Chapter 6
Willow
The ache in my back causes me to finally give up on my dream of a full night’s sleep.
I’ve been here a full week and it feels like I am drowning.
Probably from the lack of sleep I've been getting. My air mattress is slowly leaking air, so I spent the night half-asleep in a blow-up taco of a bed. At least it’s Sunday and I get to visit my grandpa and get the hell off this ranch.
A little space between Weston and me wouldn’t hurt either.
Every day that I wake up with a part of my body hurting due to my shitty sleeping situation, or the ice-cold shower I am forced to take every day, I am reminded of how good it was for me that he ended things, even if seeing him still feels like a dagger to the heart.
It’s been so many years, but I still don’t feel like that piece of me has let go.
Weston was my best friend which made losing him that much harder.
Being here again makes everything feel fresher, and it feels like I’m reliving it all over again.
So, a day at my grandpa’s is exactly what I need.
The drive to town takes a while. The truck doesn’t go over forty-five, so I don’t push my luck and choose to make the most out of it.
With the windows down, I take the path I've driven a million times. The flowers on the side of the road are in full bloom, lots of woods’ roses and geraniums, adding a splash of color to the sagebrush and weeds growing in the ditch.
The fresh air fills the cabin and I can feel my grumpiness slowly fading.
Not all the way, but enough that I can breathe again and have a good time with my grandpa.
When I pull up to his house, his grass is neatly maintained and the flowers next to the mailbox on the sidewalk add pops of yellow and white.
It still looks exactly the same as it did when I was a kid.
This place will always be my home. Some might have been embarrassed about being raised by their grandparents, but I was so lucky.
My grandpa has the kindest heart, and if I get anything from him I hope it's that.
Sometimes I feel like I've lost that piece of myself a bit over the years, but maybe spending more time with him will bring it back.
I walk up the front porch steps, and the top stair creaks just like it always does, which was really inconvenient when you were seventeen and trying to sneak back inside.
Eventually, I started using my bedroom window, even if it meant potentially falling into the rosebushes we had growing in the backyard.
Out of habit, I pull the door open and walk right in like I still live here. My grandpa sits in his recliner on the chair in his living room.
“Gramps, I am so sorry, I should have knocked!”
“There’s a lot of people in this world required to knock before entering my home, my sweet grandbaby is not one of them. Thanks for coming by, I was hoping you would be making time for this, old fart.”
“You’re not that old.” Unfortunately, his barely there grey hair that he has combed over disagrees with me.
As do the wrinkles on his face. He was always smiling and you can tell by the smile lines surrounding his mouth and eyes.
The one thing that hasn’t changed about him is his love of glasses and suspenders that don’t match anything in his closet.
“I ain’t that young either, I’ve got more artificial joints and teeth than the bionic man.”
I can’t help but laugh at him, his old age hasn’t changed him a bit.
“What do you have going on today, Gramps? Got some time for breakfast and maybe a walk around the block?”
“Can we get breakfast and skip the walk?” he asks, looking hopeful.
“No can do, but we can eat first if that takes the sting out of it.”“Only for you, Lolo.” My grandpa is the only person in the world who calls me that and hearing it in person settles something in me.
I get to work on making something for breakfast. I do my best to find something healthy, knowing this man probably has not been taking the best care of himself. If he had it his way, he would live off fried eggs, bacon, and cheeseburgers from the diner downtown.
When I set down the veggie omelet in front of him, he grimaces before looking up at me, “There’s a whole lot of green shit underneath those eggs.”
My whole body shakes as I try to hold in my laugh. “Yeah, those are called vegetables, and they were about one day from growing new friends; it’s a good thing I came over.”
He uses the tip of his fork to pull apart the top of the steaming omelet, inspecting it, “Cheese would have sufficed,” he mutters.
“Cheese probably would have added to your cholesterol problem. Eat the damn omelet.” I point my finger at him, scolding him the same way he used to do me about the same things.
“New York made you mean,” he says before finally putting a piece of the omelet in his mouth.
“See, not poison. New York made me not be a doormat.” Which is only half true, but he doesn’t need to know that. I put my hand on my hip and look at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell me it’s delicious, because I know it is.
I turn back to the stove and plop the veggie omelet onto my plate, my stomach grumbles as the smell wafts up. Turning around, I set my plate down and sit down at the table, ready to dig in.
“How is it going on the ranch? I bet it’s got to be a bit hard being back there again.” The humor is gone from his eyes, and concern replaces it.
It’s my turn to play with my food, because I don’t know how I feel about being back.
My living situation is the worst, and seeing Weston is just…
hard. But actually, spending my days on the ranch has felt good.
I've missed being back home more than I was willing to let myself admit. Being surrounded by nature makes me feel grounded and steady. Plus, this right here, having a bad day and getting to come sit at my grandpas is more healing than any therapists chair I could sit in. Being back in Windy Peaks is strange, like I’m coming back to a version of me that I don’t know exists anymore.
Part of me misses that old me, before everything happened, but I like the walls I put up around myself.
That’s a lot to say to my elderly grandpa, who probably needs to be reassured that his baby is doing okay, so I settle for, “It’s good, actually.
I’ve got a lot to do and you know I like being busy.
Plus, I get space for myself.” The cabin is less glamorous than a prison cell, but he doesn’t need to know the details.
The day with him passes by way too fast. I take advantage of the hot water at his house and enjoy a shower.
It may be summer but that doesn’t mean that cold showers at the crack of dawn are pleasant.
He, of course, thought it was weird that I shower here when I have my own place over there, but I told him Weston was working on the plumbing and then ran away before he could see through my life. Very mature of me, I must say.
“Okay, Gramps, I will be back to see you sometime this week. If you need anything just let me know.”
“You do the same kiddo, can’t wait.” We hug and he kisses my cheek before squeezing me one last time. With each little one, an old piece of me snaps back into place.
When I get to the truck, its old familiar smell fills my nose. There is a distinct aroma that old trucks with fabric seats have, it’s hard to explain, but it’s one of my favorites. When I turn the key in the ignition, it makes a clicking sound but doesn’t turn over. “Huh, that’s weird.”
It takes a few tries, but it finally roars to life, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. A moment too soon, because within seconds smoke is piling out of the hood and I know it’s bad.
My grandpa must hear the commotion and comes outside, with more of a limp than I would like, and pops the hood.
“I’m no mechanic but I am pretty sure it’s not supposed to be smelling hot like this.
It’s been burning oil like crazy lately.
I’ll call my mechanic and see if they can get it towed and into the shop.
Sorry, Lolo.”I rear my head back in surprise.
“What are you sorry for? I just blew up your car.”
“She’s been on her last leg for a while. This isn’t your doing.”
It’s now that I realize I am completely stuck here. “Gramps, I’m going to call Weston to pick me up, okay? It’s all good. Go inside and get back to your game shows! He’ll be here before you know it.”
I tell myself I’m doing it for my grandpa, but a smaller voice inside my head says I’m a liar. My draw to him is in the past, or at least it should be.
Dialing his number feels foreign and all too familiar at the same time. I never deleted his contact. In the beginning I was sure he would call and say he made a mistake. But as time went on and the call never came, I didn’t have the heart to delete the one last connection we had.
Now here we are.
He picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Willow, is everything okay?”
I clear my throat and try to get my brain to catch up, suddenly feeling all too nervous. “Yeah. Well, actually I kind of need your help if you’re available. If not don’t wor-”
I’m cut off before I can even get my sentence out. “I’m always available for you. What do you need?”
A lot, a drink, or maybe a grip because hearing him say he’s always available for me causes a flutter in my chest.
“Something happened with my grandpa’s truck and now it isn’t running. Is there a chance you could come get me and bring me back to the ranch?”
“Are you at Vern’s?”
“Yeah, do you need the address? I know it’s been a while since you’ve been here.”
“Nope, I’m on my way to you. I should be there in about fifteen minutes.”
Up until now, every interaction with him I’ve had has been about work with a safe distance between us, now I’m going to be stuck in the truck with him.
My brain wanders to the last time I was in a truck with him. He walked me to my door and broke my heart seconds later. Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if he hadn’t.
I was always convinced he was my person. Like we were born two halves a whole. I can still feel it when he’s around, the familiarity. It’s been years and somehow my soul can still find him in a room of a thousand.
I was dead set on staying mad and as distant as possible, but maybe we can try being friends. With as many years as we have between us, it would harder to fake indifference than it would be just to try and be friendly.
It’s taken two whole weeks here and my resolve is already crumbling. What will happen when I’m here for three months?