It's the second-to-last day of the 108th annual National Western Stock Show, one of the largest and longest-running livestock shows on the planet. By now most of the stock has already been shown. The auctions have been held, the sales finalized and finished. What remains on these final two days are the crowd-pleasing events, the ones designed for families and tourists and kids: the stock dog competitions, the magic shows, the miniature Hereford exhibitions, and of course: the rodeos.
That's where Saturday, 3pm finds Calden: at the stock show's Coliseum, where a rapidly growing crowd's noise rings off the rafters. It's a shockingly warm day for mid-winter, though rainy and wet outside, but the indoor stadium is brightly lit by dozens of overhead floodlights. Hawkers are roaming the stands with corndogs and bottles of coke. Kids are running up and down the bleachers, riding their parents' shoulders, waving colorful little flags and pennants.
For his part, Calden is exiting the backstage area, calling a good luck! over his shoulder. The lack of a number tacked to the back of his vest excludes him from the ranks of the rodeo cowboys, but someone he knows must be in the competition. He fits his stetson back on his head, looking about to get his bearings -- and then he starts up into the stands, taking the steps two at a time.
Lola HawkesSitting up in the stands is Lola Hawkes. She was never involved in the rodeos herself, despite having grown up in rural Colorado. She existed in a culture where animals were supposed to come to be spooked by her after she passed a particular point in a young werewolf's pubesence. While many of her classmates participated in rodeo events, Lola herself did not.
Calden had discovered her at the goats and sheep exibit. She was dressed for the warmer weather in a wool poncho with traditional southwestern colors and patterns on it, a fitted white T-shirt underneath, and a pair of blue jeans tucked into ankle-height boots. She was wearing a wide-brimmed brown hat on her head to keep the rain at bay, hair in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was there by herself, Hector was off doing other things tonight.
He caught her attention somehow, perhaps by approaching, and Lola wound up keeping along with him for the rest of the day. He'd asked if she'd eaten, and she'd said she was about to find food, so they went together.
Want to go to the rodeo? Sure.
So, she now sat in the stands with her hat hung down at the back of her shoulders, dripping rainwater near the feet of the people behind her. She was taking a sip from her bottle of water when Calden reached her. It was offered to him after he'd sat down.
"Your friend's up next?," she'd asked.
Calden WhiteTonight's rodeo is the biggest of the entire two-week stretch. Broncs and mutton and even that bastardized and bloodless and barrel-filled version of bullfighting the rodeos call freestyle. The stands are going to be packed to the rafters for that one. This one, the 3:30pm show, is comparatively less crowded. Twenty minutes before showtime, there are still plenty of empty seats.
Calden stops on the way up to buy a couple bottles of coke, plus a handful of corndogs. Making his way back to Lola, who one supposes is either his friend or his acquaintance or at least sort of a colleague in the whole ranches-and-farms business, he hands her one of the drinks and a couple of the 'dogs.
"Thanks, I'm good," he says in response to her offer of water. "Nah, I think he's going to be up a little later, with the rest of the steer wrestlers. My cousin Jimmy, actually. Works on the ranch with me. Just look for Number 63 in a blue shirt.
"What about you? You know anyone in the show?"
Lola HawkesTruthfully, whether Calden realized it or not, more people were looking at them and assuming they were some kind of couple. After all, what they were seeing was a handsome man somewhere in the ballpark of his thirties walking to sit beside a woman who was undeniably pregnant-- not very far along, only twenty weeks or so, but visbly apparant none the less, bringing food and drink to share. Lola could pick up on this from a woman in her sixties two rows back smiling down at them. She ignored it in favor of soda and corndogs, though.
"No, I don't. I was just here checking out the livestock. I have half a mind to get a goat, for the milk, but I wouldn't stake shit on the poor dumb thing surviving past four moons before some idiot kills and eats it." These were the hazards of living so close to the Bawn. Lola had to worry about some Garou coming and killing any livestock she had on her land while still riding the high from the Revel.
"I just thought I'd tag along. Haven't seen ya in a while-- not since I found ya at that Silver Fang lady's house." Calden's a perceptive man. Even though the woman on the bench to his left was looking down at the corndogs in her hand and distractedly situating where the coke and water bottle were sitting, there was a weight to her last sentence that would probably prickle the hairs on his skin.
"Thought we could catch up." Following the first bite of her corndog, she added: "Thanks for the corndogs."
Calden White"Even up north, I can't say I haven't lost a steer or two to one of the ... Cousins." Calden says this with a blend of resignation and amusement. "My tribe knows me, and they know they'll find a warm welcome, a meal and a bed at my house if they need it. Sometimes I guess they can't make it as far as the house before they decide they have to eat. Usually the next morning there'd be a bottle of scotch on my doorstep with a sadface smiley on a note or something, though."
Silver Fang lady's house. A new weight in Lola's tone, and a certain shifting of the mood. Calden, who has until now been watching the happenings down-below with idle interest, glances sideways at his companion.
"Avery," he supplies the name. Maybe there's just a hint of returned weight there too: that Silver Fang lady had, after all, introduced herself. Still; he's willing to let the matter slide and rest. As for the corndogs, "No problem. What's a rodeo without junk food."
Lola HawkesWhat's a rodeo without junk food? he asked. Lola took another bite of corndog, chewed and swallowed before answering: "Just a fucking spectacle."
Under the poncho, the long sleeves of Lola's tee shirt were pushed up to the elbow. The poncho edge rubbed her forearm a little when she reached or moved her arm. While Calden had corrected her with inflection she didn't miss, Lola cast her dark brown eyes his way, but didn't snap at him or throw shade along with her gaze.
"Yeah, Avery," she'd simply agreed. "You know, she sent me a fuckin' apology package with all these treats in it? Like, apologizing for correcting my tone." Something about the way she told the two sentence anecdote made it seem as though she'd almost forgotten that it happened in the first place. Frankly, between the first few weeks of December and now, a lot had happened to push that particular memory to the back of her mind.
Lola picked up the soda cup and took a drink, then finally settled back with the heel of her hand on the back edge of the bench. She leaned her weight through her arm and cast her eyes down on the rodeo ring, waiting for the next event to begin.
"Look, man, I don't wanna rain on your parade or nothing...."
It was probably the worst start to a sentence she could have chosen. It was a guarantee that she was going to be doing exactly that.
"...But you two ain't being fucking subtle or anything. And you know it's gonna cause contention."
Eva IlleshazyDown in front, near the barricades surrounding the ring, a dark haired woman leans forward, her elbows resting on the metal fencing. Unlike most of the fans in the colliseum, she is not dressed casually. She does not wear boots, let alone cowboy boots, nor does she sport any sort of chapeau. Glossy black hair is pulled back from her features and twisted into a loose chignon - which is distinctly formal for the venue and distinctly casual for the woman - and a dark, tailored suit jacket is stretched across her shoulders.
She is in close conversion with a dark-haired man, who seems rather intent on the stock at just that that moment. Who gestures voluobly in the direction of the chute. He is dressed rather more appropriately for the venue and - yet - somehow he does not quite fit.
There is no reason for Lola or Calden to mark the pair of strangers in the crowd, except when the woman turns her head to the side and she is visible in profile, her winged brows lifting in the sketch of an inquiry that drifts past his shoulders, up the metal steps, past the marching rows of folding seats toward the boxes high above. She's taking in the crowd too, a glancing survey that rises past Lola and Calden without fully registering them. Something, though, pings her radar because her eyes drift back down, searching.
If she catches Calden's eyes, she offers an ironic curl of a half-smile and a tip of her head.
--
Soon enough the stranger at her side turns away from the stock, and the pair of them are climbing the steps from ground level, a path that will take them right past Calden and Lola.
Calden WhiteAh. So the topic of Avery was not to be left undisturbed after all. Though Lola fixes her eyes on the rodeo ring, Calden is now looking rather directly at her. She doesn't want to rain on his parade. He laughs a little at that, dryly, because: yes. It's about as auspicious a start to a sentence as no offense, but...
A moment later he follows her eyes down the ring after all. The dirt has been raked flat. The first contestant is already behind the gate, checking the tack on his horse one more time. The overhead loudspeakers pop loudly enough to make the kids in the crowd flinch. Then, pretty much without warning, they start blasting good old American rock 'n roll.
They're amping the crowd up. They're turning the excitement up to eleven, and in response a cheer goes up from the stands. Whistles, applause, stomping feet.
Amidst the controlled chaos, Calden is a focal point of calm. He takes a bite of his corndog, mullingly, and then turns back to Lola. "I won't say the possibility of controversy never crossed my mind," he says. "My family's been with Stag longer than we can remember, and Avery is a pureborn Silver Fang. But I suppose I've just decided to cross the bridges as they come. And so far, you're the only one who's raised the issue -- at least to me.
"Which leads me to ask: are you going to be the source of contention, Lola?"
--
A beat of a held gaze. Then he looks down the stands again, and here is where he catches sight of Eva Illeshazy, who -- in her suit jacket, in her lack of flannel and denim and chapeau -- is as singular a figure as can be.
His smile back is perhaps a touch strained. But wry. And as Eva and her companion start climbing the stands, Calden tips his hat back on his brow and straightens a little in his seat.
"Have you met Eva Illeshazy?" he asks Lola.
Lola HawkesShe flinched along with children when the loud music started, and scowled at the fact that it had started her heart to thump too hard in her chest once or twice. The baby flip-twisted at the loud sound as well, and Lola tucked an arm under her poncho to push at her stomach with the heel of her hand a little. Through the noise, Calden turned to fix a stare on her and explained that they would cross the bridge when they got there.
The question that followed had Lola's brow flexing into a frown in the Fianna Kinfolk's direction. He held her gaze, and naturally the Kinfolk refused to be the first to blink. When he looked down again, Lola kept her eyes on the side of his head, at cheekbone and ear, and wrinkled her nose a little before answering. "If I were Trueborn, I would be. Given that this ain't the case, no one will hear me if I yell about it anyways."
There's bitterness there to her words, but Calden will get the feeling that she's still trying to find a way to not let that stop her anyways. He may need to worry about her.
But then, there's a well-dressed Shadow Lord Kinfolk that both of them recognized, walking up the stairs with a man dressed the part but not rough enough looking to really fit the scene. Lola looked at the both of them, then nodded to Calden's question. "Yeah, a couple times."
She'd raise a hand to hail a greeting to Eva, but didn't say anything to verbally greet.
Eva IlleshazyIt isn't that her companion is not rough looking. He is rough looking. He's just not cowboy-rough. Not range-rough: no, her companion's roughness has an entirely different sort of cast. A dark-haired main with a blunt and mildly pockmarked face. Round but not childish, with a pair of heavy dark eyes and the sort of mouth a certain kind of author might call sensual, while another would characterize as cruel.
He is turning to say something over his shoulder to Éva when his phone rings, and he starts to pat down his pockets seeking it out. A blackberry comes out of his right breast pocket, old school shit, complete with its full qwerty keyboard and his pressing to answer it with a blunt thumb, shrugging his way into an explanation or apology. Éva settles a hand on the small of his back to catch his attention before he barrels off up the steps, and indicates - quietly and non-verbally beneath the blasting of Kid Rock to be followed by Skynyrd, no doubt, because what is a rodea without Free Bird - that he should go.
That she will catch up.
And off he goes, seeking some relief from the thunderous music, the roar of the crowd higher up. She follows at a more leisurely pace, crisp in a pencil skirt and black suede pumps, pausing at their level, stepping into the aisle from the stairs so as not to block traffic.
"Calden." A sketch of her dark eyes over the tension evident in his shoulders. Perhaps even in the set of his mouth. "Ms. Hawkes."
Calden White"She's kin to the Shadow Lords," Calden says. Just a hint of an edge there -- as though in a more immature moment he might challenge Lola to complain about his choice of friends as well.
Then Eva is there, and Eva's somewhat disreputable looking friend is seeking a stronger cell signal and a refuge from Kid Rock, and Calden rises to his feet in the presence of A Lady, or perhaps just to let the lady slip in past his knees to take a seat.
"Eva," he returns, some of that tension ebbing into warm humor, "fancy seeing you here. I can't even begin to make sense of your presence. Or, for that matter, why you're dressed for court."
Lola Hawkes"I know what tribe she is," she shot back at Calden, and the unspoken curse words that she nearly flavored that statement with were caught at the back of her teeth. She sounds impatient, and looks it too, but then the Fianna was standing to greet the business woman, and the Shadow Lord was greeting the both of them.
Lola nodded her head to Eva to return the greeting. "Eva." A name, simple and plain, to match the 'Ms. Hawkes' she'd been met with. Lola hasn't once tried to pronounce the Shadow Lord's surname, and had no plans in trying. She was fortunate that Hector's father had a short and simple last name, she would've had a very difficult time learning to say 'Bhattacharyya'.
Whatever tension there was that was fizzling in and out between her and Calden was left to the side for now. She let herself slide back into quiet to let the other two catch up.
Eva IlleshazyShe does slip past his knees to take a seat, turning as she does to drop the leather attaché case she is carrying on her right shoulder to the rather sticky aluminum beneath their collective feet. It has already accumulated a skin if discarded peanut shells and spilled co-cola, which will only worsen as the night lengthens.
"Don't try." Éva counsels Calden, when he remarks that he cannot begin to make sense of her presence or her wardrobe. There is still that ironic twist to her mouth as she lowers herself to the molded plastic seat beside the pair. Conveniently empty still, even as the crowd of spectators begins to thicken. "I'm on the clock, though. And when I'm on the clock I try to dress the part."
A lingering glance from Calden to Lola, and back again, before she drops her gaze to the rodeo ring. "Do you both have - " a mild gesture down toward the groomed floor, which is rather charming in its helpless wordlessness. " - animals entered?"
Calden White"Yeah," Calden quips, "I've got Ian in the running." And -- at her likely blank look -- "Remember that Fianna shindig last year? He was the one with the white hat. And the really over the top Western get-up."
Because of course he was. Why else would he be hurtling himself off horses onto steers? Though, coming from Calden -- in boots and hat, jeans and vest -- the gentle ribbing of his cousin's over the top get-up hits just the slightest note of irony.
"What about you? Your client a fan of rodeos?"
Lola HawkesWhen asked if she had any animals entered, Lola shook her head and stated, simply: "I don't keep livestock."
Though the man that Eva was with didn't seem to fit in the crowd, Lola wasn't concerned with where he had gone or why he had brought the Shadow Lord Kinfolk here on work. That was their business, as far as she was concerned. Provided no monsters tried to make their way out onto the rodeo arena, Lola probably wouldn't be getting up out of her seat for the next little while.
Calden had mentioned that Ian was entered, and Lola smirked a little to herself but didn't say anything. She remembered Ian from the night spent out at the White ranch. She liked the guy.
The Fianna was a better mouthpiece than she was, so Lola contented herself with finishing the corndog she'd begun eating and shifting her eyes back out to the arena to watch the show. Her ear was keened in on the other two Kinfolk, though.
Eva IlleshazyIan in the running does indeed draw a blank look, and the lilt of a mildly arching brow. Éva's gaze skews sideways to double-check the Calden's eyes for a glint of humor to suggest that he is having her on, but no. The guy in the over-the-top Western get-up.
"Ahh," recognition sparked with bemusement. Naturally, she remembers him. Naturally, her dark eyes touch with delicate precision on Calden's stetson and Calden's boots. Again, the edge of her mouth is curved with a quietly supple humor. "He was dressed quite stylishly over Labor Day, as I recall.
"And my client," a brief glance back over her shoulder, and up the long flight of stairs climbing toward the skyboxes. "finds himself quite enamored of the Western lifestyle. I suppose he is the living embodiment of the cliché when in Rome."
Eva IlleshazyThen, to Lola, " - no livestock? I thought you owned a ranch?"
Calden White"Well, he's dressed stylishly today too," Calden replies -- equal measures affection and wryness.
His gaze skates up the long incline to the skyboxes again, then back. "Not a local, then?" Humor downright twinkles in his eyes. "I would have never guessed. And -- though I suspect you're going to tell me it's attorney-client privileged and also none of my damn business -- I just have to ask you what that guy did. Because right now, my imagination is filling in the blanks with concrete shoes and paper-wrapped fish arriving by bike courier."
Eva asks Lola about her agricultural practices, then, and Calden takes the momentary lull on his end of the conversation to take a big bite of his corndog. And also, just maybe, to stew a little more on the previous topic.
Lola HawkesOn the surface, Lola appears to have let the topic that she and Calden were butting heads at go. It wasn't appropriate for company, and she wasn't going to shame herself or her friend (and yes, she would call him that, rough and prickly though her relationship with and behavior toward him may be). Of course, in her mind she was probably still ruminating on it a little-- keeping her temper consciously low and plotting her next manner of approach.
Eva inquired about the land she owned, and Lola looked up at her and blinked, then shook her head. More rainwater that was caught in the brim of her hat splashed on the floors behind her. As far as she figured, she was doing the sticky surface a favor.
"No. If I tried to keep animals the poor dumb things would probably die within a year. I live too close to the mountains, if you know what I mean." Her home was right along the edge of the Bawn, and some of the property in her name crossed into it as well. She's never tried to keep animals before out of a sense of practicality and frugality alike. She glanced up at Eva and Calden both to speak, but now cast her eyes down to the arena once more.
She then added:
"I've been entertaining the idea of owning a goat, though. For the milk."
Eva Illeshazy"Technically," Éva returns with a quiet equanimity that sparks a certain grim humor in her eyes. "I am representing his son. And it is a matter of public record that Raul has been charged by the United States Attorney with racketeering and felony murder. Since you could easily read that in the paper, I'm comfortable in asserting that naming the actual charges is not covered by attorney-client privilege.
"Everything else, though."
--
Then Lola explains that she doesn't keep animals. Éva lifts her brows in a show of reciprocation: yes, she's listening. She understands, the non-verbal response, though in truth Lola's unspoken, half-spoken considerations about the dangers of having livestock near the Caern would not have occurred to Éva, and even beneath the supple thread of kin-code, she does not precisely grasp the nature of Lola's concern. Just makes an interested noise, a sort of polite placeholder, which is repeated when Lola remarks that she is thinking about getting a goat.
For the milk.
This time, though. "Ahh."
Éva has never considered getting a goat. For any reason.
And she might go on making small talk about goats, except - there is Calden biting his corndog like that and Lola beside them and the strange, unstudied tension she sensed earlier, from down below.
"Excuse me - " she says then, quite frankly and quietly to the both of them. " - did I interrupt something? If I did, I'm happy to leave to you it and kill time by picking out a few souvenirs for the children," which is followed by a brief aside to Calden, "Ellie wanted to come but I'd rather men like that not know that I have family."
Calden WhiteThere is, indeed, a certain tension beneath the surface. It puts a touch of restlessness into Calden: one knee bouncing up and down as he gnaws on his corndog, scans the dirt arena below for some sign of the show's start. He's even forgotten to offer one of the corndogs -- there are two or three more -- to Eva, even after she's taken a seat beside them.
To the goats, which is surely a topic he has more expertise in than either of his companions, he has only a single comment: "They're pretty easy to keep. They can be hard to milk, though. Testy."
And then a sort of appraising glance up the stairs at Eva's client as she reveals -- to the limits of privilege, anyway -- the nature of her business with the man and his son, and his laundry list of sins.
"I don't blame you." Less distracted, that. He does understand that, and better than most. The loyalty to one's family. The desire to protect. The protection of anonymity. All that. "Maybe you could bring her tomorrow. They've got magic shows and another rodeo planned."
A beat, then. A hesitation, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he squints in thought. Then a quick shake of his rather shaggy head -- beard-bristle untrimmed today, thick auburnish hair getting to the point of desperately-in-need-of-a-haircut. A decision in the form of information:
"You didn't interrupt. Lola was just ... reminding me that certain less liberal factions might find my association with Miss Chase objectionable."
Lola HawkesThe question posed about interrupting was left fielded to Calden. Lola didn't answer, but she did look sharply up at Eva first, then to the Fianna kinsman that she had spent the afternoon tagging around with. Instead of speaking, she picked up her cup and took a drink of the Coke.
When Calden decided to state openly enough what he and Lola were being prickly at one another about, the Kinswoman's dark eyebrows rose in mild surprise and consideration. She huffed a little and leaned back so she could openly, unabashedly adjust the waistband of her jeans where it was sitting low on her stomach.
"Just lookin' out," she followed up, as though she had to defend herself.
Eva Illeshazy"She might have more fun with you," Éva remarks, quietly, back to Calden. "If you're headed back this way. You might actually have more fun with her, too."
A brief glance at Lola; it is not precisely conspiratorial, though were they better acquainted it could be read as such. There is humor beneath it, but that humor is banked and supple and difficult to read in the quiet reflection of her dark eyes. Unless one knows her well enough to have read it there before. "I like to lend my children out now and then, to friends. All the pleasures, none of the responsibilities.
"Calden if you ever have a hankering to see a Disney film in the theaters - "
Then, Calden explains precisely the current of tension between the two of them that Éva sensed beneath the surface. Tasted like the metallic hum of a still-live nine-volt battery against the tongue.
And Lola says she was just lookin' out.
Éva arches a brow, glancing back to Lola from Calden as she inhales, low and quiet. "Just looking out? Or perhaps expressing some more personal concerns?"
A glance back at Calden's rugged profile, a moment of silent consideration. Beneath the road of the sound system, the blare of some bizarre country rap-rock song, they have plenty of privacy for their conversation, and Éva's voice is pitched to carry just to the pair of them.
"Ellie's father was not my blood. I don't regret her for a minute."
Lola Hawkes"Ya don't regret 'em after they happen," Lola explained to Eva curtly. Her nose had wrinkled, and her expression had gone quite sour. The remaining two corndogs that were in the little paper basket were abandoned on the bench when Lola stood up. The soda was left behind too. The Uktena mountain woman did pick up her bottle of water as she rose, though, and fixed a look onto the older woman that was flavored with stubborn resolve and only a hint of offense taken, however unjustified it probably was.
"But this ain't a people of much forgiveness. And we stick to the laws that we have. It's stirrin' up trouble, and that's gonna come right down on Tamsin's head for not looking out for you." Some point in the brutishly borderline-forceful manner of speaking, Lola had switched from directing her words at Eva to looking straight at Calden, as though she had every reason to be upset with him.
Even though it really was none of her god damned business.
"Excuse me," she said curtly to the pair, and made her way to the aisle to see herself on out.
[[ Bed (and the man I share it with) are calling. Thanks for the scene you two! ]]
Calden WhiteThere; that defensiveness again, which -- as it had Avery several months before -- makes Calden feel momentarily remorseful. More so when Eva speaks and, one might argue, favors Calden in her argument.
But then, Lola again. Snapping, fiery, thoroughly sour-faced Lola, instantly sparking off some deepburied thread of fire in Calden himself. His back straightens and his mouth tightens and he is very clearly on the verge of telling Lola where she could shove her tut-tutting
when
Lola
brings Tamsin up. Quite out of the blue, really. It takes Calden a moment to work backwards through the relationships in his mind. Lola, mated to Hector. Hector, packed with Tamsin. Tamsin, blood of his blood.
Truth is -- shamefully enough for a man who prides himself on his close ties to family and kin and tribe -- Calden had sort of forgotten about Tamsin. He had hardly spared her a thought since she first showed up on his doorstep, one of the many young Stagblooded wolves drifting through looking for a friendly face and a pillow on which to lay her head. Well no; there was that other incident, when she'd invited her whole pack to share his hospitality, but the outcome of that only makes Calden feel a little more ashamed that he hasn't seen or spoken to her since. That he'd all but forgotten that he does, in fact, know at least one of Stag's wolves from the Caern of Forgotten Questions.
There's really no time to reply to Lola, though. No time to compromise or argue or discuss or -- any of it. The woman gets up, she excuses herself, she departs. Calden has the good grace not to attempt false pleasantries. He watches her go mutely, then stares at the dirt ring for a moment.
Turns back to Eva.
"I'm sorry," he says. "That was ... I consider you both friends, and I thought it'd be better to just address the elephant in the room. But all I managed to do was put both of you in a very awkward situation."
Eva IlleshazyFor her part, hardly reacts to Lola's prickliness. Indeed, she hardly seems to take note of it. There's no air of offense - nothing curt, nothing sour, nothing smoldering, nothing sparking - in her eyes in response to Lola's brief explanation and sudden retreat. Her expression remains mild, a little bit distant, and otherwise almost wholly interior and entirely private.
Until, at least, Calden turns to her and offers an apology she does not require and does especially acknowledge. His voice, though, draws her gaze back into focus on his countenance.
"She's wrong, you know," Éva says then, rather musingly, the words themselves humming quiet in the back of her throat.
Calden White"Is she?" He remembers the corndogs at last; picks up that basket and offers them ruefully to Eva. "She's right about one thing at least: if someone decides to blow it out of proportion, Tamsin's going to get the brunt of it. And Avery."
Eva Illeshazy"I meant the first line." Éva returns with a quiet breath of laughter; looking away from him, now. Back down over the crowd toward the ring, now brilliantly illuminated, at the center. Note: she does not disagree with anything he says to her; but also, she does not address it directly. Not yet.
"You do regret them after.
"Just not for long."
Calden WhiteFurrow-browed, Calden turns back to her. Corndogs forgotten. Spectacle below ignored, even as the announcer begins to boom from the overhead loudspeakers.
"You regretted Ellie?" There's no accusation in his tone -- but there is surprise.
Eva Illeshazy"Deeply." Éva returns, with a quiet equanimity, this time turning to meet and hold his eyes. Her frankness has a different gauge and a different caliber than Lola's. It is stripped-bare, isn't it? Flesh and bone.
"Until the first time they put her in my arms."
An inhale, a lift of her chin and the banked awareness of her eyes.
"But, sometimes, even after."
Calden WhiteJust a small pause, their subject matter incongruous with the noise, the activity, the cowboying that Ellie likes so much all around. He didn't expect an answer like that. Having no children of his own yet, Calden has yet to comprehend the paradox of unconditional love that exists alongside occasional -- deep -- regret.
"Can I ask why?"
Eva Illeshazy"You can ask." she returns, exhaling a sharp, quiet breath through her nostrils. "It's complicated," Voice low, " - and I'm not sure that I can do the complexities any particular justice."
And it is the strangest place for such confessions. The public address announcer has an auctioneer's big voice and the cadence of a voice-over artist for Monster Truck shows and the crowd is starting to get into the competition down below, but the action is strange, the short, intense bursts followed by the sort of baseball lull as the next contestants and beasts are readied for their return into the ring and so there are always people coming and going, up in front and down in back, carrying past corn dogs and 32 ounce beers and plates full of funnel cakes. Cracking open roasted peanuts with their split thumbnails and flicking the spent shells to the floor.
And yet,
"The pregnancy was accidental. Her father was gone before I knew I was late. Let alone -
"I expect that he died before she was born, never knowing that he was to be a father, never knowing that he had a daughter on the way, though perhaps he's still out there, somewhere.
"I had my career to consider. I still have my career to consider, and the world I inhabit more generally, and the world she inhabits, and the world she will inherit.
"Really, I wanted as little to do with Them as possible, but after she came along, I knew I could no longer hold myself aloof. Providing only what was asked, when it was requested. I had to consider the world. Her world, and not just myself. I had to stop drinking for nine months.
"And then another nine.
"And yet another nine." Wry and sure. "I must handle friends, and lovers, and acquaintances with remarkable care. The deed to my own home is not in my name, so that men that like," a tip of her head, behind them, "never find them.
"Everything changes. And sometimes you wonder: what if it hadn't?
"What then? But this is where you are. And this where you live.
"And this is what you live with.
"And usually, that's enough."
Calden WhiteListening to Eva, Calden realizes there are some commonalities between her and the recently-departed Lola. A common theme: everything changes. A common question lingering at the back of the mind: what if it hadn't?
Differences too, though. Eva -- perhaps by virtue of her pragmatic mind, her case-closing intellect, or simply the fifteen or twenty years she has on Lola -- has found it possible to look beyond that question. To see through the doubt and find the truth behind it, which like all truths is cold and hard as concrete.
This is what you live with. This is the hand you were dealt. You can take it or leave it as you will, but it will never leave you.
--
A small quiet afterward. The first contestant bursting out of the gates; the horse tightly controlled between his knees, hooves tearing up clods of earth. The lasso overhead, those wide, archetypical circles. The bolting calf, the sail of the rope, the expert turn of the wrist, tightening of the forearm; a juvenile bovine thudding to the ground, not so much lowing as bawling.
Calden isn't watching. There's still some place for the old-fashioned tricks of the old-fashioned cowboy. There are still days when he rides out on the range, wraps a rope around a calf, hauls it eye-rolling and kicking up the side of some muddy incline. But more and more his trade, like all others, is modernizing. Industrializing. Trucks and winches, electronic inventories. Some of his more precious stock -- the breeding bulls, for one -- are even radio-chipped. So while the circus of the old west cowboy plays out below, he rolls his bottle of coke between his palms. He thinks on what Eva said; raises his eyes to her face.
"On those rare occasions when it's not enough," he says, "if you ever want to talk to another grownup who won't judge you for a bad mother or scold you for dereliction of duty -- " a touch of deliberate humor here, " -- you know how to get ahold of me."
Eva IlleshazyÉva glances up again; past him, toward those skyboxes. Insulated from the crowd noise and the blare of the soundsystem, where business can be conducted and stock can be quietly sold, and franchises, and corporations, and cocaine, and empires.
"Thank you, Calden." Wry, quiet, grateful. Already standing. If he looks back and follows her line of sight over his shoulder, he will see her client. Her client's father has emerged from the boxes at the top of the stairs.
"I appreciate that. I do. I may take you up on that, too.
"Perhaps sooner than you think. Excuse me."
And so, he stands. She slips past him, incongruous in her court clothes, and starts to climb.
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