Chapter Ten #2
Then Linda walked to her rental car, got in, and drove slowly out of the yard.
Naomi stood watching until the car disappeared, then she turned and saw him.
She walked toward him and he met her halfway.
He didn’t say anything. He just opened his arms. She walked into them, pressed her face against his chest, and he held her.
She didn’t cry. She just stood there and let him hold her. He kept his arms around her, his mouth shut and waited for her to be ready.
After a long moment she lifted her head.
“Please tell me you had nothing to do with her showing up.”
“I didn’t. I’d never do something like that without talking to you first.”
“She’s staying at the motel in Clifton,” she said. “She wants to see me again before she leaves.”
“What do you want?”
She looked up at him. “I don’t know yet.”
He nodded. “That’s okay.”
She leaned her head back against his chest and he held her tighter.
That evening, they sat on his porch, the last of the summer light fading over the mountains, two glasses of sweet tea on the rail between them.
Naomi had been quiet since her mother left. Not the comfortable quiet he’d gotten used to. This was the kind that had weight to it.
He’d let it sit all afternoon. He couldn’t let it sit anymore.
“Are you going to see her again?” he asked.
Naomi looked out at the pastures. “I don’t know.”
“She came a long way.”
She glanced at him. “I know that.”
“I just mean—” He chose his words carefully. “She made the effort. That counts for something.”
Naomi was quiet for a moment. “Does it?”
“I think so.” He turned his glass on the rail. “I’m not saying what she did was right. It wasn’t. But she’s here now and she’s asking for a chance. That’s not nothing.”
Naomi looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.
“You think I should see her,” she said.
“I think you might regret it if you don’t at least hear her out.”
“I already heard her out today.”
“I know.” He looked at her. “I just don’t want you to close the door on something you can’t open again later.”
The quiet that followed was a different kind. Naomi set her glass down and looked out at the mountains. He could see something shifting in her expression that he didn’t know how to read.
“You have no idea what it was like,” she said quietly. “Growing up without her.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“Then maybe don’t tell me what I should do about it.”
It came out soft, but it landed hard.
He opened his mouth and closed it.
She stood up, picked up her glass, and looked at him for a moment.
“I’m going inside,” she said. “I’m tired.”
“Naomi—”
“Goodnight, Ethan.”
She walked inside and he heard the door close behind her.
He sat there in the gathering dark, stared at the mountains, and thought that he’d handled that about as badly as a man could.
He woke to an empty bed.
Ethan lay there for a moment listening to the house. Quiet. He got up, pulled on his jeans, and walked to the kitchen.
She’d already gone. Her mug was rinsed and sitting on the counter, which was more than he deserved after last night.
He stood there looking at it for a moment, then pulled on his boots and headed for the barn.
The fence post outside Vulcan’s stall was empty. No thermos.
He noticed. He didn’t say anything about it to anyone, but he noticed and it sat with him all morning like a stone in his boot.
He saw her in the arena at seven thirty, already working Vader through the pattern, focused and quiet. She didn’t look toward the barn door when he passed. He watched from the office window and told himself to give her space.
He gave her space all morning.
By noon he couldn’t stand it anymore. He walked to the arena and stopped in the doorway.
She was working Vader through the pattern, focused and quiet. She didn’t look up when he came in even though he knew she’d heard him. She always heard him.
He waited until she brought Vader to a walk and rode toward the rail.
She stopped in front of him, looked down at him, and he looked up at her. Neither of them said anything for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I overstepped.”
She was quiet for a beat. “Yes. You did.”
“I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do. I just—” He stopped. “I grew up with parents who would do anything for me. I can’t imagine not having that and I don’t understand what it cost you not to have it. You’re right about that.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
“She hurt me and that doesn’t just go away because she showed up with an apology,” Naomi said. “You understand that?”
“I do. I should have kept my mouth shut.”
Another silence.
“You were trying to help,” she said finally. Not quite forgiving him yet, but softer than the night before.
“I was.” He held her gaze. “I’ll do better.”
She looked at him for another moment, then nodded once and turned Vader back toward the pattern.
He stayed at the rail, watching her ride and thought that loving someone meant sometimes sitting with the hard parts of them without trying to fix it. He was still learning that.
****
Naomi didn’t tell Ethan she was going. She told herself it was because she didn’t want another opinion, another well-meaning piece of advice from someone who’d never spent a single day of his life wondering why his mother hadn’t wanted him.
Once her day was over, she grabbed her keys and drove to the motel without telling anyone where she was going.