Chapter Thirty Medford, Oregon One Year Later
Chapter Thirty
Medford, Oregon
One Year Later
“Walsh, there’s enough food here to feed a small army. You know this memorial is just for us, right?”
Chrissie strode into her backyard, a heaping platter of uncooked meat in her arms. It had been her intention to slide it precariously onto the picnic table, but Walsh was ready and waiting for her. He lifted the platter and ducked to brush a soft kiss across her lips.
“I know, but Kat challenged me to make steakburgendogs. I didn’t want to let her down.
We’ll need at least four of everything—with a little extra for the margin of error.
” As soon as he caught sight of his daughter’s expression, he threw his hands up.
“And that’s the last time I’ll make a math reference, I swear.
After last night’s SAT prep, Lily refuses to have anything to do with integers, exponential decay or, god forbid, the Bernoulli distribution. ”
“I’m with Lily on this one,” Kat said as she joined them to inspect the meats. “Absolutely no more math.”
Kat cast Lily a look of such understanding that Chrissie was hard put not to set up a rallying cheer.
A year of navigating a new relationship with two strong-willed teenagers watching their every move had been no easy task.
One week, the girls were the best of friends.
The next, they wanted nothing to do with each other.
The past few had been especially rough thanks to the looming SATs, a volleyball recruiter who’d flown out from California to watch them both, and the fact that Lily had been asked to prom but Kat hadn’t.
It was only today, a day they all carried differently, that they’d reached a kind of truce. Today was for eating ridiculous meat concoctions, for remembering a trip that had taken them all by surprise, for letting their defenses down and turning the music up.
Today was for celebrating life.
“By the way, it’s our turn to have Rufio,” Lily said as she flopped down onto the seat of the picnic table and started picking at a tray of olives.
She cast Kat a glare from underneath a lopsided row of bangs.
They were all trying very politely to pretend they liked them, but Chrissie couldn’t look at the girl’s hair without wincing.
She’d sported that particularly terrible page-boy fringe for too many years to look on it with any admiration.
Scarlett had been right about that. Chrissie could—and did—still donate her hair, but that didn’t mean she had to suffer at the hands of a butcher in order to do it.
“But we just got him!” Kat protested. She yanked the tray of olives closer to her side. “You had an extra week last month.”
“Yeah, but only because you went to that sleepaway camp. Fair’s fair. Check the custody agreement if you don’t believe me.”
Over the top of the girls’ heads, Chrissie and Walsh shared a knowing look.
The remedy to their shared ownership of a cat who still peed on the carpet more than any of them cared for was an easy one—and one that they’d have both gladly adopted—if not for the girls.
No matter how many times they very rationally pointed out that they could all enjoy Rufio’s dubious company if they lived under one shared roof, neither girl was willing to uproot her life to move in with the other.
Which was fine, really. Scarlett would have been at the front lines of battle, determined to put Chrissie and Walsh’s relationship above all else, but the two of them were more than happy to wait.
In a year’s time, both girls would be heading off to college, and none of this would matter anymore.
To youth, or to a woman who knew her life was coming to an end, a year sounded like an eternity.
To them, it was just twelve months of romantic date nights and talking on the phone late into the evening. It was a chance to take their relationship one step at a time, enjoying the slow, natural pace of a courtship both of them treasured all the more because of how carefully they were taking it.
“While we’re on the subject of shared custody, don’t think I didn’t see you wearing my favorite Taylor Swift tour shirt the other day,” Lily said before Chrissie and Walsh’s gaze could grow any deeper.
“That’s my shirt, thank you very much, and it fits my vibe better, anyway. Especially since your bangs look like—”
Fortunately for the peace of the afternoon, the sound of footsteps came through the side yard. The creaking of the gate and the sight of a tall, dark-haired man stopped the argument short—only to be replaced by Kat’s sudden squeal of delight.
“You came! You’re here!”
Chrissie felt Walsh approach her side as they watched Kat run into the man’s arms, his strong grip twirling her in an ecstatic circle. The sight of him, all grown up but still as sweet as he’d always been, warmed Chrissie to her core.
“Uncle Mitchell, you should have seen me at last night’s volleyball game! A recruiter came to watch me—well, me and Lily, technically—and I didn’t miss a single serve. I was on fire.” In a voice carefully crafted to carry to Lily, she added, “Lily missed two of her serves. Foot faults both times.”
“That ref had it out for me from the very start!” Lily called back.
Walsh chuckled and reached over to ruffle his daughter’s hair. “Let her have this one, Lil. You know how hard today must be for her.”
It spoke volumes about Walsh’s kind but firm parenting style that Lily accepted this with grace. The fact that he led her away to start assembling the steakburgendogs spoke just as loudly about his good heart.
Chrissie made her way over to where Kat was enthusiastically giving Mitchell a play-by-play of the night before, happy to stand back and watch as her daughter chattered away.
Seeing Kat standing next to Mitchell—dark-eyed, rangy Mitchell—always gave her heart a slight shock.
Her daughter looked so much like the Pemberly side of her bloodline that the link was undeniable.
But the talking, the enthusiasm, the vibrant, beating heart that Chrissie gave thanks for every day—those were a hundred percent Scarlett and always would be.
“Hey, Chrissie.” As soon as Kat paused for breath, Mitchell flashed her his shy, lopsided smile. “Thanks for inviting me today. I didn’t realize how much I needed it until I pulled up in front of your house to the smell of roasting meat.”
“That’s Walsh’s doing. And Kat’s. She’s been looking forward to seeing you all week.”
“Ugh, Mom. Make me sound like a pathetic wreck, why don’t you?
” Even though Kat rolled her eyes, the light shining in them was impossible to hide.
“Tell me all about your trip to New York. Did they make you sit in meetings the whole time, or did you get to do all the tourist stuff? Broadway, Times Square, MoMA? If I get into Princeton, I’m totally gonna visit Manhattan as much as I can. ”
“I’ll tell you everything,” Mitchell promised as he squeezed her arm. “But first, let me catch up with your mom for a sec, okay? I’ve got something I’m supposed to give her. From Scarlett.”
Chrissie wasn’t sure how to take this. Scarlett had already done so much for them, not only in leaving behind enough money for Kat to go to Princeton three times over, but in giving them Mitchell, a gift so unexpected and welcome that it shamed Chrissie for not thinking of it before.
A letter from him had been waiting when they’d returned home from Vermont—the first overture of many to follow, and one of the only bright spots in those difficult first months.
I know I can’t replace Kat’s real dad, but I’d like to be in her life. For you and for her. And for Scarlett.
Thinking of it—and of her friend—she bit back a sob. “I’m not sure I’m ready for anything like that. Not today.”
Kat pressed a quick kiss on her cheek, her own voice tight. “Sure you can, Mom. Especially today. It’s what she would have wanted.”
And that was it. With those simple words, Chrissie let someone else call the shots.
She was doing that a lot more lately, letting Walsh shower her with his easy affection, indulging Lily’s determination to keep Rufio half the time, giving Kat the space she needed to grow into the strong and capable young woman she was rapidly becoming.
Life was a lot easier when you weren’t the only one shouldering all the burdens.
“Yeah. Okay. I’d like that.”
Mitchell ran a hand through his already disheveled locks and grimaced.
“You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen what she’s bequeathed you yet.
She gave it to me right before we… Right before I…
Well, you know. Before we said our goodbyes.
” He reached into the bag and pulled out a flat, rectangular parcel.
“She wouldn’t tell me what it meant or why it was important. She just said you’d understand.”
The moment Chrissie tore the brown paper from the package, she laughed.
That the laugh was mixed with tears was nothing new—almost all of her joy these days was wrapped up in at least a little sorrow.
Her therapist said that it would go away with time, and that one day, she’d wake up and just laugh without feeling like she was sacrificing her friend with the act, but that day hadn’t yet arrived.
Especially since the gift was a paint-by-numbers kit of a bunch of puppies spilling out—not from a basket—but an oversized rain boot.
“So she was right,” Mitchell said. “You do understand.”
Chrissie nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. A Post-it note affixed to the front of the package, written in Scarlett’s handwriting, provided one last message to add to the list now framed and sitting on her bedside table.
Just paint the damn painting. Always paint the damn painting.
“Of course. It’s Scarlett reminding me that life goes on.”
“Yeah,” he said simply. “She keeps doing that to me, too.”
They paused a moment, letting the silence take over as they shared a moment in Scarlett’s memory.
Chrissie had no idea how long they might have stayed like that, each of them lost in reflection of the beautiful whirlwind of a girl they both missed, if not for a sudden burst of music from over by the barbecue.
“Oh! It’s on again! Turn it up.”
“I love this song!”
Mitchell immediately turned to join the group, beaming as the sounds of a rich, dulcet voice crooned through the outdoor speaker, but Chrissie hung back, the canvas clutched against her chest. Lily and Kat joined hands and started dancing while Walsh tapped his feet in time to the beat.
Even Rufio poked his head out the cat door to see what all the fuss was about.
Through her slightly blurred eyes, Chrissie watched as her family—her dysfunctional, perfect, always-expanding family—sang along to the hottest hit of the summer by a new artist out of the indie Chicago music scene who went only by the name of River.
Family is an open road with no destination in sight.
Family is whoever you have to hold you tight.
My family doesn’t look the same as yours, and I think that’s all right.