10. Chapter 10 Eli
The question hangs between us after Maggie asks it.
Why don't you ever talk about what you lost?
For a moment, I focus on the rain instead of answering.
Water races down the windshield in uneven streams while the wipers sweep steadily back and forth. The storm has softened since I picked her up, but it hasn't moved on yet. The town beyond the glass remains blurred and distant.
Part of me wants to let the question pass.
That has been my preferred strategy for years.
People eventually stop asking if you give them enough polite answers. They learn which subjects are off limits. They learn where the walls are.
The question hangs between us for a moment. Then I answer.
"When Stacey and I met, we were living in Tulsa."
Maggie turns slightly in her seat.
I keep my eyes on the rain.
"I'd been there for years by then. Construction was going well. I was managing projects, making good money, and working more hours than any reasonable person should."
A smile touches my mouth.
"My mother called regularly to remind me that sleep was important."
"Smart woman."
"Very."
The memory fades.
"Stacey loved Tulsa. She loved the energy, the restaurants, the events, the feeling that something new was always happening."
I pause.
"Honestly, I liked it too."
That surprises Maggie.
I can tell.
Most people assume I've spent my entire life happily sitting on the same porch in the same town. The truth is more complicated.
"I wasn't unhappy there," I admit. "We built a life. We bought a house. Sophie was born there."
For a moment, I can almost see it. Birthday parties. Backyard barbecues. Saturday mornings. All the ordinary things people assume will last forever.
"So, what happened?" Maggie asks.
I let out a slow breath.
"Eventually, Stacey wanted more than Tulsa and more than me too."
The words sound strange, even now.
The rain rattles softly against the roof.
"I kept thinking we'd reach a point where she'd be happy."
I shake my head.
"Instead, the finish line kept moving."
Maggie says nothing. She's good at that. She understands that silence isn't always empty.
"When Sophie was five, Stacey left."
The sentence hurts less than it used to.
Not because it stopped mattering. Because I've had years to carry it.
"Afterward, I stayed in Tulsa for a while. I tried to make it work. Sophie's school was there. My job was there. Everything we knew was there."
I glance out at the blurred outline of the library.
"But every time I thought about where I wanted to raise her, the answer was Cedar Hollow."
The answer had always been Cedar Hollow. Even before I admitted it.
"My parents were here. Friends were here. People who actually showed up for each other were here."
A small smile finds its way onto my face.
"Mom and Dad gave us the house. They always wanted to travel. They RVed for a while then settled down in San Marcos. Soon as they were gone, Dottie June started bringing casseroles afraid I’d starve Sophie with my cooking."
Maggie laughs.
"That tracks."
"Earl helped unload furniture."
"Also tracks."
"Margaret showed up to inspect everything."
"Definitely tracks."
The warmth of the memory settles between us. Because that was the difference. Not the town. The people.
"I took a pay cut coming back," I admit.
"Really?"
"A significant one."
That gets her attention.
I smile.
"Construction paid better."
"So why firefighting?"
For the first time, the answer comes easily.
Because I've known it for years.
"I wanted my life to matter to somebody besides a project schedule."
The words settle into the quiet cab.
"I wanted work that let me go home at the end of the day knowing I'd helped someone."
I think about the station.
The calls.
The people.
The chaos.
The purpose.
"And I wanted Sophie to grow up seeing me build a life instead of recover from one."
Maggie's eyes soften.
The rain has nearly stopped now.
Only a few drops continue sliding down the windshield.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Then I hear myself say the thing I've been trying not to think about.
The thing that's been sitting in the back of my mind for weeks.
"Maggie."
She looks at me immediately.
"Yeah?"
I stare at the steering wheel before finally meeting her eyes.
"Sophie keeps asking if you'll leave too."
The next morning arrives far too early.
Most mornings do. The smell of fresh lumber drifts down the hall as we head out of the suite. A handwritten note is taped to the exposed wall that says “Progress” followed by a smiley face beneath it.
By seven-thirty, Sophie and I are already in the truck headed toward school. The sky is clear again, as though yesterday's storm never happened. The roads are still damp in places, but sunlight glints off puddles scattered along the curb.
Sophie is halfway through a story about library books when I realize I haven't contributed a single word in several minutes.
"...and then Mrs. Davis said that technically a goose can't be banned from a library if it never actually enters the building."
I glance over.
"A sentence I never expected to hear."
"Apparently it happened in Nebraska."
"That doesn't make it better."
Sophie accepts this without argument.
The conversation continues all the way to school.
Normally, I appreciate that.
This morning, however, my thoughts keep drifting elsewhere.
Last night's conversation returns more often than I'd like.
The truck.
The rain.
The way Maggie listened without trying to fix anything.
Most people hear a story and immediately start searching for solutions. Maggie simply listened. Somehow that had been harder to handle.
By the time I pull into the school drop-off line, I've already replayed the conversation three separate times.
Sophie gathers her backpack.
Then she pauses.
"Is Maggie working today?"
The question catches me off guard.
"Probably."
She nods as though this is useful information. Then she hops out of the truck and heads toward the building. I watch her disappear through the front doors before pulling away.
The station is busy enough to keep my attention occupied for most of the morning. One firefighter needs a shift adjustment next week. Equipment inspections take longer than expected. A training schedule requires updates. By lunchtime, I've almost convinced myself that life has returned to normal.
The problem is that normal doesn't look quite the same anymore.
At some point during the afternoon, I catch myself wondering whether the Book Trail survived the rainstorm.
An hour later, I find myself wondering whether Maggie ever recovered the recommendation cards that got soaked.
By three o'clock, I am actively annoyed with myself.
The station alarm doesn't care about any of that.
A medical call comes in.
Then another.
Then a vehicle assist.
The work helps.
Work always helps.
By the time my shift ends, the thoughts have quieted enough that I can ignore them again.
At least temporarily.
The Prairie Rose Inn is warm and bright when I walk through the front door that evening.
The dinner crowd has already gathered.
Wren is carrying plates toward the dining room. Earl is explaining something to a guest using broad hand gestures that suggest either home repair or alien abduction. Dottie June is laughing at something Margaret said.
Then I hear Maggie laugh.
The sound drifts down the upstairs hallway before I even see her.
It's not a loud laugh.
Not the kind that demands attention.
It's warm and genuine and immediately recognizable.
I stop halfway up the staircase before I realize what I'm doing.
A second later, Maggie appears at the far end of the hallway carrying a stack of books. She doesn't notice me at first. She's talking to Sophie.
Our conversation ended abruptly yesterday when Mrs. Davis knocked on the truck window to check on Maggie. Maggie and I didn’t get to reconnect.
Now, my daughter is walking beside her, gesturing enthusiastically about something.
Probably a book.
Possibly a rooster.
With those two, the odds are roughly even.
Maggie laughs again at whatever Sophie says.
The sound settles somewhere deep inside me.
Not because it's extraordinary.
Because it feels familiar.
That realization lands with surprising force.
A few weeks ago, Maggie was a stranger who happened to be sharing our suite.
Now I can identify her laugh from another floor of the building.
I know which glasses she's likely to wear when she's organizing an event.
I know she leaves recommendation cards tucked into unexpected places.
I know she always notices when someone feels left out.
The knowledge has accumulated gradually, one ordinary day at a time.
And somehow those ordinary days have become the problem.
Because when something becomes part of your routine, you stop imagining life without it.
I stand there for a moment longer than necessary, watching Sophie and Maggie disappear around the corner.
Then I continue upstairs.
The hallway is quiet now.
Only the faint echo of laughter remains.
For the first time, I find myself wondering whether normal is ever as simple as getting your life back.
Or whether sometimes normal becomes something entirely new before you're ready to admit it.
Sophie and Maggie return a bit later and we join the group gathered for the nightly meal. After dinner, the lobby gradually empties.
Guests drift toward their rooms. Earl and Dottie June head home after a lengthy debate with Luke about whether Elvis should be considered livestock or a public nuisance.
Wren disappears into her office with a stack of invoices.
The inn settles into its evening rhythm as conversations fade and lights dim.
Sophie and I are halfway up the stairs when Maggie emerges from her room carrying a book.
My daughter spots her immediately.
"Maggie!"
Maggie smiles.
"That sounds suspiciously enthusiastic."
"I have a question."
Those words should concern any reasonable adult.
Maggie appears unfazed.
"Okay."
Sophie shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
Then she asks, "Will you read to me tonight?"
The hallway goes unexpectedly quiet. Maggie's eyes immediately find mine. I know exactly why.