34. Summer
Summer
Mom’s room is at the end of the hall, past the sitting area where two residents are watching Wheel of Fortune with the volume cranked.
I knock before I push her door open a crack.
She’s in the chair by the window, staring at the parking lot, deep in thought.
The sun bathes her in light, and for a second she looks so much like the version of my mom that I still remember.
I take her in, letting the memories wash over me: watching movies while we folded clothes, baking cookies when we could splurge on chocolate chips, then eating them warm from the oven with a cold glass of milk.
“Hey,” I murmur, careful not to startle her.
She turns toward me, her eyes vacant. “Hello?” She uses the same stiff tone that she does with the aides.
I pull a chair closer and hold out the flowers. Coral zinnias, burgundy amaranth, apricot cosmos. “For you.”
She looks from me to the flowers before taking them. “These are my favorites. How did you know?” She lifts them to her nose. “Most women like roses, but I never understood that. I’ve always loved wildflowers.”
“I know,” I say. “You tell me that every time.”
“Are you here for me?” she asks.
I nod. She stares at the flowers and doesn’t say anything.
“Do you remember before,” I begin, “when I mentioned Jaxon?”
Her mouth lifts. “The handsome hockey player.”
“Yes.” My fingers play with the hem of my shirt.
“He grew up at Lucky Chance Ranch. His parents are the ones who gave me the land for my flowers.” I’m unsure if this will even make sense to her, but I try to explain it.
“He came home after his parents died, and somewhere in the middle of it all, I fell in love with him.”
She stares out the window, lost in thought.
“He even turned down a coaching job for me.” I look down at my hands. “And today, his lawyer told me Jaxon doesn’t have to stay to inherit Lucky Chance. He could take a job anywhere and still keep the farm. Nothing’s holding him here.”
She lays the wildflowers in her lap, her fingers tracing the stems.
“I guess what I’m saying…” I take a deep breath before it all spills out. “…is that I’m scared he’s going to be like Dad, and I’m worried I already love him too much. If I lose him, I’ll never come back from that.”
“I understand.” Mom turns from the window then, the fog in her gaze lifting.
“Your father had a restless spirit. Always wanted to move on to the next thing.” She places the flowers in a vase on the windowsill.
“He had his good sides. He just never stayed anywhere very long. I knew that from the beginning.”
“And you still married him?”
“Yes.” She blinks, grasping for memories and a life she used to know. “I loved him, and I wanted him too much to face the truth.”
I stare at her, not understanding. I’ve been telling myself a story about my parents’ marriage my entire life, and now I’m realizing only part of it was true.
All this time, I thought it was proof that some men can’t be trusted.
Better to keep a man at arm’s length than risk getting your heart broken.
But that’s not what my mother just said to me.
Mom knew who Dad was and said yes to a life with him, in spite of that.
She made her peace with the complete, complicated truth of him.
I’ve been so scared of repeating her mistakes, when her only mistake was to love a man so much she was willing to lose him.
She turns back from the window and looks directly at me, her face brightening.
I frown. “What is it?”
“You’re…” There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Summer. My daughter.”
It’s only my name. But after months of wishing she remembered me, it feels like a miracle, like something lost has finally found its way back to me.
My hand goes to my mouth, where I choke out a laugh-sob. “You…remember?”
Her fingers reach for mine, and I take her hand before she forgets again.
“Yes.” Her gaze traces over my face. “You look tired.”
I laugh, even though my eyes are swimming with tears. “I’ve been dealing with a lot lately.”
She tucks a wisp of hair behind my ear. “Is everything okay?” The question feels like a door that’s been closed for years has finally cracked open.
“It will be,” I answer, then lay my head on her shoulder. “Now that I’m here with you.”
“You can stay as long as you need to, Wildflower.” She smooths my hair away from my face, just like she did when I was little.
I close my eyes and let her. Just to remember her like this one more time.
When I reach the parking lot, I sit in my old truck and watch a few golden leaves circle toward the ground. A message from Jaxon flashes across my screen where my phone rests on the passenger seat.
You okay? Larissa said you left an hour ago. Where are you?
I start to reply, then stop. My knee-jerk response is to shut down. Keep my walls sky high, like I always have when things get complicated.
But after everything Mom told me, I have no excuses left. Jaxon is not my father; I know that logically, but something inside me still resists. It’s the same question circling in my head. Why’d my father bring me into this world if he didn’t want me?
I’m never going to get that answer, no matter how much I need it. Jaxon could tame my wild heart, and I want that so badly it scares me. But this problem is mine, not his. I’ve always gotten in my own way.
When I pull into Lucky Chance, the clouds are rolling in, thick and black.
I step out of my truck, and the air smells like rain.
I head straight for Sally’s stall without stopping to tell anyone where I’m going.
One good thing about working on a horse farm is that when my feelings get tangled into a knot, I reach for the cheapest form of therapy around: a saddle.
There’s not a single challenge in my life that didn’t become clearer on a horse.
Jaxon doesn’t know that James told me the news, or that I spent today with my mother, unpacking my parents’ complicated relationship.
My fingers move through the buckles on autopilot as I saddle her up. I don’t have a destination for this ride; I just need to move. To let go. To feel the ground under her hooves and the wind in my hair.
I swing my leg over the saddle and take off, even though the storm is bearing down on us. If I’m on a horse, I don’t need to answer Jaxon yet.
Sally doesn’t need me to point her to the back pasture because she could find it in her sleep. When we reach the open field, I nudge her with my heel, and she takes off. Within seconds, we’re flying across the grassy land, hooves drumming the ground as I blink against the wind in my face.
The rumble of thunder grows louder as the rain starts to fall, slowly at first, until it becomes a steady, soaking rain.
I have been so careful for so long. I don’t want to be careful anymore.