Chapter 8
Eight
Elena
“See you tomorrow, ladies. It’s all yours.”
The clock hit two-thirty, and I was out of there. I’d told Mindy, Sarah, and Nikki I’d be back tomorrow, knowing they could handle things until closing. Today was too important. Jake had been counting down the days to his doctor’s appointment, hoping for the green light to get back on the field. Baseball meant the world to him, and I didn’t want him missing a single moment of it.
As I left Reflections, the familiar buzz of small-town chatter and the lazy Wednesday afternoon surrounded me. Cedar Cove was comfortable and predictable. I liked that about it. But today, a flicker of something else gnawed at me, something I couldn’t quite shake since last week.
I slid into the driver’s seat, started the car, and adjusted the mirror. That same thought kept nudging at me, the memory of seeing someone—Cory—sitting in that boat, just beyond the pier, staring toward the salon. Had he really been watching, or was my mind playing tricks on me? I brushed it off with a deep sigh, gripping the steering wheel tightly. I couldn’t afford to go wandering down that rabbit hole, not with Jake waiting for me.
By the time I got to the school, I’d convinced myself it was nothing. I could imagine Cory in Dallas, busy with whatever important work he did now. And here I was, trying to convince myself that his sudden reappearance didn’t mean a damn thing.
“Mom!” Jake’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts as he climbed into the car, his backpack bouncing on his shoulder. He was grinning, his energy practically bursting from the passenger seat. “Think I’ll be able to play at tomorrow’s practice?”
I laughed, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “We’ll see what the doctor says, alright? No promises until we know for sure.”
He nodded, a serious expression crossing his face as if he were prepping himself for a major league game. “I’ve been really careful, Mom. No lifting, no roughhousing… I even skipped gym last week.”
“Good. I’m glad you followed the doctor’s orders,” I replied, though his determination tugged at my heart. “Let’s hope it pays off. I know how much you miss being out there.”
He nodded again, gazing out the window as I drove to the clinic. Jake was so much like me—dedicated, stubborn, and sometimes too quiet about the things that really mattered.
The waiting room was busier than usual, with a steady sound of the voices of parents and kids filling the space. Jake was sitting beside me, flipping through a comic book he’d snagged from the rack by the door, his good hand propping up his chin as he devoured every panel. I watched him, a pang of pride mixed with a bit of guilt running through me. He’d been such a trooper through all this, never complaining about the wrist brace or missing practice.
I settled into my chair, crossing one leg over the other, letting myself relax for the first time today. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, and I found myself absently scrolling through my phone, looking for anything to pass the time. But my mind kept drifting to the last few days, to that unsettling thought that Cory had been out there, watching.
I bit my lip, fighting the urge to shake it off. If he had been sitting out on the lake, what was he waiting for? Why hadn’t he just come in again if he wanted to talk to me? The questions felt ridiculous, and yet… I couldn’t deny the nagging thought that something was left unresolved.
Maybe it was time to stop dancing around the truth. I glanced over at Jake, still buried in his comic book, oblivious to the whirlwind of thoughts rattling around in my head.
I typed “Cory Harrison Dallas” into my search bar, and a few results popped up almost immediately. I tapped the top link, which led me to a website for The Horizon Foundation. Right there on the homepage was his name—Cory J. Harrison, Executive Director. I wasn’t surprised, really. He’d always been ambitious, even back in high school.
The page showed photos of charitable events and community initiatives and a link to his bio. I skimmed through the text, noting the usual nonprofit language: “supporting local communities,” “empowering youth,” and “partnering with organizations across Texas.” It was mostly about outreach, mentorship, and youth development programs, which seemed to be funded through donations. Nothing too flashy—just a straightforward foundation doing good work—but nothing about his personal life.
Still, something about it felt… fitting. Cory had always been driven, and seeing him here, leading a foundation made sense in a way I couldn’t quite explain. But it tugged at me, too, stirring an uneasy feeling in my chest. Here he was, seemingly doing so well, making a difference in people’s lives, while I’d been back here, holding everything together on my own.
I noticed a phone number listed under the “Contact Us” section. My thumb hovered over it, my mind racing. I could call. It wouldn’t be that strange to reach out, would it? But then I looked over at Jake, catching his eye for a split second as he looked up from his comics, and I quickly locked my phone, shoving it back into my bag. Not here. Not now.
I took a slow breath, calming the urge to dig deeper, to know more. Right then, the receptionist called Jake’s name, snapping me back to reality.
Jake’s name echoed through the waiting room as the nurse called us back, and he practically leaped out of his chair. I chuckled, watching him hustle down the hallway as if this appointment determined his entire future. For him, maybe it did.
We settled into the exam room, and Jake was bouncing with excitement, barely sitting still as he waited for the doctor. I’d never seen him this animated for a check-up, and I couldn’t help but smile; his energy was contagious.
When the doctor finally entered, Jake straightened, his eyes wide with hope. After a quick exam and a set of X-rays, the doctor glanced between us, smiling. “Good news, Jake. Everything’s healed up just fine. You’re good to play ball again.”
Jake punched the air in celebration, grinning from ear to ear. “Yes!” He turned to me, face alight with pride. “Mom, did you hear that?”
I laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “I heard it loud and clear. But remember, just because you’re cleared doesn’t mean you get to push yourself too hard. Start slow, alright?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, nodding vigorously, already lost in the thrill of getting back to the game. He barely stayed put long enough for the doctor to finish his instructions, and as soon as we were given the all-clear, he was bounding out of the room and down the hallway.
As we headed out of the clinic, Jake was on his phone, eagerly texting his friends the good news. His fingers flew over the screen, no doubt arranging an impromptu practice session after lunch tomorrow. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him—this was his world, and I loved seeing him so happy, even if I worried every time he slid into a base or sprinted after a ball.
When we got home, I watered my flowers and slipped into the familiar rhythm of dinner prep, letting the warmth of the kitchen settle my nerves. I set the cutting board on the counter, chopped a handful of vegetables, and started the pasta boiling. Jake was still bubbling over with excitement, narrating his friends’ replies as he hovered near the kitchen.
“Mom, they’re all so happy I can play again!” he announced, practically vibrating with excitement. He leaned on the counter, watching as I stirred the sauce.
I looked over at him, trying to keep my voice casual. “I bet they are. You’re one of the star players.”
As Jake darted off to the living room, his excitement bubbling over, I leaned against the counter, letting my thoughts wander. Seeing Cory’s face on that website had stirred up so much more than I’d expected. How did he look so… put together? How was he out there leading this impressive foundation with what looked like a picture-perfect life in Dallas? And here I was, scraping through most days, just doing my best to make ends meet and be a good mom to Jake. The two lives we’d ended up in felt worlds apart.
A sense of pride flickered beneath the irritation—pride that he’d built something meaningful. But right on its heels was resentment. I had stayed in this small town, raising Jake on my own while he was out there thriving, unaware of the life he’d left behind. Had he ever thought about me? About us? Or was I just a part of his past he’d long buried?
I pulled up the website again, my eyes lingering on his photo. He looked older, sure, but the intensity in his gaze was exactly how I remembered it. The foundation sounded like a well-oiled machine—something bigger than just him, funded by grants and donors, its mission polished and professional. And Cory, at the helm, was making a difference. I had to admit, it was impressive.
My thumb hovered over the phone number listed on the site. The impulse to call was strong, fueled by an urge to confront him. But what would I even say? That he had a son? That he’d missed out on a lifetime of memories? Would he even care? I tucked my phone back into my pocket as I heard Jake’s footsteps approaching.
He came barreling into the kitchen, asking if dinner was ready, and I quickly pushed down my emotions, focusing instead on plating our meal. We settled into our usual spots at the table, and Jake chattered away about baseball practice, his friends, and a new move he was eager to try.
Just as I started to relax, he looked up at me, serious and quiet. “Mom, is Cory my dad?”
The question hit me like a punch. I forced a steady breath, trying to keep my expression calm, but inside, everything was spinning. I hadn’t expected this—not now, not like this.
“What makes you ask that, honey?” My voice was even, though my heart was anything but.
Jake shrugged, eyes downcast. “I don’t know. He just… he felt familiar. I mean, I can’t explain it.” He looked up at me with a mix of curiosity and something deeper, something I wasn’t sure he even understood.
I managed a small smile, desperately trying to keep my voice light. “Jake, I only met Cory when we picked you up from the hospital, remember? He’s just a guy passing through Cedar Cove.” I could feel the lie settling in the space between us, heavy and uncomfortable. But I wasn’t ready to tell him the truth—not yet.
Jake nodded, accepting my answer, though his eyes lingered on me a moment longer as if searching for something more. Then he shrugged it off, switching back to his usual chatter about his friends, his grin lighting up his face again. I tried to stay focused, to match his energy, but the weight of his question stayed with me, pressing down like a stone.
After dinner, as Jake disappeared into his room to start his homework, I cleared the table, my movements mechanical. The truth was, I had lied to my son. I hadn’t wanted to, but his question had blindsided me. I’d always known this day would come—the day he’d want answers. And somehow, I’d convinced myself I’d be ready. But standing there in the kitchen, I realized how utterly unprepared I was.
I rinsed the dishes, each plate clinking loudly against the sink, the guilt hanging over me like a cloud I couldn’t escape. If only I’d told him the truth from the start, that his father was someone from my past, someone who’d left before he even knew. But now, it felt too late to set things right without unraveling the life I’d worked so hard to build.
After finishing up in the kitchen, I found myself back at the counter, staring at Cory’s photo on the foundation’s website, the cursor hovering over his contact number. The temptation to call him was almost overwhelming—to tell him everything, to demand he understand what he’d left behind. But the late hour reminded me it wasn’t the right time. Even if I wanted to converse with him, I’d need to find the words first, the courage to confront years of silence and uncertainty. Sighing, I locked my phone and slipped it into my pocket, telling myself tomorrow would bring a clearer head.
I rinsed my hands and turned off the kitchen light, my steps quiet as I made my way down the hall to Jake’s room. He was sprawled across his bed, asleep on top of his books, his breathing slow and even. I smoothed the hair from his forehead, my heart aching with the enormity of everything left unsaid. He looked so peaceful, and at that moment, I wished I could keep his world simple forever.
After tucking a blanket around him and turning off his bedside lamp, I headed down the hall to my own room, anticipation building for the bath I’d been craving all day. I filled the tub with hot water, adding a generous pour of lavender bath oil, letting the scent rise and fill the room. Sliding into the water, I felt a wave of relief as the warmth eased the tension from my muscles, the steam softening the edges of my lingering worries.
Just as I let my head rest against the tub’s edge, my phone buzzed on the counter. I glanced over, seeing Luke’s name on the screen. For a moment, the familiarity of his call brought a sense of comfort, but I felt a pang of irritation, too. I didn’t want to pretend everything was fine when my mind was swirling with questions and unresolved feelings. I hesitated, my finger hovering over the screen, but then I hit “decline,” letting the call fade into silence.
A ripple of guilt nudged me, knowing Luke was only trying to reach out, to be there for me. But tonight, I couldn’t do it—not with the weight of Jake’s question and Cory’s sudden reappearance in my life. I closed my eyes, sinking deeper into the water, feeling the ache of decisions left to linger.
In the quiet, I could almost hear Jake’s voice asking again, “Is Cory my dad?” The question lingered, echoing louder than I wanted to admit.