Chapter 23 #3
He shakes his head mournfully. “See, that’s what I mean.
I need to take you fishing, show you how it’s done.
I’ve skimped on my duties as your uncle and not taught you things I’m supposed to.
” He pauses, swallowing thickly. “I guess what I’m asking is .
. . will you stay? Here in Great Falls? At the bar? With me?”
I blink, knowing what that question cost him. The man who wants to stand alone, independent to a fault and grumpy beyond reason. But he wants me to stay and help.
I nod but then shake my head. “I don’t . . . did you hear about . . . ?”
Unc’s lips press into a thin line, making the lines that foretell of his years of smoking stand out.
“I know something happened with you and Bobby, and I’m damn sorry.
That pretty little heart of yours doesn’t deserve to hurt, ever.
But even though that didn’t go the way any of us thought it was going to, would you still move out here?
I don’t trust the bar to anyone but you.
” He smiles, lightening the moment. “Well, Olivia, maybe. But don’t you tell her I said that, either.
Besides, you’re family, so you get dibs. ”
“I don’t know. It’s all so fast, and right now, it’s . . . hard to imagine being here without him.”
“I can understand that. I love you, Willow-girl. No matter where you are, you’ll always have a place to come home to.
I just hope it’s six days a week, lunch to close, with the occasional day off for fishing or whatever it is you young’uns call it these days.
” He does the air-quote thing with his fingers, not bending them in the slightest, which makes me smile.
“I love you too, Unc. Let me think about it, okay?”
After Unc drops me off, I can’t keep still. He’s right. What I needed was a distraction, and he has definitely offered a big one to keep my mind occupied.
Can I officially move to Great Falls forever?
What would that look like after my short-term lease is up? I’m sure I could renew it and stay, though I’d definitely take over the rent from Mom since this time, it’d be my choice to stay.
Can I afford that? Between my wages at Hank’s and my blog profits, I definitely can and then some.
My blog. I’d been so nervous that the new surroundings would go over like a lead balloon.
Who wants to see a picture of the same mountain day after day?
But my following has increased with every picture of that mountain, Shayanne’s goats, Darla’s doughnuts, sunrise and sunset, and what my life in Great Falls is like.
Every little detail seems to intrigue people.
City life can be beautiful, no doubt about that, but country life has a different ease about it that calls to people’s wanderlust, making them wish for an opportunity like the one I’ve got.
And my hits, comments, and likes reflect that.
But it’s not all sunshine and rainbows, as much as I’d like to wish it were.
If I stay, there will be no Bobby. The Tannens and Bennetts, people whom I’d felt comfortable with, something I so rarely feel, are furious with me.
And I’m the biggest subject of the local grapevine, either the one who ran Bobby off or who was left in his wake, depending on which version of gossip you choose to believe.
I’ll miss Mom and Dad, and Oakley too. They’re all back in the city.
It’s a big decision, one with both pain and joy no matter which way I land.
City or country?
The home I knew, or the home I’ve found?
Mindlessly, I find myself flipping through my photo files.
A picture of Main Street with the sun setting—beautiful.
A shot with the city nightlife vibrant and energetic—stunning.
Unc’s wrinkled face smiling back at me—my heart squeezes.
An old shot of Mom and Dad, taken years before Oakley and I were born—love in their eyes and innocent dreams in their future.
The next click of the mouse takes me to the pictures I took on that first day at the farm.
Bobby holding Trollie, the picture I’d cropped in close for the blog so that I didn’t share Bobby with the world.
He was mine, if only for a little while.
Soon, he’ll belong to them all. Brody and Brutal messing around with Cooper in the light of the fire between cornhole games.
Mark and Katelyn, heads bent close together, whispering something only they could hear.
Mama Louise watching over the whole scene like the queen of her country castle.
And on and on. I’d taken dozens of photos that day and night.
Then, I find the photo shoot with the girls. Smiles, laughter, sisterhood in every shot.
Instantly, I know one thing I have to do, even if I don’t have all the answers just yet.
I spend the next couple of hours editing the photos of the Tannens and Bennetts.
I print them on the huge printer I brought with me from the city, back when I’d figured some podunk town wouldn’t have decent professional photography printing options.
This machine was something I couldn’t leave behind in my old life, and now I’m glad it’s here in my time of desperate need because I’d been right about the printing here.
Only the drugstore has a machine that can do same-day printing.
Otherwise, it’s all online and wait for shipping.
And I can’t wait, not even a single day.
I print each shot, perfect and pristine, real and raw.
Laying them in gift boxes, I separate them with tissue paper so they’re protected on their journey.
One bigger box for Mama Louise, and smaller boxes for each woman with her private pictures.
I find a shirt I don’t wear anymore and cut it to shreds, using it as a makeshift bow around the stack of boxes.
Thirty minutes later, before I can second guess myself again, I’m pulling up to the Bennett house. It’s late afternoon, well before dinner time, so I shouldn’t have to see the Tannens or Bennetts. Except for the one I’m here to see.
I step on the porch and knock with the toe of my tennis shoe, my arms too full to ring the bell properly.
Through the screen door, I see Mama Louise’s head pop around the corner from the kitchen. “Willow?” She hurries toward the door. “I wondered who in the world was knocking on my door and not waltzing on in like everyone always does. Come on in, dear.”
Her smile is welcoming, as if she doesn’t know that everything has changed. But she must know. This family is too close to keep secrets. The whole town is too close for secrets.
“Hi. Sorry to stop by unannounced, but I wanted to . . .” I clear my throat, not sure what I was going to say. Finally, I shove the boxes her way. “Here.”
Her brow furrows, and she wipes her hands on her jeans. “What’s this?”
“They’re for you, for all of you. Well, except the ones that are for each girl. Those are private.”
“Oh,” Mama Louise says, smiling as if she knows exactly what’s in those pictures. Actually, she might. The girls might’ve told her about our boudoir shoot too. Or maybe she just knows, the way she knows everything—like she plucks it out of your brain without your saying a single word.
“Can I open them now?” she asks, eyeing the ribbon like a kid on Christmas morning.
I shake my head vehemently. “No, please. I can’t .
. . I don’t want to . . . Just . . . wait, okay?
” I stammer, unable to explain that while I was editing, I could look at them with an objective eye, not letting my heart get too involved.
But seeing them here, in this house, through Mama Louise’s eyes, is something I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle right now.
“Sure, dear. Of course. Sit down and let me get you some watermelon fresca. It’s Shay’s recipe, sells out every time she makes a batch.”
You can’t say no to Mama Louise. Or at least I can’t. So I find myself sinking into a chair at the small kitchen table as she grabs two glasses and fills them with pink liquid from a jug in the refrigerator.
She sits down beside me and takes a healthy drink, sighing loudly, “Ahh, that’s good stuff. Been out in the barn this morning helping Luke muck out stalls, so this hits the spot.”
Small talk. Bless this amazing woman, she’s letting me hide the way I want to.
“I’m sure he appreciated the help.”
“Stubborn men always do, even though they’re not good at telling you so.” For some reason, I get the feeling she’s talking about Unc more than about Luke. “Though Luke isn’t my most stubborn boy, by far.”
I smile, trying to decide which Bennett man she’s talking about. Or Tannen, I guess. She doesn’t seem to differentiate. They’re all her kids to care for, even if they’re six-foot-plus tall, wide as a doorway men who can handle themselves just fine. They’re still her boys.
“Love them all, each and every one, I do,” she murmurs around another sip. I get the feeling she’s dancing me the direction she wants to go, taking this conversation to a destination she wants regardless of whether I want to discuss it or not.
I hum in agreement, not fighting her resolve. Get this over with, Mama Louise. Yell at me, tell me how disappointed you are, whatever it is . . . rip the Band-Aid off so I can leave and lick my fresh wounds again.
“You know the funny thing about love?”
I don’t respond, thinking there’s not a single thing funny about love right now. It’s the highest high and the lowest low, all wrapped up in one big shredded T-shirt bow.
“People think it’s something you feel, an emotion. A noun. Like you love football or your husband or pepperoni pizza.”
How does she know I love pepperoni pizza? Oh, she’s not talking about me, specifically. Or is she? She does know everything.
When I don’t respond, she speaks again. “It’s not.
Or at least, it’s not only that. Love is something you do.
A verb. It’s in every action, reaction. My husband, John, worked this land every single day to make a life for us.
That was love—every head of cattle he bought and sold, every fence he fixed, every bead of sweat he earned through his dedication was a love note to me, to our boys.
In return, every meal I made, every load of his dirty clothes I washed, and every sunrise I saw after hours of being up to get the day started was my love note to him.
There were other ways we loved each other too.
But make no mistake, the day in, day out of love was in the action, the verb of doing something for each other, to take care of one another.
We were in this thing called life together.
I still write those notes to him, making meals for our family, taking care of his land and cattle, watering that damn tree out front because I can’t bear to ever see it wither and don’t trust the rain enough to take care of it the way I will. ”
Mama Louise’s blue eyes are bright with unshed tears as she glances toward the front of the house.
There is a tree out front, but I didn’t realize it had any special meaning for her.
I even took a picture of its branches filled with green leaves with pockets of blue sky peeking through.
It’s in that box on the table. It’d seemed like a pretty shot, and if I’d posted it to my blog, I would’ve added something witty about a seed growing tall and mighty.
Now, I’m glad I didn’t. I’m glad that shot is just for Mama Louise and that it’ll mean something to her.
“It sounds like John was a great man, a great husband,” I say tentatively. I still feel like we’re dancing, but I can’t see the trail she’s leading me down.
“He was. Full of love, full of kindness, full of heart. A lot like you, Willow. I don’t need to know the details of what happened. That’s between you and Bobby. But know that sometimes love, the verb, I mean, is hard to do, but you do it anyway.”
Does she think Bobby broke up with me and I’m supposed to love him anyway?
Does she know I sent him off to Nashville, and she’s telling me she understands why I did it?
I don’t know.
Hell, maybe this is her way of getting gossip straight from the source, though I don’t think she’s the type at all.
The oven timer dings, breaking the moment. “Oh, that’s dinner. Can you stay?” she asks.
“No. Actually, I’d better be going.” I don’t want to be here when everyone comes in to eat after a long day. “Tell everyone I hope they like them,” I say, lifting my head toward the boxes.
She sets the casserole dish on the stovetop and comes over to hug me, oven mitts and all.
“You take care of yourself, Willow. You’re so good at taking care of everyone else, don’t forget to take care of you too.
” She eyes me, daring me to disobey. Somehow, I think she’ll know if I don’t follow her order.
“I will. Bye, Mama Louise.”
I’m out the door and halfway to town before the tears come again. I’ll miss her and that whole family.
I stop by Unc’s house, noting that the flower beds look pretty good. I wonder if Unc was feeling well enough to get out here and weed them? Or maybe Bobby stopped by one day without mentioning it?
I knock on the door and Unc answers quickly. He’s moving pretty well, not even limping today as he leads me into the living room.
“I can only stay a second, but I wanted to let you know . . .”