Chapter 15
CADE
Days later, I stood in a local building supply store, looking at plumbing fixtures, carrying three tubes of caulk beneath one arm, and contemplating the stupid-high price tags on foam board insulation. Good gracious, what would this renovation project cost?
My head still spun with monetary figures from a meeting with the bank earlier that morning. Words like HELOC and construction loan and compounding interest and balloon payments still worked through my head.
I understood what the advisor said; I just hated it.
Inheriting the ranch granted me a massive asset, but that asset had a dwindling return, including a home equity line of credit with limited fund availability—thirty thousand in credit. Thirty thousand wouldn’t cut it if these prices were any indication. Maybe, if I bought in bulk and up front . . .
The weight of responsibility pressed down again, the bugger.
Never relenting. Always gaining traction.
Like interest, responsibility stayed present to squeeze me dry.
Complete home renovations added a layer of pressure I never asked for.
While I loved the Iron Creek Ranch, I didn’t want to rip it apart and put it together again—all while running it and living in it.
Old man Morgan didn’t build the house. He bought it from someone else, and I silently cursed their laziness. Or, rather, resourcefulness . . . someone had thought of recycling doors to use as walls.
They just didn’t do anything else intelligent with them. Like insulate.
With a growl, I set the handful of items on the ground, reached for the paper in my back pocket, and stared at the list. That morning, Noelle scrawled out the most basic necessities for moving the bathroom project forward while we chatted over a breakfast of biscuits, gravy, and hot coffee.
That woman’s baking improved every day, and it had been near perfect from the beginning.
I consulted the paper again. She left an open column on the right-hand side for me to use to price out costs while browsing in the local building supply store.
“Ugly,” I muttered, then cursed after, and growled again. At least Noelle wasn’t around to hear it.
A voice called from behind me, pulling me around.
“I can special order exactly what you need, Cade,” Mac, the store owner, said as he approached at a steady clip. His feathered white hair brushed away from a wrinkled, time-lined face. He had a son named Devin who joined the Marines years ago. Mac’s wife, Millie, ran the local hair salon.
“There’s a delivery coming in next Friday, and I bet we can make it if we put the order in today. You need how much insulation?”
“Twenty sheets, at least.”
“Cheaper if you buy more.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Truthfully, the whole place might eventually require it, but I’d have to tear down every wall to confirm. I’d be a fool to do that in the winter.
While we bantered about R-values, caulk type, and fiberglass vs foam board, my eyes wandered to the end of the aisle.
Despite already spending so long here, I still had ten different products to price out.
Noelle tried to hide the anxiety in her voice when she asked when the bathroom would be finished.
I couldn’t peg exactly what had her worried, but had a feeling it was something to do with Lily.
She’d been very close-lipped about the reasons that brought them so far from home.
Aside from Marsha, no one else called her that I knew, and Noelle didn’t text all that much. I never saw her on a computer, either. She cared for Lily, worked on plans for the bathroom, showed me pictures of fixtures and tile, and occupied the kitchen.
Yet, I couldn’t chase the hunch that she had run from something. Or someone.
Lily’s father?
Whoever or whatever it was, the pressure of her unknown problems didn’t help. Getting the bathroom done was difficult enough, but laboring under an unknown deadline—and not feeling close enough to Noelle to ask for more information—was another frustration entirely.
A crash drew me back to the present, and I cursed my easily distracted thoughts. I asked Mac, “You think we can get the shipment by Friday? I need to get this going. We have a bathroom to finish up before we move on.”
Though I don’t know why, I thought.
“Sure thing.”
“Then we’re going to do a really big order, Mac. Let’s sit down and figure it out, because I’ll want it all at once.”
Mac smiled.
“Let’s do it.”
We spent two hours finalizing calculations, calling Noelle to measure walls, inspecting screw lengths, and telling Cody to text me images of the nail guns that Morgan left in the shed.
The tally ended at $24,587, including all major building tools and oddities. The only thing I lacked was tile for the bathroom floor, but Noelle texted me pictures of color she liked best, and I left that detail to Mac’s decision.
Hopefully, the furnace didn’t go out anytime soon.
Morgan’s dually-wheeled truck rumbled toward the edge of the parking lot when my phone rang. I stopped inside an empty area and glanced at the number.
Florida.
Frowning, I accepted the call and put it on speaker.
“This is Cade.”
“Cade, this is Michael Knowles at the Valley of Grace church in Tallahassee. I met you a week or so ago. You may remember me as Pastor Mike.”
My stomach knotted up. There was only one reason for Pastor Mike in Florida to call me. Before I anticipated trouble, I said, “Good to hear from you, Pastor Mike. How can I help you?”
“I’ve found your mother.”
“Oh?”
“She came in this morning, seeking some help. You left behind some instructions to contact you if we found her. I believe very strongly that we found her, but, of course, I’m sure you’d like to verify?”
“Yes. Yes, I would be interested in that.”
Mom didn’t always have enough of her wits about her to repeat or remember her name. If she remembered it, she didn’t often state it. But, sometimes, when lucidity dawned and she recalled details, she stated them.
“She allowed me to take her picture to send to you. Can I text it here?”
“She did?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, please send it. She hasn’t allowed photos in . . . years.”
She thinks it creates an opening into her mind for the aliens to enter, I added silently.
Pastor Mike chirped, “Give me just a moment. I’m not always the greatest at this technology thing.” He chuckled.
The phone made static noises and rhythmic pulses, as if he tapped on the screen. I waited, heart in my throat, until the telltale tink of a new message arrived.
“There. Sent.”
I closed my eyes, preparing myself. Did I want to look? Yes. But no. I’d traveled to Florida eager and willing to see her, but since returning home, that part of my brain shut down. Maybe my heart. Over the years, I’d learned the hard way that I couldn’t leave my heart open to her all the time.
Years had passed since my last physical contact with Mom, and seeing her was a double-edged sword, every time. Yet the sheer dumb luck of this situation kept me too on the edge to stop now. My eyes fluttered open and latched on the screen.
“I can see it,” I immediately said. “Thank you.”
Pastor Mike let the quiet ride while I comprehended the photo.
A woman, for sure. Scraggly hair, face stacked with age and sun wrinkles.
Her eyes lacked luster, and avoided the lens directly.
There was a perpetual down swoop to her lips, a thinness that spoke to hardship.
Her clothes weren’t horrendously used, but clearly unclean.
My mom.
“That’s her,” I said, my voice raspy. “Her name is Charlaine.”
“She responded with surprise when I asked if that was her name. She said she hadn’t heard it said in a while.”
“Is she still with you?”
“No, she left. But she said she’d return tomorrow around the same time. I asked if I could contact you about her and she agreed. She departed shortly after.”
The budding horror and hope that shared my mind diminished. I’d be a fool to think she’d return. There had been other close calls with homeless shelters scattered across the years, and Mom always seemed to vanish right when I thought her close.
“Can I send you some money to help her buy what she needs? Food. Medicine. New clothes. And, if she’s open to it, I would like to talk to her.
Most of the time, she turns me away. You may not want to tell her I’ve sent the money.
Sometimes, she won’t take the help if it ties back to us. I can compensate you for—”
“No,” he cut in, half-laughing. “No, Cade, no need. No compensation to speak with her would be necessary. And yes, I would love to help her obtain some necessities. It’s our pleasure to do what we can to unite families. Particularly in these circumstances . . .”
That closing thought dwindled, no doubt a nod to her homelessness and the miles separating us.
“Do you have the moneychanger app?” I asked.
Just where I’d find the money to send him, I wasn’t sure yet. After flying to Florida to find Mom, those wells weren’t deep. Dropping twenty-five grand left my chest feeling tight and sore at the same time.
“The church has that app, yes. I’ll text you our information, and will be sure to provide receipts, so you know it’s gone to the right place.”
“Thank you. You can text me or call me here at any time, particularly if she returns. If she ever mentions Cora or Cade . . .”
The words sounded entirely too childlike, delivered in a tight voice that almost couldn’t squeeze them out.
Despite the years of life I shared with the mom whom I knew and now with this one, I still couldn’t help reaching for her.
Couldn’t let go of the na?ve hope that a boy could save his mother. His first and most important lady love.
Pastor Mike said in a musing tone, “You know, Cade, she’s not the first person in this situation that we’ve had wander into our church.
You aren’t the first son looking for a parent whom I’ve met either.
But, I will say, across all my experiences as a pastor here in Florida, this is the one I feel the best about.
I imagine you’re thinking she won’t come back? ”
I cleared my throat, chagrined at being called out. “I suppose I don’t.”
“I think she will. Give it some time. And the moment she does, you will hear from me. Send me whatever you can. I’ll make sure Charlaine is well supported when she arrives.”
Cora studied the image of Mom with a troubled gaze. Her irises moved quickly, encompassing the whole picture, before they focused on the exact center. Difficult life aside, I saw Cora in Mom’s eyes, the shape of her face. Mom was all we had. We knew nothing about our father.
Or, more likely, possible fathers, but it didn’t matter. Blood was blood, no matter how diluted.
After a long time, Cora set it down, but she didn’t put it far.
“It’s her.”
I nodded, relieved that she remembered, noticed, agreed. She was so young when Mom began to spiral out of our reach. Cora saw her so rarely—and even less rarely in a healthy state of mind—that I sometimes wondered if Cora would even know Mom if she crossed our paths.
Cora released a shaky breath, letting the air flow out. She rubbed her forehead with a hand.
“I . . . don’t know what to say, what to think. She looks . . . terrible.”
Mom had certainly aged. Life on the Florida streets hadn’t agreed with her. Her cheeks were lined, and not from smiling. Her skin was weathered, like old leather, and her hair stringy, long, dangling over too-thin shoulders. Her tattered coat had holes all over it.
Hawk put a hand on Cora’s back. His fingers spanned all the way between her shoulder blades.
He didn’t say much, and that kept the room simmering in another quiet moment.
Cora turned to me, hope and questions brimming in her eyes.
I’d seen that look before. The same had turned toward me when Mom left, and she had no idea what to make of it.
So, I repeated now what I said then.
“It’s okay, Cora. I know what to do.”
The words unlocked her tension, and it flooded down her neck and through her shoulders. My body picked it up immediately, like the river flowed from sister to brother, and I metaphorically bowed to accept it. This was my job. Heap the responsibilities on, because broad shoulders needed work.
She asked, “What should we do?”
“I’m going to send Pastor Mike some money, and he’s going to buy her some necessities. He won’t tell her it’s from us, just in case she won’t accept it. And he’s going to stay in touch with us. If she stays around there for a while, I . . .”
. . . might make another trip out there, lingered on the edge of my tongue.
Could I? Unlikely. It had been difficult enough to go the first time, and now I had a ranch requiring massive repairs, and then there was Noelle.
Yes, Noelle.
She’d spent almost two weeks in my life, and now I couldn’t imagine a day without her and Lily in it.
Dangerous, this road. This paved path to responsibility that I threw myself down so willingly.
Why not embrace a ranch, a single mother, an infant, two ranch hands, all the animals, our mother, and reassuring Cora?
The difference was Noelle.
The memory of her humming in the kitchen, enlivening the old ghosts who barely stirred in that still house, made something else flicker to life inside of me.
She was the lessening. The thing that made it tolerable, easier, brighter.
Before Noelle, it had been nose-to-grindstone task after task.
Now? She injected light. Joy. Reasons. Laughter.
Warmth. My own tension bled free when I entered a room she was in, and that realization was almost as terrifying as the twenty-five grand I just dropped at the store.
Cora stared at me expectantly. Too late, I realized I’d trailed off in thought.
“I would like to fly out to Florida again, but I don’t know if I can,” I admitted. “Besides, Mom seems to sense when I’m coming. She has an uncanny way of disappearing right when I show up.”
Cora nodded; she’d experienced this disappointment before. I couldn’t help wondering why I kept going back. Why I couldn’t silence that deeper part of me that roared to life when Mom needed me.
“I want to send her the money, Cade,” Cora said.
She put a hand on Hawk’s knee. He was already agreeing with a murmur. He rested his hand on top of hers and squeezed. “We want to send it.”
A loosening of fears resulted. It would help, surely.
“Thank you both. That would be appreciated. I’ll let the pastor know, and we’ll wait for updates.”
I may have pride, but I wasn’t an idiot.