Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Harrison
My heart pounds in my chest, galloping like a herd of wild horses trying to outrun a wrangler.
“Harrison? What’s wrong? You’re pale.” Delaney’s concerned eyes pierce me, and I hate that I’m causing her to worry. I inhale deeply through my nose and release it through my mouth.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. You ready?” I try to force excitement I’m not feeling into my voice, and it sounds fake, probably because it is.
At the last minute, we opted not to use our bikes but to enjoy a leisurely walk through the park today. Since we always ride on the left path, Delaney wanted to take the right one, and I didn’t know how to tell her no. So, we’re going there—the part of the park I hate.
I grab Delaney’s hand and move my legs, heavy as lead, down the dirt trail. Dad always said this kind of terrain was perfect for running because it’s easier on the knees than concrete. We ran this trail several times a week.
Then he died, and I haven’t been on this path for thirteen years.
Until now.
We trek along in silence for a few minutes, then I sneak a glance at Delaney. She’s biting her lower lip, and her gaze is downcast. I hate seeing anything but happiness on her face.
“So, what did you think of Lester’s place?” I ask.
After seeing her expression, I’m desperate to get her mind off whatever she’s thinking about. Plus, I could use a distraction right now as well.
She peers up at me for a moment, then turns her focus straight ahead.
“It was nice. I could see myself living there.”
My stomach drops. I don’t want her to leave the cabin.
“Yeah, it’s probably not an awful place to live, if you like grumpy old men.” I’m careful to keep my tone light.
She snorts and laughs simultaneously, and her cheeks immediately turn intensely red. I found out the secret word for it that she thinks only she and Layla know—snuckle. It’s incredible how quickly you can get information from a six-year-old when twenty dollars is involved.
“I figure I can handle it. I like grumpy younger men, so how different can it be?” She playfully bumps her hip into mine.
“Hey, I’ve not been so grumpy lately, right?”
She tosses me one of those radiant smiles that, as far as I can tell, she reserves just for me.
“No, you’re right. Now there are only hints of him.” She hesitates for a split second, but it’s long enough for me to notice. “Though I saw a little bit of him when I asked you to step outside so I could talk with Lester. Why are you so against my living there?”
I sigh, feeling like an asshole for being so obvious.
“It’s for completely selfish reasons. I don’t understand why you won’t stay in the cabin.
” She opens her mouth to voice her objections, I’m sure, but I put a hand up to stop her.
“I know the reasons that you shared, and I respect those concerns, but in the larger scheme of things, people are going to find out that we’re together.
I think the benefits of your staying in the cabin far outweigh any potential negatives. ”
“Oh yeah? What do you see as the benefits?”
“Well, there’s the obvious, like the fact that we would live very close to each other and be able to see each other as often as we wanted.
Then there’s the enormous benefit that it’s close enough for you to walk to work.
That would save wear and tear on Teresa.
” I notice a smile unfolds on her face when I call her car by the name she’s given it.
“Plus, it’s more of a home than the trailer or an efficiency.
It has distinct rooms and a separate kitchen where you can cook, like you enjoy. ”
“I don’t really mind the space difference. I don’t need much room to feel comfortable. But the cabin is beautiful, and it’s much closer to Meadow Creek.”
“What’s in Meadow Creek that the distance matters to you?
” She’s really given no clue where she is going and what she is doing on the nights that she’s not around.
Every Tuesday, some weekend nights, and every other Saturday, she goes somewhere for a few hours.
I’ve learned her schedule well enough to know that those days are out for spending any length of time with her.
I’m watching her, and her mouth opens as though she’s going to speak, and then it closes again. There’s something she’s keeping from me, and I’ve not been able to get her to open up about it.
When I’m sure she’s not going to say anything more, I return my attention to the trail. That’s when I see it.
Less than twenty feet away is the entrance to the trail that my dad died on. How did we get here so quickly? My entire body tenses, and I slow my gait.
Delaney stops walking and looks at me.
“I know we haven’t been walking for that long, but I think we should turn around.”
“Harrison, what’s wrong?” I’m clearly not doing a good job of hiding my distress because her eyes widen when she searches my face for answers. She reaches up and tenderly places her hand on my cheek. “Tell me what’s going on, please.”
I can’t get my words out, and my chest is tight. My heart races. Before I even realize she’s doing it, Delaney leads me to a bench that we passed about ten feet back and guides me to sit. She crouches in front of me and puts a hand on each side of my face.
“Look at me, only at me.” I do as she says and focus my gaze on hers. “Okay, good. Now let’s breathe together. Can you do that with me?”
I nod, and she smiles.
“All right, we’re going to breathe in through our noses and count to four, then we’ll let it out of our mouths for another count of four. Follow along with me. Let’s start.”
She guides me through several cycles of the exercise, and eventually, my breathing slows to a normal rate, and my heart no longer races.
Yeah, it helped, but it was really focusing on her that settled me.
I’m not back to my usual yet—still weak in the legs—but I’m a hell of a lot better than I was several minutes ago.
Delaney rises, brushes the dirt off her knees, and sits next to me.
“We should go back.” There’s a quivering in Delaney’s voice that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. She was cool as a cucumber as she helped me get through the anxiety, but maybe this is her coming down off the adrenaline rush.
“Not yet. I need a few more minutes. My legs still feel shaky.” I grasp her hand and entwine our fingers, then lightly squeeze. I stare into her eyes. “Thanks, Bets,” I whisper. I lean over and plant a soft kiss on her temple.
“H-has that ever happened before? A panic attack?” There’s caution in her voice.
I shake my head. “No, not that bad. I mean, I get anxious worrying about the people I care about, but I can control that. I get the chest tightness then, too—”
“You have chest tightness? Harrison, I need to take you to the hospital.”
I smile at her concern for me.
“Nah, it’s gone, Bets. Believe me, I’ve had my heart fully checked out, and I’m healthy.”
She watches me warily, and I can practically hear her arguing with herself regarding whether to push me about going to the hospital. I lean toward her and brush a thumb over her lips, and then press a kiss to them.
“I promise, I’m physically fine. I even think I’m ready to head back.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.” Delaney immediately draws her lower lip between her teeth—she’s nervous or stressed.
I nod at her. “Positive.”
We stand, and I pull her into my arms and hold her body against mine. Her arms wrap around my middle. When I look up, I realize I’m facing the path. We stand like that for a while, and I stare at the trailhead and follow the compacted dirt footpath with my eyes until it disappears into the woods.
Conflicting forces within me battle over whether I should tell Delaney everything about my dad’s death now or put it off even longer.
I think I’ve been holding out, thinking maybe we wouldn’t last, and I only needed to go through with telling her if she was sticking around.
Thinking I’ll tell her, I press a kiss to the top of her head, taking my time to release it, then gently pull away from her.
I keep my hands on her shoulders, though.
She looks up at me expectantly, as if she knows I have something to say. Yet, just when I’m about to open my mouth, I clam up.
“I’ve got to tighten my shoelace,” I tell her.
That will buy me a few seconds to get my courage up.
I drop to one knee and untie the lace on one of my shoes, then retie it.
I place my right hand on the antique copper-colored metal bench and really notice it for the first time.
It definitely was not here the last time I was on this trail.
The stunning metalwork along the back catches my eye. It depicts a huge American elm tree that makes up nearly the entire posterior of the bench. I’ve never seen a bench with one—the Celtic tree of life, yes, but not an elm.
The elm tree means something in our family.
We had an enormous one in our backyard growing up.
It’s where Dad built the best treehouse imaginable for the five of us boys.
We spent so many days up in that wooden oasis playing, looking at our baseball cards, and we even had a few sleepovers up there.
In the summer, Mom would set up picnics under its shade.
We’d eat bologna sandwiches and apple slices, then get back to playing in the tree while Mom read books on a blanket below us.
Dad used to tell us how the elm represented strength, resilience, and protection.
Mom loved that tree so much that she and Dad renewed their vows on their twentieth wedding anniversary there.
That day, Dad presented her with a gorgeous wooden carving of it.
It still hangs in the family room at her house.
And that elm still stands in the backyard of my parents’ house.
What’re the chances that this bench randomly ended up here, only feet from the path where my dad died?
It’s as I run my fingers from the top of one branch and trace a trail down to the roots of the tree that I get my answer. I gasp as I read the words engraved in the metal: In loving memory of the world’s best dad and the strongest man we’ll ever know. We love you, H2.
H2. Holden’s nickname growing up. Holden did this?
It’s not until I feel her hand on my back in a show of support that I realize Delaney is kneeling next to me.
She’s silent, but when I turn my face to hers, her eyes hold mine and there’s a hint of concern but mostly there’s a softness in them that comforts me a bit.
After she leans in and kisses my cheek, her lips are wet.
I touch my face, and when I feel moisture, I realize she’s kissed a tear away.
I didn’t even know I was crying. It’s a foreign sensation to me; I’ve not shed tears since I was in seventh grade and broke my arm.
I rise, sit on the bench, then reach down and pull her up onto my lap to encircle her waist with my arms. She loops hers around my neck. When our eyes meet, they speak volumes to each other before we ever say a word. We gaze at each other for several moments.
“Do you want to tell me?” she whispers.
I do. For the first time since it happened, I want and need someone else to know.
I nod.
“That trailhead over there,” I gesture with my head toward the trail, “leads to the spot where my dad died thirteen years ago.”