Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Travis
I sat in my home office listening to the meteorologist go on about the epic winter storm that was blowing through Texas.
Admittedly, it was the first major storm I had seen like this.
At least that I could remember. We’d actually gotten snow already, big, fluffy flakes, something that was rare for central Texas.
But it wasn’t the four to six inches that the weatherman predicted that had everyone worried.
No, that was the ice and the record low temps that were taking a significant toll on the power grid.
As of now, we hadn’t lost power, but Brendon and Cheyenne had, which meant we probably would at some point.
As for the water, well, it was spotty at best. The emails from the utility companies said the water treatment plants had lost power, affecting the water, so we were expected to be without for some time.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t Mother Nature or her wrath that had me so preoccupied.
Everyone was settled in place, getting regular updates from family on the group text, so I was sure they would reach out if there was a problem.
And if worse came to worst, we had the ability to move and shift people around to accommodate.
For now we were hunkering down, hoping it wouldn’t last long.
Which meant I was left to focus on the sealed envelope sitting on my desk.
Nothing nefarious, just your standard number-ten white envelope.
On the front were mine and Gage’s names, scrawled in Kylie’s lovely cursive.
Beside it, the gold-plated letter opener Kylie had bought me when she’d been updating my home office.
The lawyer Kylie had hired to handle her will had delivered it a week ago, and I couldn’t bring myself to open it, much less read what it had to say.
“Daddy-O! Daddy-O! Let’s make a snowman!”
Like a kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I snatched the envelope, sliding it into my top drawer just as Kade was storming into my office. The little boy was bundled up in a coat, mittens, scarf, and earmuffs, only his little nose and eyes visible on his face. It was a wonder he could see.
And the sight of him made me smile.
“A snowman?”
Kade nodded enthusiastically. “Daddy said we could.”
“Well, you better get to it.”
“With you, too. Daddy wants you to help.”
I swallowed hard, a ray of hope igniting in my chest even as I wondered if Gage had actually said that. Things weren’t exactly kosher between us these days. In fact, we rarely spent any time together, and when we were under the same roof, it was usually without conversation.
Oh, but our interactions weren’t completely hindered.
Every night Gage would come into the guest room I had moved into.
And every single night, we would fuck like two men who hated each other but secretly craved what the other could offer.
It was only during those hours that I felt any sense of calm, though I wasn’t sure I was supposed to.
“Come on,” Kade whined.
Knowing it would only disappoint my kids if I didn’t join them, I pushed up from my chair.
“All right, all right. Let’s do this.”
“Yay!” Kade took off, waddling back the way he’d come.
I pulled on my wool-lined Carhartt, also something Kylie had bought for me, and walked out onto the back porch.
Gage was holding Maddox in his arms while Kate, Avery, and Haden were smacking their hands on what appeared to be a snowball.
It wasn’t much of one, certainly not what most people expected would turn into a man of any sort, but it was a start.
Kade raced over to them, squealing with excitement.
“You better scoop more snow,” Gage told them, his gaze swinging around to me.
For a moment, we stood there staring at one another.
Like every time our eyes met these days, something clenched deep inside me. It was true—whenever I looked at my husband, it reminded me of what we’d lost. I would immediately think of Kylie, wishing she were there with us.
At the same time, I was reminded of what I had to lose if we couldn’t keep it together.
Although I still couldn’t sleep and I'd lost nearly ten pounds from not eating because I missed Kylie, I also missed Gage.
The man had been my rock for so long, and not having him there … well, it was killing me slowly.
“I want a giant snowman,” Kade yelled, swinging a purple shovel—one we’d bought to make sandcastles at the beach—around. “The biggest one ever. Bigger than a building,” he exclaimed, hopping to reach as high as he could.
“Me, too,” Avery said, her voice not as loud but equally enthusiastic. “Bigger than a tree.”
“Buildings are bigger than trees,” Kade argued.
“No, they’re not.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What about you, Kate?” Gage asked, politely breaking them up.
My attention shifted to Kate, who was slowly gathering up snow into a little yellow bucket. She didn’t answer, so I walked down the steps to join them.
“Kate?”
She turned her head, clearly not having realized I was there. Her brown eyes glistened with what I knew were tears.
“What’s the matter?”
She looked at me, then looked at Gage. “I wanna make a snowmommy.”
My chest tightened, and I had to swallow the knot that had formed in my throat. I looked at Gage, saw his eyes were glassy, too.
“Then let’s do that. Let’s make a snowmommy,” I told her. “What does she look like?”
There was a hitch in her voice when Kate said, “Like Mommy.”
For a second, I thought I might be having a heart attack; my chest constricted so tight, and it was painful to breathe.
But I pushed through, wanting to support Kate.
The therapist she was still seeing had told us the best thing we could do right now was to be supportive, to show her we were there for her.
“What should I do?” I offered, hoping to distract her.
“We need more snow,” she decided.
“Here!” Kade hopped over to me, passing off his purple shovel. “You can use mine.”
“You can use mine, too, Daddy-O!” Avery said, giving me her blue shovel.
With one in each hand, I squatted down, scooped snow into a pile. Kade and Avery transferred it over, forming it into a ball.
It took some time, but we managed to scrape enough snow from the grass to build a decent-sized snowmommy.
And by decent, it topped out at maybe two feet, not quite the building or the tree they’d been going for.
When we were finishing up, Kate took off inside, leaving Gage and me to stare after her.
“You think she’s all right?” he whispered.
“I hope so.” I looked at him. “You want to talk to her? Or me?”
Gage passed Maddox over to me. “I’ll do—”
Just then, Kate came racing back outside carrying a handful of things. She stopped at my feet and stared up at us.
“Can we use these?”
I smiled through the tears that formed as I saw the sunglasses Kate was holding.
They were Kylie’s favorite pair, the ones we’d bought her for her birthday a few years ago.
She was also holding a rainbow-colored scarf.
Or what was supposed to be a scarf. It had been Kylie’s attempt at knitting, one she’d done with Kate and Avery.
Aside from being long and slender, it didn’t much resemble a scarf, more like a scraggly, skinny attempt at a blanket, but I knew Kylie had worn it on occasion because it made the girls happy.
“Perfect,” Gage said. “You wanna put ’em on?”
The kids worked together to get the glasses and scarf situated. I focused on breathing as I held Maddox.
“She needs arms,” Kade decided, wading over to the row of bushes along the back porch.
After a couple of minutes of deciding and after snapping off a dozen or so twigs, he returned holding two, one twice as long as the other. He passed one to Avery before stabbing his into one side of the snow.
“We need to take a picture,” Kate informed me.
“Definitely pictures,” Gage agreed before snapping a few dozen as the kids posed with their attempt at a snowman … or rather, snowmommy, as Kate was referring to it.
I didn’t think this was a turning point—not by a long shot—but it was baby steps. And I had to think that one day we might be able to move forward.
As much as it still hurt, I knew that we needed this.
Gage
“It’s gettin’ worse,” I told Travis when I joined him in the living room a few hours later.
After our outdoor excursion, we gathered the kids back inside, warmed them up with hot chocolate and vanilla wafers. Now the kids were doing their own thing, Maddox and Haden having gone down for a nap, Kate, Avery, and Kade working on bead jewelry at the little art table we’d set up in the corner.
“We’re lucky to still have power,” Travis said, motioning to the television.
On the screen, a reporter was talking about thousands being without power and water, urging people to stay home if at all possible.
Austin had all but shut down in its attempt to accommodate.
The schools that had shifted to virtual learning to keep kids home were now shutting down completely due to the power outages.
Businesses were doing the same in an attempt to keep their employees safe.
We’d been lucky that we only had a few guests remaining at the resort, and we’d been able to cancel anyone coming in this week, but because flights had been canceled in and out of the area, those remaining few were stuck.
However, from the updates I was getting as we all rotated to manage the place, no one seemed to mind.
As long as we maintained power, I figured.
If that went out and the generators failed, I doubted the guests would be all that pleasant.
“I moved the buckets of snow into the kitchen,” I said. “Figured it might melt that way on its own.”
We had decided we would start melting snow to use for flushing the toilets since the water had gone out completely an hour ago. No one seemed to know when it would come back on.
“I could’ve helped,” Travis said, glancing over at me.
I shrugged as though it was no big deal.
We sat quietly for a few minutes, something that had become the norm for us.
The past month had proven painful for everyone as we attempted to come to terms with Kylie being gone.
It wasn’t easy, that was for sure. The kids had nightmares, waking up crying for their mother often.
I wasn’t getting much sleep either, lying in our bed by myself.
Part of me understood why Travis couldn’t go into our bedroom.
It certainly wasn’t easy, but I needed it.
Being in there allowed me to remember that connection.
During daylight hours, it was a little easier.
The kids had their good days and bad. Taking cues from the therapist, Travis and I were suggesting little projects for the kids.
Drawing pictures of their favorite memories with their mom, hanging them on the refrigerator.
Making craft projects—paper flowers, beaded bracelets—they planned to put on Kylie’s headstone the next time we went to visit.
We were dealing in our own ways.
It was still hard to believe it had been a month since the funeral.
It felt like just yesterday. The only difference was that it was getting easier to breathe, to make it a few hours without feeling the unbearable pain.
Time would heal us, of that I was certain, but I doubted we would ever be whole again.
When it was clear Travis was going to remain glued to the television so he didn’t have to interact, I got to my feet.
“I’m gonna make SpaghettiOs for lunch. And I’ll scrounge up some candles just in case.”
Travis nodded. “I was thinkin’ I’d start a fire.”
And that was the extent of our conversation for most of the day. We spent the afternoon coloring with the kids, watching movies, and playing video games. From the outside looking in, it would appear we were a highly functioning family, but I knew it was all to keep from thinking about Kylie.
As usual, Travis was dealing with work, taking phone calls, checking in to ensure everything was being handled at the resort.
I left him to it, figuring it was what he wanted and needed.
He was keeping himself separate as much as possible, more so from me than the kids, and I was attempting to respect that.
But when Travis had disappeared after dinner, not coming back even after the kids were situated in front of the television and their iPads, I went to look for him.
I wasn’t surprised to see him sitting at his desk, staring blankly at the desk.
No. Not the desk. He was looking at a white envelope that sat neatly on top of his leather blotter.
I stepped into the room. “What is that?”
His eyes shot up to me as though he’d been caught doing something wrong. His hand immediately went to the envelope, covering it.
“Travis?” I watched my husband closely, saw the guilt on his face. “What’s goin’ on?”
“It’s a letter,” he finally said as I approached.
“From?”
Travis pulled his hand back, revealing the cursive writing on the front. “Kylie.”
I stopped, my legs locking. “What?”
Travis turned the envelope so I could read it. “Evidently, she wrote us a letter and left it with the attorney. Said we were to get it in the event of her death.”
Although I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, I asked anyway. “What does it say?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t opened it. Can’t.”
My attention was locked on the standard white envelope and the familiar handwriting. I knew Travis didn’t mean it was physically impossible to open the letter, but rather, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. I understood fully because, looking at it now, my first instinct was to back away from it.
Although I was a far cry from getting over what had happened, I felt stronger than I had in the beginning.
That first week … I'd been a mess. And it had taken days for me to be able to breathe without tears clogging my throat.
But suddenly, all the progress I'd thought I'd made faded away, leaving me breathless and sad.
“Should we read it?” Travis asked, his voice scratchy and raw.
I looked at him, looked at the letter.
If I read a letter from Kylie … especially one from the grave…
I shook my head. I couldn’t do it.
“I was gonna tell you,” he said softly. “I’ve only had it for a couple of days. Wasn’t gonna open it without you.”
That wasn’t what I was worried about. Strangely, I believed him, knew he wouldn’t keep something like that from me. Not unless it was to protect me.
“Do you want to open it now?” Travis repeated, the letter still sitting there between us.
“No,” I blurted, backing up. “No, I don’t.”
I felt his eyes on me as I left the room, leaving the letter and Travis behind me. Now I had to deal with a fresh wave of grief.