24. Huxley
24
HUXLEY
Savannah and I finally set off after a series of unavoidable delays due to emergency cases at Red Mark. Just as I promised her, we’re heading to the spot where the tragic accident occurred.
The unexpected jangle of my phone cuts the quietness of our journey.
“Sorry, sorry,” I grumble, my tone thick with annoyance as I dismiss the call from a familiar Colombian number. It’s Marta Rojas—likely nudging me to speak with Rodolfo. But that can wait. I turn off the phone with a decisive click.
As the crease in my brow eases, Savannah’s hand finds mine, understanding.
“So, your arm is as good as new?” she asks, nodding toward where the bandage once was.
“You bet,” I reply, extending my arm for her inspection. The skin is nearly flawless now, a testament to the ointment’s efficacy.
“Thank you for doing this for me,” she says, acknowledging the drive .
“Hey, anytime,” I reply with a grin. “I’m yours, officially. It’s in the job description.”
She cracks a smile. “Still. You’re sacrificing your free time for me.”
“You need to get used to having a boyfriend who’s actually useful,” I utter, hinting at her dickhead ex. “Besides, I’ve got a few more days off. Let me know if you want me to take you somewhere else. Like, I don’t know, maybe a blueberry farm?” I nudge her, hinting at the jam she promised to make.
“I’ll think about it,” she sighs, a mock-serious tone in her voice as her gaze drifts to the scenery unfolding outside the window.
“Where’s your mom buried, Sav?” I inquire.
“At the village church,” she replies, her voice carrying a mix of sorrow and fondness. “Dad and I used to visit on the anniversary of her death. But we went to the accident spot more often. We simply called it ‘the bend.’”
I nod, curiosity tugging at me. Was it sorrow or fondness that drew them to the spot instead of her resting place? “Why visit the bend more often?”
“We felt like it was the last place she was alive, you know? Her spirit seemed to linger there, among the trees and shrubs, in the open air. The cemetery… it’s just headstones and caskets.”
“I get it,” I say, agreeing with her reasoning.
The road to Lakefall Valley snakes through the wilderness. It’s still fresh on my mind after the trip to the Blackwater Brutes’ former stronghold. But past that, we’re flanked by nothing but lush foliage. It was just a red line on a map when she showed me. Now, the seclusion of our destination wraps around us like a shroud.
“So, this was the way to Mitchell Ranch, too?” I steal a glance at Savannah, noting the shadow of bitterness that crosses her features at the mention of the ranch.
“Yes. The bend is only a mile away. Mom and I were so close to home, but it wasn’t meant to be,” she replies, her voice threaded with a regret that everyone would feel in her shoes, yet I know it’s one she has learned to live with.
The road begins to climb, and the snaking turns cut sharply through the landscape. I ease off the accelerator, pacing myself. When we finally arrive, Savannah gestures toward a path that nearly blends into the surrounding wilderness.
We leave the vehicle and begin trailing down the slope, the earth soft beneath our boots. Savannah’s pace slows, and a contemplative smile spreads across her face.
“This was it,” Savannah murmurs reverently. “I loved every inch of this valley, except here. But I’ve come to terms with it being the place where she passed. And now, bringing these beautiful flowers for her…” Her hands carefully place the bouquet of yellow roses at the base of an ancient ponderosa pine.
“Hey, Mom. It’s me. Dad can’t make it, but I’m here with Hux.” She gestures to get closer, and I kneel beside her in solidarity.
The air is still—not evoking somberness but reflection. It’s a rare moment for me, a break from the usual pressure of danger and physical exertion. I won’t change a thing about my role at Red Mark. I’m still dedicated to giving my all until my body can no longer bear the weight. Yet, this moment reminds me of the simplicity I’ve long left behind—the place I once called home.
Savannah inhales deeply, and a flicker of anxiety crosses her features .
“You okay, Sav?” I reach for her hand, fingers weaving through hers.
She lets out a slow, steadying breath, the furrow deepening between her brows. “I’m just… thinking about Dad.”
Her hands fuss over the bouquet, adjusting the placement of the flowers with a delicate touch, striving for a perfection that feels just out of reach. She caresses the velvety rose petals, continuing, “Flowers were Mom’s life, her joy. Since she passed, Dad and I made sure this spot never lacked blooms, even in the coldest winter months.”
“He’ll come back here, I’m certain of it.” The words are a gamble, but my intuition about her father, Al, tells me he won’t forsake the memories of his wife.
“I hope so. It’s still too painful for him right now, though,” she murmurs. “The ranch was never the same without her. Even the weather seems to mourn her departure. Summers grew hotter and longer, while winters became fiercer and unpredictable.”
She gives a small, rueful laugh, her voice catching. “Despite everything, Dad and I kept fighting, held on. But sometimes, it’s hard to accept when the battle’s over, and you’re left standing on the losing side.”
Her shoulders start to shake with silent sobs. Right there, I witness the deep connection she holds with the ranch, perhaps an even stronger bond than her father ever had. I pull her close, wrapping my arms around her.
“I’m not perfect, Hux,” she says. “Even if you see me as some sort of mentor, I’m still haunted by what could’ve been.”
“I understand,” I murmur, stroking her arm. “We’re here for each other, right? You can trust me.”
She leans into me, her entire being seeming to relinquish her burdens into my care. I kiss her cheek, granting her the space to experience this wave of emotion. Her head rests against my chest, her tears warm and poignant. I give the moment to her, allowing her grief and resilience to permeate the still air around us.
Gradually, her sobs subside as she strives to articulate her thoughts. “And Hux, this place still haunts me sometimes.” She gazes up at the start of the slope as if imagining the horror of the crash that claimed her mother.
“It does?” I prompt, encouraging her to share.
“Like when you pulled me from my truck that day. I really thought I was with her then. I don’t exactly know what I did, but I remember begging her to stay with me.”
She had spoken those words aloud in my arms. I give her hand a squeeze to emphasize my support. “I hope I gave you the comfort you needed then.”
She looks up at me. “You did, and more.”
I respond with a kiss, feeling a surge of pride that I could offer her solace instead of burdening her with my needs. Yet, I know I’m about to ask a great deal of her—with my request for her help in transforming my angry wish into something more constructive. It’s a big ask, one that weighs on my conscience.
We linger in the quiet of each other’s presence for a while. Then, with affectionate respect, Savannah leans forward to place a kiss on the bark of the ponderosa pine just above where the bouquet rests. “Love you, Mom,” she whispers. As she turns back to me, her smile is radiant, almost catching me off guard with its intensity.
While observing her genuine contentment, admiration swells within me. Savannah’s strength, her ability to find grounding in the face of loss, strikes me as real and powerful.
“Let’s go back then,” she suggests, and I nod.
As we make our way back up the slope, a question forms in my mind. “Would you like to visit the ranch?” I suggest, thinking it might help her find closure, considering it’s not far from here.
“No, I’d rather not,” she replies simply.
“You’d rather let it go?” I probe, curious if she’s considering releasing her hold on the place.
She pauses, reflecting for a moment. “Maybe this is your first lesson from me, Hux. Don’t ever try to let go,” she advises thoughtfully. “The more you try, the more it clings to you—it may even bite you unsparingly. Let it be. You can’t change it, you can’t touch it. All you can do is maybe dress it up in your mind, make it a bit less sad.”
“I’m sorry, Sav, but that sounds a bit absurd to me,” I admit.
She chuckles, appreciating my frankness. “Exactly my point. I used to feel sick every time I passed this spot. Sometimes, I even threw up just around the bend. But then, one day, I noticed wildflowers growing by the road. They reminded me of the good times with her, how much she loved flowers. So, I started leaving yellow roses or sunflowers here.”
“She liked the bright ones, huh?”
She nods. “Absolutely. Dad used to help. He’s stopped now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t persuade him to join me again someday.”
“I see. How about the ranch?” I nudge her back to the topic she seems reluctant to delve into.
She concedes, “I’m still working on it. It’s not that I’m letting go of the memory. I just haven’t found a way to ‘dress it up’ yet.”
I appreciate her honesty, and it doesn’t surprise me. Savannah is a fighter. She has the bullet scar to prove it. Yet, it tells a tale of battles fought and not always won.
“Someday?” I say.
“Yeah, one day at a time. ”
In her explanation, I can see my struggles with Valentina fitting every word. I’ve attempted to let go many times, only to find myself spiraling further into despair with each effort. To push away Valentina’s memory would be like wandering through life hollow, without heart. Yet, here beside me stands Savannah, a pillar of strength in a place that should be her own corner of sorrow. In her company, I find myself awed by her ability to hold me steady.
I resolve to fully embrace what Savannah offers. But the thought of asking her to guide me through relinquishing a love that could have been claws at me. Valentina is the past, while Savannah is the undeniable now. I’ll give Savannah the love and presence she deserves. It should be simple, but I find myself entangled in the struggle.
Catching my troubled look, Savannah leans in slightly. “Hey, what’s that sad look?”
I manage a half-smile. “Nothing.”
She chuckles, light-hearted yet firm. “Don’t take this lesson too seriously now, or I’ll feel like I’ve already failed you.”
Her jest eases the tension, and gratitude fills me. “You haven’t failed me,” I say with sincerity.
As we circle back to my SUV, I spot something near the tire. “Oh, look!” I exclaim, hurrying forward and bending down to investigate.
“Oh my!” Savannah beams, delight spreading across her face as she delicately scoops up a grasshopper.
“Your own saltamontes. ”
“Yeah,” she laughs, looking at the insect. “Hey, buddy! Where’re you going?”
“You liked grasshoppers? Is that why your dad nicknamed you Saltamontes ?”
“Exactly. I used to chase them around the fields and watch them leap. I felt like I was just another creature roaming the land with them. And mom, speaking in Spanish, would joke about my skinny legs being just like a grasshopper’s.”
She steps carefully back down the slope, cradling the grasshopper in her hands, and then nudges it into the grass. “Off you go!” she encourages.
As I watch her interact with the simple wonder of nature, an idea sparks in my mind.
“Do you like surprises?” I ask, a new plan forming as inspiration strikes.
“I do,” she replies, curiosity lighting her eyes.
“Does your dad?”
“Absolutely not,” she chuckles. “He’s as fond of surprises as a cat is of a sudden bath.”
“Okay, just you then,” I say, feeling a conspiratorial thrill at planning something just for her.
She narrows her eyes slightly. “Come on, what is it?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore.” I delight in the suspense that dances across her face.
She offers me an affectionate smile. “Okay. I’m in your capable hands.” It’s not just a passing response. Her trust warms me more than I expect.
As we reach the car and I swing it around, heading back toward Helena, the plot of my surprise thickens in my mind. I can’t wait to see it unfold. “Buckle up, sweetheart. It’s going to be an unforgettable ride,” I quip, hoping my driving isn’t as suspenseful as my surprises.