had known how limited that period of time in my life would be.
My sophomore year officially ended when Sarah, my sister-in-law, died. The tragedy was simple; the roads were snowy and ice covered – she'd crashed. Bing, bang, boom – that was the end of the story, and that was the end of Sarah’s life.
When I left campus to return home for her funeral, I hadn’t really known for certain that I wouldn’t be back, but I’d had a hunch. I often had hunches, and they were almost always right on point – even when I didn’t want them to be. I wouldn’t be going back to college, and I guess I had known that all along.
But when I’d witnessed the state of my family and our ranch upon my arrival, I’d known it in a much more concrete way. I was needed at home. I was only twenty at the time, but I’d made the decision to man up and stick around. College would always be there, but my family was in dire condition. I knew from previous experience that the people you loved would not always be there – tomorrow wasn’t even close to being guaranteed. My mother’s death six years earlier had opened my eyes to the validity of this fact, and my sister-in-law's death had highlighted its truth in blinding neon lights.
The ranch had been dark – the office closed. No guests, as far as I could tell, which was odd for November, we usually had skiers in droves by then. I had a very clear memory of driving through the twilight past the horse barn, and seeing an incredibly serious Payden (one of my older brothers who’d only been twenty-one at the time) standing alone in the snow-covered pasture, stroking the mane of his Andalusian, Gaston. He had only arrived home from his own college classes a few hours before, and had apparently gone straight to work. Once I’d driven all the way through the ranch and up the driveway to our house – if you could call it a house – I'd understood instantly why Payden was with the horses and not the family.
We all had our separate wings – my father, my three older brothers, and of course, myself. I knew our home was considered a mansion, if not a castle, but I never, ever referred to it as one. It was our house. Size and grandiosity notwithstanding, it was our place of comfort just like any other family home.
In spite of the spaciousness, Preston was waiting for me right at the front door, and he had been drunk off of his ass. Being the second oldest of the four Hardick brothers, Preston was also the wildest. He’d been just twenty-three then, freshly graduated with a Bachelor’s in business management. By day, Preston was the Hardick Ranch’s main representative. He held the meetings, he dealt with the investors, he made our investments – the financial aspects of the ranch were all in his young hands. And as the Acting CEO of Hardick Ranch, he had been doing an amazing job for such a young guy. But by night, Preston was uncontrollable. He did as he pleased, often disappointing my father (and never giving a damn that he had), and always making sure that the velocity of his playtime made up for all of the hours that required him to be a responsible, clear-thinking adult.
Everybody loved Preston – he just had that charming way about him – but sometimes I suspected that Preston wasn’t as happy with himself as he usually appeared to be. He’d been incredibly close to our mother, and he hadn’t seemed quite himself since her passing. I’d tried to broach the subject a few times, but Preston had shut me down with barely a word. He didn’t want to talk about Mom, not even to his closest brother. So, I had learned to just leave it alone, and let Preston be Preston.
“Buddy! My little buddy is home!” He had grabbed me and hugged me, reeking of beer and less than stable on his own two feet. “She’s dead, Penn. Dead. Gone. Pierce won’t come out of his quarters. Betsy is watching the kids. Hell, Dad won’t even come down and have a drink with me either. He’s up there brooding away in his study – probably writing another tragic love story. Ain’t it great when life gives you inspiration so goddamn often? It’s a gift!” Preston had waved his sloshing beer bottle high, as though he were toasting to the horrible events that plagued our family.
First, Mom. Then, Sarah.
“Let’s sit, Pres. You’re hammered,” I’d suggested, collapsing on a sofa in the giant foyer.
“You, little buddy, are absolutely correct. I am hammered, and I frankly don’t understand why everybody else isn’t. This sucks! It suuuucks!” Preston had lifted his arms, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. “Life just can’t stop fucking over the Hardick's!”
I’d pulled him down beside me, my eyes darting nervously in all directions. Those were the last sentiments that Pierce or his children needed to hear. Pierce had lost his wife, and his children had lost their mother. Avonlea was only two, and Braden wasn’t even one year old yet. It concerned me that Pierce had simply left them with our housekeeper and disappeared into his wing. That wasn’t like him – and it definitely wasn’t like Sarah.
I had wondered then how long it would take me to think of Sarah in the past tense, and then wondered if we really should be leaving Pierce all alone up in his tidy maze of rooms.
“Have you talked to Pierce? Is he okay?”
“His wife is fuckin’ dead, Penn. Safe to say he’s not okay,” Preston drunkenly condescended.
“You know what I mean. Is he okay alone? He’s not going to do anything stupid, right?” My eyes were on the giant staircase. I had been hit with a wave of emotion – realizing that we should have all been together in that moment. But Dad was writing, Pierce was hiding, Payden was working, and Preston was drunk. It was possible that Avonlea and Braden had been in the best hands possible at that moment. Betsy loved the entire family like her own, and she’d never had a drink in her life.
“I don’t know. Who can tell? He told me, and I quote, ‘Fucking go away, Preston. I’ll talk when I want to talk.’ Then he slammed a door in my face, and I figured he’d been just about as clear as a man can be. You can’t force anything on him right now, Penn. He’s gotta process.” Preston delivered all of this with a slurred tone of wisdom, even as he made himself another gin and tonic. “This is how I’m processing. Payden’s in the field or something. I don’t fucking know. I cancelled all of the reservations for the week.” He’d slumped down next to me on the sofa then.