Part 4: 5 - Sedona
Caleb returns to Sedona, the last stop of his tour
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: 4 - The Offer • A meeting in Edinburgh
Part 4 | This Storm is Called Progress
5 - Sedona
Caleb Allen
Sept 8, 2022
Sedona, Arizona
The drive down 89A from Flagstaff was incredible, a thick forest of yellowing trees shaded the highway like magic sentinels. He almost expected wood elves to appear with bows. And as soon as he began to take the trees for granted, they opened like curtains revealing the red rock landscape studded with blue-green brush and topped with the brightest blue sky—next stop, Sedona. No wonder people believed this place was sacred. Just look at it. It was like nowhere else.
Caleb went straight to the Red Rocks Coffee Shop, unaware he had achieved celebrity status. The dazzled teen at the counter actually recognized him and let slip that Haseya didn’t work there anymore, but he might find her at Oak Creek Arabians.
When he got back to his Subaru, he looked up the address and found he was already pointed in that direction. It would be easy enough to drop off the VIP tickets he had saved for her. He found a yellow note pad in the glove box and scribbled: Hello Haseya, Thank you for your help with the flyers. Both nights sold out. Hope to see you tomorrow! —Caleb Allen.
He really didn’t know how much promoting she had done, but sold out shows were a dream, and his Instagram account was rocking almost ten thousand followers now. The biggest jump happened right after posting the live video of A Dream-chasing Girl Joe recorded that first night here in Sedona. Although his music career wasn’t paying for much more than gas, he took it as a sign. Big things happen in Sedona. If that held true, who knows, Haseya could be one of those big things.
When he found the unmistakable mailbox the teen had described as shaped like a stylized horse head, it was on the ground. He parked outside the open Oak Creek Arabians gate to investigate. The plastic horse head surrounding the metal mailbox was cracked at the base and no longer attached to the four-by-four laying beside it. It must have been hit pretty hard.
Caleb heard a vehicle coming up the drive and by the time he looked up, an oxidized green Ford pickup was barreling down on him, raising a cloud of dust in its wake. He backed away from the mailbox on the ground, putting his hands up instinctively. The pickup came to a stop and a man jumped out of the cab. His dark skin complimented the landscape, and his hair, gray at the temples, was pulled loosely into a thin ponytail. He wore a threadbare flannel rolled up at the sleeves—and a deeply accusatory frown.
He shouted, “What happened here?” Caleb saw no weapon on the man, but his hands were tensed, elbows slightly bent at his sides like a gunslinger.
“I donnae ken,” Caleb answered, as calmly as he could manage, hands still facing out defensively at his hips. “It was on the ground when I got here.”
The man’s brows were still furrowed but less in preparation for combat and more in suspicion now. “Do I know you?”
Caleb was thinking, if he did know this man he might have kept driving.
“No,” Caleb said. He wiped the sweat from his right hand hand on his khakis and extended it, hoping for peace. “My name is Caleb Allen. I . . . Just came to drop something off.” He left off that it was for Haseya, still sensing some danger when man didn’t take the offered hand, but the scowl did seem to relax another notch.
“I’m pretty handy,” said Caleb. “Can I help stand it back up?”
The man seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he turned and got back into the pickup. He leaned over to unlatch the other door and then started the engine. That’s my cue, Caleb realized. He jogged over to pull himself up into the passenger seat, which was covered by an old wool saddle blanket. The horse smell instantly brought home to mind.
The door squeaked ominously as he closed it. The man put the pickup in a speedy reverse, causing red dust to obscure all view of the road through the windshield. He said, “You’re the guitar player on the flyers.”
Caleb cleared his throat. “Aye, that’s me. Are you. . . Do ye ken Haseya?”
His gaze moved to land on Caleb’s forehead, but he said nothing. Caleb took that for a ‘yes’. He stopped the pickup in front of a tool shed and got out without so much as a glance back at Caleb, who dutifully followed him inside. Caleb found wood stakes in a corner that he could use to shore up the base of the four-by-four and keep it upright, at least temporarily. He picked them up without a word and nodded at the man for approval, asking, “Do ye have any baling wire?”
The man nodded and brought a coil of wire, a pair or pliers, and a mallet. It wasn’t until they were both back in the cab that he put out his hand. “Ken Tsosie.”
A handshake, at last. “Good to meet ye, Mister Tsosie.”
Ken didn’t look over at Caleb on the short drive back to the front gate, but Caleb imagined a tightening in the man’s cheek that could have been halfway to a smile.
As they worked, Caleb learned that Ken was Haseya’s step-father and that Oak Creek Arabians belonged to her mother. Caleb had plenty of other questions, but Ken was not the most talkative fellow.
When their work was complete, the mailbox was standing straight and the horse head was back in place, its base held tightly by the wire. It would have to be reset in cement and the plastic horse head might need to be replaced, but it would do for the time-being.
Caleb went back to his Subaru to retrieve the envelope from the passenger seat. He startled when a faded blue Prius came to a stop close behind him. The woman he was looking for had arrived. Haseya rolled down her window.
“Haseya,” he said. “I. . .” He looked down at his hand with the envelope. “I brought ye tickets.”
He heard the pickup start with a rumble and back away slowly.
Haseya said, “I guess you’ve already met my step-dad. I think he likes you.”
“How do ye ken?”
“You didn’t see the friendly wave?” When she laughed it was a sweet surprise, like a childhood memory of having his back to the ocean on a hot day.
“The mailbox was laid flat when I got here,” said Caleb. “I had the impression your step-father thought it was a hate crime and I was the hater.”
“Oh, that’s funny!” She said. “He’s harmless. Scary when he wants to be, but harmless. He knew you didn’t do it. Annie knocked it over last night. She said a deer jumped out from the fence line when she came to pick up Jackson, her son. Her Honda looked a lot worse than the mailbox.”
“I did come to the conclusion he thought I was okay, eventually,” said Caleb, “But he’s nae much for conversation.”
“Did you get to meet the horses?” She asked.
“No,” said Caleb, “We dinnae go past the tool shed.”
“Hop in. I’ll give you a tour.”
He let himself into the passenger seat and handed her the envelope. “These are for you. Thank ye for passing out the flyers—and whatever lies ye told to get both of my shows sold out this weekend. It’s a VIP table for tomorrow night’s concert. I hope ye can make it.”
“Thank you! I do have tickets, but I’m sure these are better. And I won’t have any trouble giving mine away.”
She pulled up to a beautiful adobe horse barn. Seeing his jaw drop, she said, “Yeah, I know. These horses are my brothers and sisters. And they earn more money than I do with my college education.”
“Are they. . . athletes?” They were so small compared to the warmbloods he was used to seeing at home.
She laughed. “No, they’re pretty much couch potatoes. Mom believes they exude energy that brings peace and heals minds. Rich white people are drawn to Sedona for exactly this kind of healing. They pay therapist rates just to stand in a round pen in the presence of one of Mom’s horses. Usually our guests have appointments for a week or two, but sometimes they come around for months, or years.”
It sounded like a con to Caleb. But maybe the time spent away from work or screens did heal them. Or maybe it was the horses, if they believed it. . . He said, “The mind is a strange and powerful creature.”
Haseya noticed his skepticism. She said, “I used to think it was a scam growing up, but now I’m not so sure. Mom’s clients really do go home happier.”
Caleb shrugged. “My mam just teaches people to ride horses over pretty painted fences.”
A dished white face with long eyelashes over expressive brown eyes bobbed up and down at them as they entered the barn. Haseya put a hand under his long mane and gave him a scratch, saying, “This is the venerable Ansata Sahid, but we just call him Sid. He’s my oldest brother.”
More dished faces began to appear down the barn aisle with low nickers of greeting.
Caleb asked, “So why Arabians and nae. . . say, mustangs?”
“We actually do have a mustang. My palomino down there. I named her Sally. But my mom likes the Arabians best. They’ve been bred to be part of the family for ages, so they tend to be most interactive with the guests.”
“I always think of them as skittish,” Caleb said, “But I can see they want our attention.” All of the horses had their necks stretched over the stall doors toward them, some of them bobbing, others nibbling at whatever they could reach. It was impossible to ignore them. Caleb and Haseya made their way slowly down the barn aisle, stopping at each stall to say hello and give scratches.
“How long will you be in town?” She asked. “Maybe we can go for a ride.”
“I would love that. Other than the concerts this weekend, I am nae due anywhere until October when I go back to Scotland to see my parents. I’ll have to get back to work nae long after that, pay the bills and whatnot.”
“Bills, eh? What kind of work?”
“Aye, I dropped out of my finance career just before COVID hit. I had savings for this tour, but. . .It turns out the full-time musician dream is a slippery fish.”
“You’re so good though. Your song, A Dream-chasing Girl, everyone mentions that one. It’s incredibly haunting. What inspired it?”
“It surprises me that people like it so much,” said Caleb. “It is nae a happy song.”
He told her about Dani Cartwright’s murder and the fateful coincidence, her body buried outside of their front gate in California. And how it ultimately caused his parents to abandon their horsemanship program.
He said, “I’ve been writing that song for about as long as I can remember. The irony was intense for me as a child. Horses were this lass’s dream, just like the horsemanship program was my parents’ dream. Dani wanted to be in their horsemanship program. She actually died trying to go there, and it was her death that caused its end.
The story it tells is such a part of me I was afraid to release it. I was afraid that it wouldn’t get the response I hoped it would.”
“I’m glad you did,” said Haseya. “To me it’s about everything we try to do, and the history that shapes our lives and we are powerless to change.”
They talked on and on. It seemed to Caleb that for growing up so far away from each other and in different cultures, they had a whole lot in common.
He told her about the soap opera that was his family tree. That his birth mother, whom he knew as his aunt, gave him his first guitar. That his father was actually his uncle. Then he told the story of his mother’s family rift over his great-grandfather’s will.
She said, “If your family is a soap opera. Mine is a war epic. But the results are the same, always a mess. Everyone wants to bring back that something someone told them was a sweet once-upon-a-time. No matter what it takes.”
“And ye never can, can ye?” Said Caleb, watching Haseya gaze past the paddock to the red rocks beyond, the breeze blowing a strand of her hair past a delicate ear, he added, “But maybe we have to try.
Hey, tell me about the coyote and the crow on your shoulder. They seem to be laughing. It’s unusual.”
“They are both tricksters,” she said. “Don’t you think they should be laughing?”
“Of course!” he chuckled. “But why are they laughing on your shoulder?”
“Because I’m here.” She paused for a long time.
Caleb waited it out. Just when he thought she wasn’t going to tell him any more than that, she said, “I exist because my mother was in the wrong place at the wrong time, always apologizing for being born Emily Carleton.”
Caleb nodded, but he didn’t understand. He said, “It sounds like there might be more to that story.”
“I used to think it was a hate story, but I’ve decided it’s a love story,” said Haseya. “Family is whatever it is because we make it so.”
As they strolled down to the next stall, she asked, “How often do you see your folks?”
“Aye, it has been a while,” said Caleb. “I talk to them, but I have nae been back to Scotland since 2019.”
“That’s a long time,” she said.
“My da is nae too keen on the music biz. He wants to see me pick up where I left off at Barclays. I’m nae looking forward to showing up, tail between my legs, for the ‘I told you so’.”
Her expression was blank, waiting for more from him.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out. “I can’t believe it’s already noon. I have to pick up Jackson from day care. I’ll give you a ride back to your car.”
Driving away from Oak Creek Arabians, Caleb was completely off balance. He could barely remember the name of the motel where he was staying. Haseya had promised him nothing, maybe a trail ride ‘sometime’. He still didn’t even know what her relationship was with Annie. Yet his mind was upside down. The rest of the day went by in a daze.
That night, Caleb lay staring up at the moonlit landscape of the popcorn ceiling in his motel room, his mind going over and over their conversation. The step-father, the horses, Dani, Haseya, her face, her words. . . When his mind landed with Mam and Da back in Scotland, he switched on the lamp and pulled out his guitar.
He imagined them dancing together like they did so often, while he softly picked out his version of Neil Young’s Harvest Moon. He decided he would add it to the first set as a tribute to his parents. After he wrote it into his notes, his mind finally quieted. He lay back, gave one heavy sigh, and fell asleep at last.
Until his phone buzzed on the bedside table.
Next
Part 4 | This Storm is Called Progress
6 - Harvest Moon
Behind-the-Scenes Extra
Goodness, but this chapter was a mess to write! If I didn’t have a weekly deadline, it probably would have held me up for at least a month.
Every chapter has a list of points I need to hit somehow to lead to the next. My mind kept wandering too far into Haseya’s world as I wrote, because she’s new and so interesting to me. I had to keep making a U-turn. I changed the setting of Caleb and Haseya’s conversation at least five times, but I like where it ended up. I hope you found it an enjoyable read.
Sedona is definitely a character in itself. I’ve been there several times. It’s such a beautiful and perplexing place. The convergence of cultures and the mystical landscape leaves a lot of space for contemplation. Its spaces are peaceful, and yet pose difficult questions and give you none of the answers. I guess that’s why I keep going there, and why some get lost in it and never leave.