Chapter Five
Wendy
Diane and Emmett's home is beautiful.
It’s a large two-story, five bedroom modern farmhouse style nestled in a neighborhood in the heart of Mercy Ridge.
When the subdivision was still in its early stages, lots staked out and dirt roads not yet paved, Emmett was able to customize the house to Diane's exact wishes: a wide sunlit kitchen with enough counter space to cook a king's feast, a big master bathroom with a huge clawfoot tub, and a brick fireplace that bathes the living room in warmth.
Emmett made it happen for his wife because she asked him to. That's the Durant men's way.
Emmett’s late father, George, started Durant Auto Body with just two bays; it’s now grown to three shops across neighboring counties. Atlas runs the Mercy Ridge location as head mechanic and supports the other shops as needed.
The Durant name is known around this area for quality work at reasonable prices, which only attracts more business from around the state.
The growing success of the business allowed Emmett and Diane to give both sons a very fortunate upbringing, but Emmett always told the boys they didn't have to join the family business if they didn't want to.
"Find what makes you proud," Emmett told his boys.
So they did.
Atlas followed his father’s footsteps, but Silas enlisted in the military. When Atlas and I were sixteen, Silas came home on leave with a pregnant wife, Carrie, and it was the first time I had seen Silas truly smile.
Silas and Atlas were different in expressing their emotions, Atlas a lot more open than his brother.
That was something I always adored, even as a teenager. While my friends in class were trying to decode messages from the other boys, Atlas was never afraid to blurt out that he thought I was pretty and wanted to kiss me.
I guess it’s a Durant men’s thing around the women they love because around Carrie, Silas melted. He looked at her like she was a miracle, and he loved her so much.
When she died so suddenly—a brain aneurysm, not anything that could be prevented or predicted—he shattered. He was away on deployment when it happened, and had to spend more than a day traveling with the knowledge that his wife was gone.
To make matters worse, it was his fourteen-year-old daughter, Molly, who'd dialed 911 after finding her mother unresponsive.
Diane, Emmett, and I took care of everything so Atlas could be there for Silas, who seemed to be unraveling.
I took over the care of Molly and Jem, the girls clinging to their cousins and me for comfort. And my sweet boys were so wonderful, Liam and Noah playing with ten-year-old Jem to distract her, while Molly, broken in trauma and grief, attached herself to my side.
I always loved being Aunt Wendy to those sweet girls. I'll be forever grateful for my happy, healthy boys, but I've always harbored a soft, secret wish for a daughter—a dream I could never quite shake.
After being discharged, Silas moved to the next state over to be close to Carrie's parents. It's only about four hours away, and it was good for Carrie's parents to still have a daily tether to their daughter through her children.
Per Diane, Silas seems to be doing better now. They're talking to a grief counselor. Healing, slowly but surely.
Jealousy flooded my body when she told me and I hated myself for feeling it.
That Silas recognized he needed to change for his daughters and is taking steps to get better and his brother refuses to do the same, or just doesn't see the need.
The most frustrating thing is that it's not something I can force. He needs to see that there's a problem and I had hoped that actually listening to me with a therapist mediating would help.
I can't afford to linger on those thoughts anymore. I'm making changes. I want to change, and if he doesn't, then fine.
I will, however, force him to be a better father to his children.
"Hello," I call out as I walk right into my in-laws' house, smiling as I smell vanilla and cinnamon.
Diane made her monkey bread, and no doubt my Noah went crazy over it. He always loves his grandmother's baked goods, practically feral during our Christmas cookie party.
The foyer is warm and bright, late afternoon light reflecting off the family photos lining the walls.
There's the Christmas portrait from three years ago: me in my husband's lap, the boys cross-legged on the floor, all of us in matching candy cane striped pajamas. Atlas is kissing my cheek while the boys and I grin toward Carrie behind the camera.
The thought that future portraits might not include me pinches my stomach until I feel sick.
Footsteps pound on hardwood and that sound eases the coil in my gut from my earlier phone conversation with Imani and my depressing thoughts about the family photos.
"Mama!"
A ginger blur rockets down the steps and right into my open arms. "I missed you!"
"I missed you," I laugh, squeezing my baby and kissing his little freckled forehead. He beams up at me with a happy smile, his top front teeth gone and the sight of it is so cute, I just want to squeeze him again.
Liam had the bright idea to tie one end of a string to a Nerf dart and the other end to Noah's loose teeth. It worked, and Noah later presented me with two bloody teeth. Liam, smug and triumphant, held his Nerf gun and waited for someone to praise his genius.
Have boys, they said. It'll be fun, they said...
"Where's your brother?"
"Right here," I hear behind me. Liam's teenage voice cracks on the last word, right before the world goes dizzy and I'm off my feet.
"Liam, put me down!" I laugh, not liking the fact that my little boy can lift me now.
He really is his father's child. He sets me down, grinning smugly as Noah belly-laughs.
Your son grows a couple of inches taller than you and thinks he's a big shot. I steady myself, turn, and give Liam the mom look—eyebrow raised, mouth pursed.
His smile falters and turns sheepish. "Sorry, Mama."
Still got it.
Softening, I smile and he walks right into my open arms. I kiss his cheek and ask, "How was your weekend?"
"Mama, we made monkey bread, and I painted a new picture—wanna see?" Noah's excited voice exclaims as he bounces in place.
"Go get it and get your bags!" I tell him as he races up the steps. Turning back to my oldest, I brush a curl away from his face, making a mental note that I need to schedule a haircut for him. "How was it?"
"It was fun," Liam shrugs, trying to keep his tone casual, crossing his arms, and looking so much like his father. The sight of it is bittersweet. "Pop and I watched the Sentinels game, and we had a fire last night. Noah got sick on marshmallows."
"I did not!" Noah yells from the top of the stairs, footsteps thundering as he runs back down to us, huffing and puffing.
"You almost spewed all over Mom-Mom's garden," Liam laughs, ruffling his brother's hair.
"Mama!" Noah appeals to the court, but he's giggling anyway.
Smiling, I watch my boys and feel the love I have for them settle under my skin, all the way to my soul.
If I have nothing, I'm still the richest woman in the world because of my boys.
"Glad you had fun. Where are Grandma and Grandpop?"
"Right here," Diane says and I turn to see her walking through the doorway to the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. She tosses it over her shoulder, and walks right up to me, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
Diane's been the only true maternal presence that I've ever known, and it still fills me with happiness whenever she treats me like this. I always tried to emulate myself as a mother after her—warm, but firm.
"Emmett's out in the shed," Diane says.
"Go say goodbye to your Pop. I have to talk to Grandma for a minute," I tell the boys, patting Liam's back and nudging him toward the mudroom.
My oldest studies my face for a beat, brown eyes searching, then nods and throws an arm around Noah's shoulders.
Their chatter fades as they push out the door, and I turn to a curious-looking Diane.
"I've got some news," I tell her, smiling softly with genuine excitement and pride.
"Oh?"
"I got a job."
"Really?" Her brows lift in surprise. "I didn't know you were even looking."
"I didn't really know either," I admit with a shrug. "Kind of stumbled into it."
"You know we could have found you something at the garage," she says quietly, peering at me now.
Yes, I know I could have asked for a role at the garage, but the point was independence: finding a job myself, something that I got all on my own.
Something that was mine.
"Where is it?"
My grin widens. "Mabel's.”
"Always loved Mabel," Diane smiles, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and guiding me into the kitchen. "What'll you be doing?"
"It's customer service. Ringing people out. Stocking shelves. Helping customers."
Diane tilts her head with a small smile, "I think you're a little overqualified for that."
"I'm unemployed, Mom," I laugh, sliding onto a stool at the island as she lifts the glass lid off her dessert tray. "I'm not overqualified for anything."
Diane frowns, seemingly not pleased with my words. She cuts off a piece of monkey bread for me, placing it on a small plate. Grabbing a fork, I take a bite, chewing slowly just to give me something to do.
Diane doesn't take her eyes off me.
"What did Atlas say about this?"
That question makes me pause, my fork hovering over my plate as I'm not entirely sure of what to tell her. I feel as though I’m standing at a crossroads.
The fear that Diane will make this my fault lingers, then I won't have their support. She and Emmett have been my parents longer than my own parents were.
But it's Diane, so I tell her the truth.
"He doesn't know," I say, my voice quiet.
Diane blinks. "He doesn't know his wife has a job?"
"It's new," I plaster on a smile that doesn't fit. "I just got it today."
"I'm surprised you haven't called him, though," she says, her eyes narrowing.
It’s the mom look, the one that slowly strips away all of my defenses.