Ray
Three weeks had crawled by since Wade left for Ember Ridge. No matter what I did to pass the time, my mind always wandered back to him—wondering what he was up to, how his therapy was going, and if he missed me.
I wasn’t generally one for self-doubt, but since our situation was so new when he left, I wondered what things would be like when he got back. Would he still want to be together, or would he want to go back to being just friends? Could we realistically go back to being just friends?
After knowing what it felt like to be wrapped in his arms, have his lips on mine, and feel the connection of our bodies when we fell into bed, I doubted we could go back to the way things were before he left.
Have faith. He’s going to come back the same man, just a little less grumpy.
I repeated the same mantra anytime those self-deprecating thoughts started creeping in, threatening to take hold and cast a consistent shadow of doubt over everything. This was the longest we had ever gone without talking, and like an addict, I was itching to hear the sound of his voice.
Keeping myself busy had been key, and this day was no different. It was the twins’ and Charlie’s birthday. It was also the first anniversary of Charlie’s kidnapping and, subsequently, the anniversary of Wade getting shot.
A large part of me wondered if he was celebrating or if he was spending the day hunkered down, thinking of all the things he had lost. Selfishly, I wanted him with us, celebrating another year around the sun, especially since this was the big 3-0 for him and Max.
Stella insisted on keeping things low-key this year, since Wade wasn’t there to celebrate. We were just having a small dinner with the family at the big house.
Charlie was still too young to comprehend the concept of a large birthday party, so we just got her a cupcake and planned to sing Happy Birthday and open gifts.
As I stood on the porch of the big house, the ranch felt quiet.
It was as if the land knew there was a piece missing, and it was biding its time like the rest of us until that last puzzle piece was back in place.
There was no breeze, no snickering of horses, no buzz of insects.
It was just silent. Every facet of the ranch and its inhabitants felt the weight of Wade’s missing presence.
Securing Charlie’s present under my arm, I knocked, pushing open the large front door into the foyer. The silence even stretched through the house, shrouding everything in an uncomfortable haze of grief.
Brushing off the prickling sensation of unease, I made my way into the large family room, looking for where everyone was gathered, hoping that seeing Charlie enjoy her birthday would help with the melancholy feeling blanketing the day.
Stella and Max were cuddled together on the sofa, staring at the baby monitor where I assumed Charlie slept. I couldn’t imagine the restlessness they were feeling, knowing that this time last year, their world was upended and their lives forever changed.
Although it ended in happiness for them, the ever-present trauma would shroud this day like a low-hanging cloud, reminding them how everything could have ended so differently; for some, it did.
“Hey, guys,” I whispered, setting the gift down on the fireplace hearth where the rest were stacked.
“Hey,” Stella whispered back, angling her eyes toward me in greeting but not taking them off the monitor for longer than a second.
“How long has she been asleep?” I asked, sitting on the floor at their feet, laying my head gently on Stella’s thigh. She reached her hand down, and I met her grasp, entwining our fingers in a gesture of solidarity. I could feel the slight tremor in her hand as I lightly squeezed three times.
“About an hour and a half. We wanted to sit in the room with her, but our therapist suggested sitting in a neutral space with the monitor instead.”
Max and Stella went through intense therapy after Charlie’s kidnapping. They still attended sessions once a week, even a year after the incident, and I was so proud of them for sticking with it.
It made me think about where Wade would be a year from now. Would he still attend therapy, or would he think he’d been cured and move on? Hopefully, that was a discussion he’d have with his therapist, and he wouldn’t be too stubborn to take their advice.
I sensed Stella’s body relax as Charlie stirred on the monitor. I could hear her babbling to herself, singing something that sounded like a gibberish version of Jingle Bells.
No matter what, that child always brought a smile to my face and joy to my heart. She was unfiltered positivity wrapped up in a tiny body.
I scooted out of Stella’s way so she could stand. She moved around me, giving Max a quick kiss before padding down the hallway to retrieve the birthday girl. I gave Max’s knee a soft squeeze, and he smiled gently down at me.
I never would have imagined the broody cowboy would find the love of his life, settle down, and become a dad all in one year.
He was so jaded after his ex-fiancée screwed him over that I was a little concerned he would end up a perpetual bachelor. Stella and Charlie were so good for him, and they had instantly meshed with our little misfit family.
Tiny feet thundered down the hallway as Charlie rushed into the living room, a huge smile on her face. Last year, she had insisted on a fairy birthday; this year, she wanted to be a cowgirl.
She was decked out from head to toe in Western wear, from her tiny Ariat boots, Wranglers, a pink button-down with pearl snaps and matching pink fringe vest, all the way to the child-sized Stetson that sat atop her head.
Her wild curls were sticking up in every direction, clearly mussed from a good afternoon nap, beneath the brim of her hat.
“Happy Birthday, little one,” Max cooed, opening his arms for her to climb into his lap. She bypassed everyone else, heading directly for her dad, climbing up and settling on his thighs with a contented sigh.
“Happy Birfday Mass Da!” she yelled, causing Max to wince in discomfort as she screeched. She was pure happiness, but I’m sure we could all do without the high-pitched, excited squealing.
Clearly having just clocked the number of gifts sitting on the fireplace mantel, most wrapped in pink paper, she scrambled out of her dad’s lap and ran directly toward her presents.
“Mama, I open?” she asked, her little feet unable to stay still as she vibrated with excitement. I chuckled lightly, wishing I could bottle even just an ounce of her excitement to keep in my pocket for a rainy day.
“Yes, baby, you can open them,” Stella said, sitting down and tucking herself into Max’s side.
We all watched as Charlie tore into every gift with reckless abandon, flinging scraps of wrapping paper across the living room.
We’d worry about the mess later; for now, we were just enjoying watching her eyes light up with excitement as she opened each package.
After unwrapping a new baby doll, a miniature lasso set—complete with a steer’s head to rope, a pretend camera, and a bunch of clothes—she sat down in the middle of the chaos and just smiled, taking everything in.
Unsurprisingly, she reached for the lasso set first, bringing it to Max to take out of the packaging.
“There’s one more gift,” Pops said gruffly, pushing out of his armchair with a grunt and holding out his hand for Charlie to follow him.
She placed her tiny palm in his as he steered her out the front door. At the top of the porch steps, he stopped and picked her up, carrying her toward the barn.
Max and Stella watched in utter confusion as we all followed behind the pair, everyone curious as to what sort of gift needed to be kept in the barn.
Pops set Charlie down outside the large wooden doors. “Wait right here,” he instructed, sliding open the door and re-shutting it behind him.
All of us waited with bated breath, excited to see what this gift could be. Charlie stood stock still, dutifully following Pops’ orders.
As the clomping of hooves echoed through the surrounding air, Max’s head tilted back toward the sky, and a groan of frustration crested his lips.
“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbled.
“Mass Da, bad wo—PONY!” Charlie’s scream of excitement could have been heard at least two counties over as she jumped up and down with giddy excitement.
Pops brought the small, speckled foal over, its legs barely stable, and stopped it right in front of our group. He motioned for Charlie to approach, and she did so slowly, walking on soft feet like she’d been taught to do when around new animals.
She was a natural with horses; I had seen it with my own two eyes. She walked closer to the foal, holding out her tiny hand to allow it to sniff her. The horse let out an excited whinny, and Charlie giggled in response.
Horses are very particular when it comes to their people. They can be exceptionally temperamental. The fact that an unbroken foal, with zero formal training, was letting Charlie get this close to it without so much as blinking an eye had all of us staring in wondrous amazement.
This was her heart horse—we all could feel it.
“Every cowgirl needs a horse,” Pops explained, running his large, weathered hand down the horse’s scrawny neck. “You’re not quite old enough to be able to take care of it, so I’ll help you out with that, but this baby here will be your responsibility.”
Charlie stared back at him unblinking as she nodded, listening with rapt attention to his instructions.
“Now, little one. What are you going to name him?”
We all waited anxiously as she tapped her finger to her lips in contemplation. Asking a two-year-old to name something often went over like a fart in church. After a couple of seconds of contemplation, her eyes lit up with joy, and a wide smile spread across her face.
“Hims name is Bubbles Flower Pancake.”
A loud groan floated across the group, and Pops chuckled loudly.
“Welcome to the family, Bubbles Flower Pancake.”