Stars Go Blue Read Online Free PDF Page B

built his cabin. Those were times he flinched. Perhaps the preacher could have advised him on what to do in that case. Perhaps the younger version of him should have been less confident that he’d meet death with his chin up.
    He and Renny have never healed. They had loved each other, when the ranch was new and they worked, side by side, buying cattle, putting up fences, doctoring calves. Then came their newborn daughters, who grew into toddlers that waddled after chickens and threw rocks at fresh piles of manure. Then their daughters grew up, arguing themselves through their teenage years, and yet so interesting that he felt as if he could stare at them forever. Then one died. He built a cabin. He and Renny lived on opposite ends of the ranch. This is when he felt both the lovely grace of solitude and the frightening qualities of empty sound. It feels now like a sin. He should have said he was sorry. He’d been too stubborn and cowardly to ever properly apologize, and this has been the greatest sin of all.
    Five years ago, Renny tells him. He stares into the kitchen and stares at the spot on the floor where they all got axed apart. Like a round of wood being split. Rachel’s pickup in the driveway, her running to him, her mouth open trying to speak. Ben was frozen. He had been reading to Renny while she cooked. He stood. His mouth opened. Rachel’s eyes, so scared, so full of suffering. He looked past Rachel to Ray. He’ll never understand that. How he stood, and froze, and looked. And even after the gun shattered the air and his daughter still, he was frozen.
    His daughter that died left behind two kids, and he remembers their names today, Jess and Billy, which gives him the rotting sense of hope that his mind will clear and words will come and appear on his tongue as they should, and that the tip of his tongue will grow back as it should. The daughter he hears talking in the kitchen raised her own two kids, plus Rachel’s two kids, like a mother cow that has a grafted calf or two. A good mother.
    He thinks to go into the kitchen, with the two talking women, but he stays put, hiding. They’re talking about him. He stops, stares at his slippers. He’s wearing a colorful Western shirt, with button snaps, because they are easier. Gray pants. Yes, he is all dressed.
    But something is missing, something important. He backs up, quietly, turns back around, toward the bedroom. Something is at the edges of his mind, but he can’t quite catch it. Then he remembers: There is one bad thing he’s done he can’t undo, and one he can.
    He has to write it down before he forgets. He finds a notebook on his dresser and a pencil and writes it:
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  1.     Genes. Watershed. Can’t fix.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  2.     Ray. Water runs backward. Fix.
    He sits on his bed and stares at the dark wall of his bedroom. Ranchers know genes; he bred his cattle to exhibit certain traits. In fact, he knew more about EPDs than most anyone. Expected Progeny Differences. How to determine the traits of the sire’s offspring. He knows that he has bad DNA. Bad genes. He has been the watershed. He has been the source. And god how he hopes that the water has been pure. He never meant.
    The other danger. Ray.
    He needs the slip of paper that tells him where and how to get there . He stands up and digs around until he finds it, in yesterday’s jeans, and slips it into the pocket of the pants he’s wearing. He must be careful.
    Funny how he wasn’t angry with Ray while Ray was in Cañon City prison. Not angry, just sad. His brain never considered Ray much. When he was in prison, Ray used to write notes of apology and memories and excuses and send them to Ben and Renny. Renny used to tack them up at Violet’s Grocery alongside the HAY FOR SALE and FREE KITTENS signs and it was some need of hers to communicate this thing that was tearing her apart. But