Chapter 8 - Sierra
"Please?" Ruby's using the voice, the one with just the right amount of pleading mixed with hope that makes it nearly impossible to say no. "You said Scout was judgmental and small and I really, really want to meet her. Please, Dad?"
We're standing outside the diner where we just finished lunch: burgers for Ruby and Cade, a salad for me that I barely touched because my stomach is still in knots.
The afternoon sun is warm, and Main Street is busier now, people moving in and out of shops, living their normal Saturday lives while mine continues to tilt on its axis.
Cade looks uncertain, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture I remember from years ago. He always did that when he was uncomfortable, when he was trying to figure out how to say no to something.
"It's not that I don't want you to meet Scout," he starts. "It's just… My place is small. Really small. And messy. I wasn't exactly expecting company this weekend."
"I don't care if it's messy," Ruby insists. "I just want to meet your cat. Please? I promise I'll be gentle."
"She will be," I confirm, watching Cade's internal debate play out on his face. "But if you're not comfortable, we can wait for another time."
I mean it, too. The last thing I want is to push him into something he's not ready for. Inviting us into his space feels intimate in a way that touring the town doesn't. His apartment is his sanctuary, the place he rebuilt himself after everything fell apart.
But then Cade looks at Ruby's hopeful face, and I see his resolve crumble.
"Okay," he sighs, but he's smiling. "But I'm warning you, Scout is not friendly. She tolerates me because I feed her. She might not even come out if there are strangers in the apartment."
"I can be very quiet," Ruby promises solemnly. "Like a mouse. Cats like mice, right?"
"They like to chase mice," Cade points out. "I'm not sure that's the angle you want to go with."
Ruby giggles, and we start walking. Cade's apartment is apparently only five blocks from Main Street, in a converted house that's been divided into four units.
The neighborhood is older, tree-lined streets with houses that have character—front porches with rocking chairs, flower boxes in windows, the kind of established feel that takes decades to develop.
"I'm on the second floor," Cade explains as we approach a pale blue house with white trim. "Like I said, it's not much. One bedroom, barely counts as a living room, kitchen the size of a closet."
"Sounds cozy," I offer, though my heart is pounding. I'm about to see how Cade lives, the space he's occupied for eight years. The life he built without me.
We climb the exterior stairs to the second floor, and Cade unlocks a door marked "2B." He hesitates before pushing it open.
"Last chance to change your mind about the mess," he warns.
"Dad," Ruby says with exaggerated patience. "I've seen Mom's desk when she's doing taxes. I can handle mess."
"Hey," I protest mildly. "That desk is organized chaos."
"It's chaos," Ruby agrees. "The organized part is debatable."
Cade chuckles and opens the door.
The apartment is exactly as he described.
Small. The front door opens directly into the living room, which contains a well-worn couch, a coffee table with water rings, and a TV mounted on the wall.
The kitchen is visible beyond, barely big enough for one person.
A short hallway must lead to the bedroom and bathroom.
But it's not messy. It's clean, actually. Sparse, even. The kind of space that belongs to someone who doesn't accumulate things, who keeps his life contained to the essentials. There are no pictures on the walls, no personal items on display. Just furniture and function.
It makes my heart hurt.
"Scout?" Cade calls out. "We have visitors. Try to be nice."
A small gray and white tabby cat appears from the hallway, moving with the cautious grace cats have perfected. She stops when she sees us, her green eyes narrowing.
"Oh," Ruby breathes, immediately dropping to a crouch. "She's beautiful."
Scout regards Ruby with clear suspicion, her tail twitching.
"Don't move too fast," I murmur. "Let her come to you."
Ruby stays perfectly still, one hand extended slightly, letting Scout investigate at her own pace. The cat approaches slowly, sniffing Ruby's fingers, her ears swiveling to track every sound.
Then, to my surprise and Cade's apparent shock, Scout headbutts Ruby's hand.
"She likes me," Ruby whispers, joy radiating from every pore. "She actually likes me."
"She never likes anyone," Cade says, sounding genuinely baffled. "She hissed at my friend Asher for twenty minutes straight. Hudson she tolerates. Everyone else she ignores or attacks."
But Scout is rubbing against Ruby's legs now, purring loud enough for us to hear across the room. Ruby pets her, her touch gentle and sure, and Scout leans into it like they're old friends.
"You've been holding out on me," Ruby tells Scout seriously. "I could have been petting you this whole time."
I watch this unfold, my daughter and Cade's cat bonding instantly, and feel tears prick my eyes.
It's such a small thing, a child petting a cat, but it feels monumental.
Like another piece clicking into place, proof that Ruby belongs in Cade's life, that she fits here in ways neither of them expected.
"I can't believe she's doing this," Cade mutters, moving to stand beside me. "Eight years. Eight years of Scout being antisocial, and Ruby shows up and suddenly she's the cat whisperer."
"Ruby has a way with animals," I say softly. "Always has. There's a stray cat in our neighborhood that won't let anyone near it except Ruby. She named him Shadow and he follows her home from school sometimes."
"Of course she does." There's affection in his voice, pride. "She gets that from you. You were always good with animals too."
The comment catches me off guard. "Was I?"
"Yeah. Remember that time we found that injured bird in your parents' yard? You made me drive to three different stores to find the right supplies to make it a nest. Stayed up half the night feeding it with an eyedropper."
I do remember. The bird, a juvenile robin, had a broken wing. I'd been so determined to save it, and Cade had helped without complaint, even though he'd had to work an early shift the next morning.
"It died anyway," I say.
"But you tried." Cade's shoulder brushes mine. "That's what mattered. You always tried to save things."
Did I try to save him? Or did I give up too easily, let him go when I should have fought harder?
"Can Scout come visit us sometime?" Ruby asks, breaking the moment. She's sitting on the floor now, Scout in her lap, both of them looking content.
"Cats don't really travel well," Cade says. "But maybe, if you came to visit again, you could see her then."
"When can we come back?" Ruby looks up at us. "Can we come next weekend? Or the weekend after?"
"That's something your mom and I need to talk about," Cade says. "But I promise we'll figure something out. You'll see Scout again."
Ruby accepts this, returning her attention to the cat. I watch them for a moment, then force myself to look around the apartment again, really taking it in.
It's so empty. Not just of stuff, but of life.
There are no photos, no decorations, nothing that speaks to who Cade is beyond the bare minimum.
The coffee table has a thriller novel face-down on it, the only personal item I can see.
The kitchen counter is clear except for a coffee maker and a bowl that probably belongs to Scout.
"You really weren't kidding about the small space," I say, trying to lighten the mood.
"Told you." Cade shoves his hands in his pockets. "It's enough for me though. And Scout."
"Have you always lived here? Since you moved to Blackwater Falls?"
"Yeah. Found this place my first week. Landlord's good, rent's reasonable, location's convenient." He pauses. "It's temporary, you know? Always meant to find something bigger, more permanent. Just never got around to it."
Eight years of temporary. Eight years of not quite settling, not quite committing to the idea that this is home.
"Do you like it here?" I ask quietly. "Blackwater Falls, I mean. Are you happy?"
Cade considers the question, his eyes on Ruby and Scout. "I'm... content. I have good friends, a job I believe in, a routine that works. But happy?" He's quiet for a moment. "I don't know if I've let myself be happy since the fire."
The honesty of it breaks something in my chest. "Cade—"
"It's not your fault," he says quickly. "That's not what I meant. I've spent eight years in maintenance mode. Surviving, functioning, doing the work. But actually being happy? Letting myself feel joy without guilt?" He shakes his head. "I don't know how to do that."
"Maybe you could learn," I suggest softly.
"Maybe." He looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see so much in those blue eyes. Pain and possibility and something that might be longing. "Yesterday, when you walked into the station, I thought my world was ending. Thought everything I'd built here was about to collapse."
"And now?" My voice is barely a whisper.
"Now I think maybe it was actually beginning." He nods toward Ruby. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I've known her for less than twenty-four hours. That has to mean something, right?"
"It means you're a good father already." The tears are back, threatening to spill over. "It means she's lucky to have you."
"I'm the lucky one." His voice is rough. "And I know we have a lot to figure out… Where we're going to live, how custody works, all the practical stuff. But Sierra, I need you to know that I meant what I said. I'm not running. Not from Ruby, and not from the hard conversations we need to have."
"I know." I do know. I can see it in every interaction with Ruby, hear it in every word he says. "I'm not running either. Not anymore."