The Ranch Out West

One morning in early Autumn, there was a melodic tapping at Naomi’s door. Not expecting anyone, she was surprised to hear a visitor so early on a Saturday morning.

She opened the door, and saw two gentleman wearing sport coats and matching serious countenances.

“We’re looking for Naomi Leopard”

“You found her,” she laughed.

“We’re attorneys at the Bailor Law Firm, specializing in trusts and estates, and we’re here to inform you of Mr. Dallings passing, and to give you this. Please accept our deepest condolences.”

The more sharply dressed of the two, outstretched his hand, nearly knocking her over with what appeared to be a sealed envelope and a little black book.

“I’m sorry to hear this news, but I don’t think I know a Mr. Dalling.”

“He knows you and as a part of his last will and testament has left you a sizable gift—in the contents of that envelope. An explanation in this little black book.”

“I think there may be a mistake. I don’t know a Mr. Dalling. Would you like to come in for some tea or coffee—maybe we can figure this out?”

“I’m afraid we can’t, we have two more deliveries like this on behalf of Mr. Howard Dalling, but I assure you, we have the right person and he meant this gift for you.” The two sharply dressed men, turned in perfect unison, as if to leave, Naomi stopping them.
“Howard…” Naomi said enthusiastically. “I know a Howard, but I never knew his last name.”

“If you have any questions, please give us a call. You’ll be hearing from our associate on next steps and the remainder of the gift.”


Naomi stood in the doorway, puzzled, thinking of the only Howard she had met over the years.

***

He spoke of the Wild West, of his time among the sweeping plains of Wyoming; and the towering structures of Utah.

Naomi had never been—had never seen that part of the country; having grown up in a small town in Northern Maine, she itched for the big city. She never took an interest in traveling out West. She had never thought about it.

During her meetings with Howard, he illustrated it beautifully, pausing every so often to remember the most minute details—of how it looked to gaze out over Bryce Canyon as the sun set, and to walk down into the cavernous tunnels with the orange coral-like structures poking up from the ground against the most vibrant electric blue.

***

When Naomi first started out in interior design, she would busy herself between jobs with meetings. She used the MoMa cafe as a meeting ground; often setting up coffees with real estate developers, brokers and other designers. She worked hard to build a network; to survive in a challenging industry.

She bumped into Howard one day. He was sitting a couple of tables over, his nurse across from him. Naomi found herself watching him every so often as she spoke with an eager young real estate broker, waxing on about himself in between moments of catching his breath. She watched Howard, as he slowly sipped his coffee, his hands trembling every time he raised the mug to his lips. His nurse would intervene, and hold his hand steady as he brought the cup back down to meet his saucer. Occasionally, the contents would splash onto the white quartz table.

After Naomi hurried the eager broker away, she sat at the table flipping through an interior design magazine. She watched as Howard rocked sadly back and forth in his wheelchair, as his nurse left to take a phone call. Bored, he proceeded to thumb through the New York Times, which until then, served as a place mat, which caught the errant drops of decaf he splattered.

As he turned the page, an entire section flew out from underneath him.

The pages scattered everywhere, and Howard unable to leave his wheelchair, struggled as he leaned over his right side, feebly scratching the floor, feet away from where the pages landed.

Naomi looked up from her cappuccino, and saw Howard’s struggle. She walked over and picked up the pages, laying them delicately in front of him.

He thanked her and she assured him it was no problem. As she turned to leave, he grabbed her arm and asked her to keep him company.

“I don’t know where my nurse went.” He begged.

“Of course, happy to stay. Let me bring my things over.”

She gathered her bag and parked herself across from him.

“I’m Naomi,” she said.

“Howard, nice to meet you” he mused back. He asked her tell him about herself, about her life, about her work, and what she did for fun. Did she have a family, was she married, what her passions?” He felt like a close friend or a relative, his voice radiating kindness and familiarity. She felt as if she already knew him.

“So many questions at once!” She laughed. She filled him in on everything, but received very little in return.

“I’m long retired now, but have been painting for some time. I still paint on good days. Though, those are becoming more infrequent,” Howard said.

“What do you paint?” She asked.

“The West” he said matter-of-factly.

“The West? Like the Grand Canyon?”
“Why, have you ever been?"
“No I haven’t been anywhere out West.”


***

She listened as he described the places he lived, and all of the places he’d traveled for work. She still wasn’t sure what Howard used to do for work, but she was too enthralled by his captivating stories to mind. She wondered why Howard was living in New York City. He grew up out West, worked out West. Why was he so far from the place he loved?

It was later that Howard revealed he had stage 4 cancer and there was an experimental drug study being conducted in the city—one he persistently ensured he would be a part of. He thought it was working. Naomi did’t press him for the details of the diagnosis. She didn’t even know what kind of cancer it was; she didn’t want to darken their conversations with something he didn’t want to discuss. She assumed he wanted to forget, he wanted to paint a picture of the West for her—to describe it, to bring her there, to bring himself back there. She could tell he loved it, and missed it dearly.

She wondered if the mountain air, and stillness of the desert would have somehow been better for him—more effective in curing him than living alone in a strange city, with loud sounds, congested streets and poor air quality. But she never shared those thoughts. He didn’t know anyone here, other than his nurse, Martha, who always seemed preoccupied.

Naomi and Howard struck up a friendship, planning to meet one another at the same time on the same day once a month. One day, Naomi asked Martha if she could have some time alone with Howard to walk through a new exhibit. Though versed in architecture and design, she knew very little about art. Martha happily obliged and parked herself on her cell phone in the cafe.

Naomi and Howard strolled through the permanent exhibit. He knew everything about the paintings in front of them. In between Howard giving her a crash course in impressionism, Naomi learned about Howard’s life. He had a wife, and a stepson who were killed in a car crash thirty years earlier. He had virtually no one — no siblings, no distant relatives. He had some old colleagues and buddies he kept in touch with, but no one to look out for him other than Martha.

Naomi always looked forward to her meetings with Howard. They went on for months until one day he stopped showing up. When she tried to contact him, she realized she didn’t know how to. She didn’t know where he lived or even his last name. She feared the worst, and mourned him in her heart.

She didn’t have closure until the sharply dressed men arrived at her doorstep and handed her a little black book of instructions.

***

Naomi landed in Jackson Wyoming. She recalled seeing the mountains below her as the plane descended out beneath the clouds. There was a gentleman waiting for her, holding a sign with her name on it. She would have known he was there for her without the sign as he was dressed exactly like the gentleman who knocked at her door.

He packed her bags into the car, and he swiftly drove her out past the airport, out past town, to a remote area on the edge of Jackson. After what felt like twenty minutes of steady uphill climbing, they arrived at a gated property. The driver entered a code, and she watched as the gates swallowed the car into the mystery ahead. They drove miles from beyond the gate, to a sprawling ranch-style home. It was extravagant and looked to be nearly 7000 square feet.

Naomi’s jaw dropped as she walked up the stairs with the gentleman carrying her tattered suitcase behind her. He signaled her to wait a moment as he opened the front doors. When she walked into the hallway, she was struck by the amount of light that flooded the house. There were endless skylights with the sharp blue of the sky visible above her. Surrounding her were floor to ceiling glass in the form of windows and sliding doors. She could see out for miles, over what she presumed were acres of Howard’s land. In the distance, she saw the snow covered peaks of Grand Teton.

“This way,” the young man signaled. Naomi closed her mouth, which had been hanging agape as she digested the views in front of her. He led her into an adjoining room, into the grand ballroom, where artwork lined the walls. Surrounding her were beautiful landscapes of red rock mountains, expansive prairies and the towering structures of what she thought was Bryce Canyon. She recognized it from the pictures Howard has shown her.

She was finally seeing his personal collection, she thought. She knew he loved art but had no idea he was a collector.

Whose the artist?” She asked.

“Why, it’s Howard,” the sharply dressed gentleman said between laughs. Dumbfounded, Naomi slowly scanned the walls, walking the room, taking in the beauty of every piece. In the middle was a massive canvas held up by multiple easels.

In the frame, there was a woman standing in the middle of a wide expanse, holding the reigns of a grey horse. She was bathed in a golden light, with what looked like a storm brewing in the background. Naomi could almost feel the wind blowing as she admired the piece.

It looked familiar, Naomi thought.

“That’s you,” the gentleman said. "And all of this is yours."