Six Months Later…
Willow
The first thing I notice when we pull into Dad's driveway is that someone has shoveled the walk.
Not just a narrow path to the front door, either. The entire driveway has been cleared, right down to the packed snow beneath. The walkway leading to the porch has been salted so thoroughly that not a single patch of ice remains.
For a second, I sit in the truck, staring out the windshield at it, and then the realization sneaks up on me.
I didn't shovel it. I didn’t spend hours out there chipping at ice and laying down salt or sand.
For as long as I could remember, if I didn't do something, it simply didn't get done.
If I didn't buy the groceries, nobody ate.
If I didn't pay the bills, the lights got shut off, and if I didn't keep track of the appointments, medications, repairs, and every other little thing that came with holding a household together, it all fell apart.
It was too much, and it never should have been my load to carry.
I can see that so clearly now.
Letting go of all that responsibility hasn't been easy, and some days I'm still not sure what to do with myself.
“Ready?” Cal asks from beside me.
I blink and realize he’s already out of the truck and standing next to me, holding my door open, the sharp January air already stinging my cheeks.
I take one more look at the neatly shoveled drive and blow out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I think so,” I say. “It’s different now.”
“Of course it is.” Cal holds out his hand for me. “And that’s a good thing.”
He’s not wrong. It is a good thing.
I let him help me down and together we walk up to the house that no longer feels like home.
Truthfully, it never did. Not the way the cabin on the mountain does.
Snow blankets the yard, covering most of the imperfections that used to make this place look so tired and run down. The old truck is long gone now, the broken couch taken to the dump. Even the siding looks fresher, but I know that’s probably my imagination.
Dad is waiting for us inside, sitting in his favorite chair when we come through the front door. He has a blanket over his lap, his cane propped beside his chair, and a hockey game on the TV.
He still limps. He still lives with pain. And he definitely still complains.
But he’s taking his medication properly now, eating real meals, drinking less beer, and spending a lot more time living than simply hiding from the world in his dark bedroom.
All thanks to Sandra, the home health nurse Cal and I hired for him.
I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that she’s been a miracle worker.
I still don’t understand how she’s been able to get him to take his pills every day and eat without complaint.
Let alone engage with the world the way he does.
Cal is pretty sure it has a lot to do with how she smiles at him and flirts enough to keep him engaged.
Whatever it is, I’ll take it.
“Well,” he grumbles. “About damn time you showed up.”
I laugh and lean down to kiss his cheek. He’s still an old grump, at least that hasn’t changed.
“Nice to see you, too.”
His eyes immediately move to Cal.
“You’re still hanging around, I see.”
Cal doesn’t miss a beat. “Still trying to get rid of me?”
Dad snorts, and I laugh at their repertoire. Cal and I were married three months ago. He’s not going anywhere, and we all know it.
A second truck rumbles outside, and a few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door before Bryson walks in. He’s still wearing his sawmill coveralls under his winter coat.
Beck has connections at the mill, and after Bryson cooperated fully with the authorities, he called in some favors and got my brother a job.
It was his last chance, and to my surprise, he took it.
Six months ago, I wasn’t sure my brother would even be able to stay out of jail, let alone hold down a job, but here he is, gainfully employed, and not only that, by all accounts, he’s actually doing well.
“What?” he says as his eyes land on me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I shake my head and laugh. “I'm just proud of you, that’s all.”
He waves his hand and my compliment away. “Stop it.”
“I’m serious, Bryson. I really am.”
“We all are.” Cal wraps his arm around me and looks at my brother. It wasn’t long ago that I wasn’t sure they’d be able to exist in the same room without Cal wanting to rip Bryson apart for all the trouble he’d gotten me into. Things have changed.
But not only is my new husband a fierce protector, but it turns out he also has a very forgiving heart under that grumpy exterior.
The truth is, Bryson still has a lot of growing up left to do. But now that Ronnie Hatch is gone— he was charged with enough to put him away for a very long time—something seems to have clicked with my brother, and he does seem to be on a better path now.
The afternoon passes quickly. I fill everyone in on my decision to start up my own home care business. Now that looking after people isn’t something I have to do, I’ve discovered that I actually quite like it. And I’m good at it.
It’s still in the planning stages, and I’m not in a rush, but I feel it in my heart that it’s the right thing to do, and Cal, as always, is so supportive.
We eat lunch together and listen to Dad complain about the hockey game and his home care worker, whom we all know he’s sweet on.
It feels normal, and for the first time since before Mom died, we feel like family again.
By the time we head up the mountain, the snow is falling. Not much. Not enough to make the mountain roads impassable. Too bad, though.
Being snowed in together, just me and my mountain man, cozy together in the cabin, wouldn’t be too bad at all. With Murph, too, of course. He’s never far from our sides.
I rest my hand over my stomach, which is only just starting to swell, and Cal reaches over to put his hand on top of mine. I can’t wait to see what kind of guard dog Murph turns into once the baby arrives.
It’s hard to believe that this mountain was once some place I was hiding.
Now, it feels like home, and there’s no place I’d rather be to build our family together.