Chapter 27
CADE
Snow swept along the ground in hurrying whispers as I climbed the ranch house stairs, noting a few boards that needed replacing. Inside, the warm smell of cinnamon and yeast enveloped me in a hug. Noelle popped her head around the kitchen door, smiled, and said, “Hey! How’d it go with the county?”
“Just fine. Figured out a few more things with the paperwork. It’s moving along nicely. Bank stuff is fully transferred.”
“That’s progress!”
Yes it is, I silently added, considering I will soon officially care for this wreck of a house, be personally responsible for payroll, the animals’ lives, taxes, and more.
I smiled instead of punching something, and wished I had a little more capability around celebrating.
The weight of it felt too heavy for excitement.
She returned my smile. “Good. You’re just in time. I need a taste tester for the cinnamon rolls.”
She disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.
Though Noelle had been nothing but understanding, and maybe a little relieved, that she hadn’t inherited this mess, part of me had still braced for her to be angry or irritated.
None of that showed up. With the forthcoming deed listed in my name and Noelle’s stamp of approval, it felt like I could truly relax.
Except, I didn’t relax. Didn’t know how, really. The taking of responsibility made sense, but how could I learn to ignore the weight of it? Was it ignorance I needed, or something else? Every responsibility that slid my way, I accepted.
How did I let the ones go that weren’t mine?
The knot in my chest intensified.
My stomach growled. There was more I wanted to taste than her cinnamon rolls, and I wondered if I could tease her away from baking for a proper make-out. Before I could set to the task, my phone rang. I toed my snow boots off as I dug it out of my pocket, and looked at it with surprise.
A video call from Pastor Mike.
Sensing something amiss, I lowered onto the old recliner, braced my forearms on my thighs, and answered it. A face appeared on the screen, and it wasn’t Pastor Mike.
Mom blinked at me, a strange mixture of curious and stunned. For several seconds, I could only stare, and so could she. Words wouldn’t form in my throat. For over ten years, I’d sought her. Imagined what her voice would sound like after time, exposure, and age had weathered her away.
She whispered, “Cade?” in a searching query.
My voice cracked. She said my name. She knew me.
“Mom?”
Her eyes skated away, locking on something off-screen. Another voice, a low murmur, spoke to her. She readjusted her grip on the phone, momentarily jarring the picture, and returned her eyes to mine. She blinked, licked her lips. A surge of panic brought words to me again.
“Mom, hi. I . . . hi.”
Almost shyly, she said, “Hi.”
“How . . . how are you?”
My question tilted carefully at the end. All these years of trying to engineer this moment, and now that it had arrived, I had no idea what to do with it.
“Fine.”
I waited to see if she’d ask about me, about Cora, but she just rolled her lips and looked elsewhere.
“Cora and I are still in Wyoming,” I rushed to say, watching carefully for any sign of interest. She nodded rapidly, her jaw shifting side to side. The facial tics sent chills through my body, and I had to forcibly keep myself in the moment and not sink into memories best left to darkness.
“Cora is doing great,” I continued, because I didn’t know what else to say. “She’s an artist. She found a man named Hawk whom she really loves. They’ll probably be married soon, and I like him.”
The background voice, whom I recognized as Pastor Mike, spoke again, this time closer. Mom hummed, head tilting side to side as if she were on a rollercoaster, and said, “Mmm hmmm.”
I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Was she listening? A small voice asked, Could she ever?
My breath came in rapid, shallow pants. I thought I wanted to speak to her again—and I did—but I wasn’t ready to experience her sliding focus, her browbeaten expression.
This was, and wasn’t, Mom. The one I knew before Cora came, before our father left, before the world tipped utterly upside down and I lost mom into the mental hallways from which I never managed to reclaim her.
No matter how hard I worked, no matter how much responsibility I bore.
“I’m in Florida,” she said, almost a whisper. She didn’t look at me for more than a second, but even that felt like a grace. A good sign. Last time I’d seen her all those years ago, she hadn’t known me at all. I could see it in her eyes at the time.
“Do you like it in Florida?”
“Hmmm . . .”
She started to rock back and forth, which shook the camera again. Her voice dropped into a whisper.
“It’s the beach. I like the beach. The waves, shhhhh.”
A hand appeared on the screen, rolling like waves. She almost dropped the phone, recovered, and then set it down. For a moment, I couldn’t tell what had happened. The phone appeared to be tipped toward the ceiling. Then I realized she had walked away.
Pastor Mike appeared on the screen, picked up the phone, and smiled. There was a reserved, wan caution in his eyes. Kindness filled it, too. An empathy that told me he understood how I must be feeling, at least a little.
“Cade. Nice to meet you over video this time. Sorry to surprise you like this, but she was asking for you. I thought we’d take advantage of the lucid moment, see if we could . . . engineer something.”
Pastor Mike was a friendly man with a fluffy white mustache, wispy hair behind his ears, and an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt stretched across thin shoulders. There was an inherent compassion in his eyes that matched his tone.
“She asked for me?”
“Yes, for Cade. Specifically, asked if she could speak to you. She had been conversing with me for minutes, and lucidly. I thought . . .” He trailed away, brow ruffling. “I apologize if that wasn’t the right move.”
“No, it was. Thank you. It was the right move.”
He seemed mollified by my quick affirmation. I ran a hand through my hair, my heart still racing. It felt like I’d run a mile.
“Thank you, Pastor Mike. What you did was very kind. I haven’t seen her in years. I’m not really sure . . . well. I’m not really sure what I expected. But knowing she remembered my name, even if she didn’t remember Cora. That . . . means a lot.”
“I think it may have been too much for her,” Mike admitted. “I think she recognized you and maybe it frightened her. She’s stepped outside now. But she’s wearing some of the clothes we purchased for her with the money you sent.”
“Thank you, again.”
“We’ll keep trying. Do you want me to call you if she asks for you?”
I hesitated.
Did I want to go through this twice? Not really. But Cora might want to see her, and I didn’t want to make that decision for Cora. So I said, “Yeah, give me a ring, and I’ll let Cora know. If there’s an opportunity, she may want to speak with her.”
Pastor Mike nodded, wished me well, and ended the call. I sat there, staring at the phone, until the space between my shoulder blades began to hurt. Sighing, I rubbed the heel of my hand over my eyes and set the phone down.
Mom’s voice floated into my mind, borne on a childhood wind, before it became the raspy, whispery filaments I just heard.
Cade, baby, sometimes I lose time. It’s like there are holes in my memories. But if I don’t remember you, or if I don’t seem right, just know I’m holding you in there. And everything will pass. It’ll be okay. I’ll come back, eventually.
Her moments of lost time happened when she almost became another person.
Catatonic, after Cora was born. Sometimes vapid and giggly, other times serious and depressed.
Waking up day to day, I never knew which Mom to expect.
But I knew that I could always reach her by being there, picking up around the house, caring for Cora.
Eventually, Mom did come back . . . until she didn’t.
Before I could pinwheel into guilt and emotions and memories, a hand pressed on my shoulders. I startled, jerked away from the memories of Mom’s voice, and looked up. Noelle’s bright eyes smiled softly at me.
“Cade?”
I swallowed, nodded. She held a squirming Lily. Noelle’s gaze softened into concern.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I rasped. “Fine.”
She didn’t look like she believed me, but thankfully didn’t press it. “Lily is a little fussy, and I really need to pee. Would you like to hold her?” She peered more deeply into my eyes, and I knew she’d heard the call. Offered a safe distraction.
No, a reminder.
I reached for the baby as soon as she finished, and Noelle departed after a loving squeeze on my arm. Lily’s warm bundle filled my arms a moment later, and the prickling sensation inside immediately soothed. Here was someone real. Someone perfect, and innocent.
When Noelle disappeared around the corner, Lily gave a short-tempered cry. I stood up, patted her bottom, and whispered a soothing hush hush hush that Noelle used at night. Lily immediately calmed.
I stood at the window, focused on her.
“I’ll be here for you,” I whispered. “Always here for you, and how easy is that? There will be wolves that I won’t let through these doors after you. I’ll protect you the way my parents couldn’t protect me. You hear that? No lost time. I’m always here.”
The promise came out of me in a whisper, but felt like a roar. Such protectiveness had surely never existed. Such . . . care . . . for another soul. Mom couldn’t give me what I needed, but I could give Lily what she needed. Constancy. A home. She isn’t your baby, I reminded myself.
But it didn’t matter.
I’d show up for her, anyway.
My heart cracked in half when Lily’s eyes fluttered closed under my bouncing movements. The broken parts of me spilled fog and fire and ooze and then knitted back together, healing up, while Lily fell asleep in my arms and I comprehended the truth that not all family is blood.
Hawk: You’re meeting with Channing today, right?
Cade: On the way.