Things That Can’t Be Broken is a novel presented as a live draft, one chapter every week.
Nine-year-old Dani makes a fervent promise that there will always be horses in her life, so when she finds out her next-door neighbor won a scholarship to an exclusive horsemanship program, she vows to win one too. She never gets the chance—but her short life has a lasting effect on a community.
Last week: Part 4: 10 - Tangle • A few snarls where patience may be required
Part 4 | This Storm is Called Progress
11 - Return
Dani Marie Cartwright
Outside of time
Grammy is pulling a fresh sheet of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. I’m little, like I always am when we bake together, sitting on the kitchen counter with my feet dangling over the edge. She hands me a warm cookie. I lick gooey melted chocolate. If I had a real face, it would probably need a napkin.
Grammy finishes transferring cookies to a cooling rack and puts the cookie sheet into the sink the same way she does every time. “Are you ready for more than this?” She asks, her eyes lighting up with a smile.
I know it’s not what she means, but I say, “A glass of milk?”
There were twenty-four horses at Allen Haven Ranch the last time I counted, and six new students for the year. Barb and her cat Pinball live in the apartment above the barn. She’s helping Maeve teach horsemanship and ranch management. Caleb and Haseya help with all the students and horses too.
Some of the horses belong to Haseya’s mom, Emily and her husband, Ken. She says her horses are the teachers. I think they help people who are sad or angry like I was when I almost got stuck as a ghost.
Daddy pays the bills and does all the business stuff to keep the horsemanship program running. Mom helps find students to write essays for the contest. And she and her friend Mary get everything ready for events like the Open House Picnic for the students’ families.
When I was with Ammy the other day, Mom and Daddy were sitting at the outside table under the oak tree at Allen Haven. Mom said, “I think the book is almost finished. But something is missing. . .” I saw her eyebrows bunch. She shook her head as she reached down to pet Ammy. “I just can’t put my finger on it.”
Daddy said, “Maybe you should set it aside for a little while.”
Mom straightened up in her chair, “That’s me I guess, always setting something aside. But I’ve been back at my machine, really making it happen this time. I’m building a new dragon. A big one. I’m committed to it now. I have all the silk cut.”
He smiled at her and nodded. “That seems . . . brave.”
“It does.” Mom smiled back and reached out an open hand toward Daddy. Ammy sniffed at it, thinking she might have a treat for her, but it was empty. Then Mom said, “I am feeling brave.”
Daddy looked at her hand for a moment then back up at Mom. I sat with Ammy and stared at the hand while nothing happened. I was afraid she might pull it back, but he finally did reach out to hold it in his. Seeing them hold hands made me get all drifty, like my everywheres and everytimes were swirling together and sparkling.
While all that was happening, I was still having my cookie-baking conversation with Grammy. As I’ve mentioned, I am always there with Grammy.
She pours me a cold glass of milk and I take a creamy sip that’s perfect after the crispy sweetness of the warm cookie. She is smiling that gentle smile. She wants me to be at peace and let myself be one with everything.
“I know what you’re thinking, Grammy. The horsemanship program is running again. There are more horses at Allen Haven Ranch than there were before I died. Everyone greets me with smiles when I’m there with Ammy. . . I love it all. I love everyone. Why not let my spirit be a part of it all forever?”
She turns to me and kisses my forehead.
I cross my arms and shake my head at her. “I’m not ready.”
How can I explain? Something is still not right. The fog is gone. The horses are there, but they flicker on and off now. There must be something else I have to do.
Kiko Gonzalez
September 7, 2023
Dehesa Valley, California
The mid-afternoon heat punched at Kiko, beating against his shoulders and pounding at the soles of his boots. Waves of brightness burst from every edge of granite; every shining grain of dust stabbed at his eyes. Time to find a shady place to hide.
Kiko chose a spot on the eastern side of a hill where a young coastal oak knit its branches with a buckbrush. He swept the spot with an oak branch, checking for snakes and bunching up a good pile of leaves and debris. Then he took a long drink from the water bottle he had picked up earlier, wrapped his hat lightly in a piece of burlap, and buried it under the debris with the bottle.
He scooted far into the brush, propped his head on his blanket roll, and tossed a few more leaves over his boots. No one would see him there unless, quien sabe, who knows, maybe he snored.
The bikers and hikers could take over the hills for the next few hours, as they did every morning and evening. Kiko would have his siesta beneath the brush and wait for the sun to set.
These days it seemed more of them were not hiking, but hunting—for Kiko. He learned to move around, up and down the hills in southern East County from East Lake to Dulzura to Alpine, and sometimes further. Yet they would still find him.
They were mostly high school chicos and on up into their twenties, their shiny black phones held out like handguns, always at the ready. If they found him walking around anywhere, they would come right up to him as if he was pinche Rambo on a movie set. They called him “Super-vato”. Híjole!
He believed it was his fans who left the gallons of water, protein bars, and dried fruit and nuts. He found them hidden between boulders and under piles of rocks a little away from the trails. Raccoons and other animals didn’t usually bother with the water, but they liked dried fruit and nuts as much as he did. So, he spent a few hours most days, slowly going from rock pile to rock pile—un niño en el domingo de Pascua, looking for Easter eggs.
The fan kids were not dangerous, except that they talked too much. There were other hunters out there that were. He had to be more careful to be quiet at night. A veces he knew he should not rattle, but he rattled anyway. They could kill him those bad nights when los demonios felt close. He would be happy for it.
After dark, when the evening hikers had cleared from the trails, Kiko rose from his hiding place. Because of the hunters, Kiko had not been in this part of Dehesa Valley for a long time, maybe close to a year. He was hoping by now they would be gone.
He missed seeing Dani; she did not seem to follow him far from the old Allen Haven Ranch. And he missed the Vasquez family—Bobito’s good humor, Marisa’s kindness and tamales. He took in a deep breath, imagining the aroma of good food.
Kiko surveyed the hills around him as he walked. He felt a coldness despite the warm wind. La luz malo was in the air. Or maybe the shadows he felt were only the shadows that always lived in his mind. He needed to find a rattling place.
Rounding the hill, he looked down at the old Allen Haven Ranch. Qué pasa aquí!
Kiko brought his hands to his eyes to be sure they were open. The tumbleweeds were gone. Lights shone on each end of a new barn, at least twice as big as the old one. And there were horses there.
His eyes went wide. “Dani! Hijita!” His little spirit friend would be so happy. Kiko looked around but he did not see her. Maybe when he brought out his rattle she would visit. He would love to see her smile.
The coldness hit again. Kiko stopped in his tracks, slowly scanning the hills. He had not seen anyone on the trail, but this was definitely a bad shadow he felt. It was stronger on that trail up the hill.
He thought of Deputy Ocampo and pulled the magic Star Trek phone from his pocket. He flipped it open and pressed the power button. Nada. Muerto. It would not help him today. He continued up the trail following shoe patterns in the dust. There were fresh tracks from a pair of Chucks with a larger Vans pattern on top of them.
As Kiko followed the tracks, the shadow feeling became heavier. He lowered his hat and began moving quietly as fast as he could off the trail to avoid being seen. He was pretty sure he knew where they were going now. The trail led to Headphones’s rock, straight above the horse ranch.
He had not seen Headphones in a long time; it had probably been years. But how could he forget a kindred spirit, una alma gamela? She could see things faraway, and she watched out for los niños just like old Kiko.
Crouching near the trail, Kiko listened and watched. A figure was approaching the boulder at the top. It was too dark to see any details of a face or clothing, but there seemed to be a thick halo of dark hair around the girl’s head. Could it be Headphones?
He heard a scream. And then a young female voice shouted, “Shawn, you scared me. . .”
Kiko could make out both forms against the bright granite boulder. She said, “What are you doing up here?”
“I came to find you,” said a young man’s voice. He was stocky, but not tall, a baseball cap on his head. He said, “I was worried. Missy was worried.”
“I thought you guys left. I can’t believe you followed me.” Her voice trembled. “Where’s Missy?”
“She’s waiting in the car by the Circle K. We don’t want to leave without you,” he said.
“You gave me a ride. I appreciate that, but like I told you, I can find my way back on my own,” her voice was deeper, more forceful, if still trembling.
“But I thought you didn’t want to go home, that you were afraid your new foster-mom was going to lock you in a room again. We can help you, give you a place to stay for a while. I’ll buy us a pizza.”
His words may have been kind, but Kiko could hear the slick of oil in them. The girl must have heard it too—Kiko was sure now it was Headphones.
As he watched, Headphones suddenly jumped and tried to dash off the trail into the dark past the boulder. The man grabbed her by the wrist. She twisted and tried to pull away, but he started to pull her to him.
Without another thought, Kiko grabbed the nearest rock and threw it hard, hitting the man in the face. At the same time, Kiko’s boot shifted. A dead branch cracked. The shadow man looked right at Kiko.
Kiko shouted, “Headphones! Run!”
Now what, pendejo viejo? He braced himself to run the other way.
Shadow man was sure to catch old Kiko, but he ran de todos modos! If shadow man chased him, at least Headphones could get away. She had to get away, who knows what he wanted from her, but it was nothing good.
Kiko saw Dani for a flash of a second. She pointed down the trail to the back gate of the ranch. It lit up blue for a moment and he moved toward it as fast as his old legs would go.
A hand gripped his upper arm from behind, stopping him. It pulled him back, and then two hands shoved him forward.
Kiko was falling face first. He raised his arms to cover his head, tumbling and sliding down the steep trail. His forearm hit a rock. Pain jolted through him. He felt it pop at his elbow.
He kept on tumbling down. There was no way to stop.
His body crashed against the chain link gate with a dull ringing clang.
Next week
Part 4 | This Storm is Called Progress
12 - Before Dawn
Behind-the-Scenes Extra
Wow. Wrapping up a story is hard. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I went straight to the fainting couch after this. See my one arm draped over the side, the other propped dramatically over my forehead?
I had to stop here.
You’ll find out what happens next in a week. I’m not sure if there will be one more chapter with an epilogue included or a chapter next week and then an epilogue the following week. It depends.
Thank you again for your attention. If you’ve read all the way through to here, you’ve translated over 100,000 sequential-squiggles-with-spaces-between-them into words, and then your brain made those words into pictures and sounds and flavors and . . . I hope it’s been enjoyable hallucinating with me.
You rock! You geologic anomaly for staying with me!
Yep. I know what you mean. Wrapping up a story is SO HARD. But just remember, you're being cheered on as you run for that finish line!