Chapter 10
i remember everything
Rowan - now
I wring my hands on the steering wheel of Pops’ truck.
My eyes drift to the bag full of door knobs, sandpaper, and spackle sitting on the bench next to me, a painful reminder of how much there is to do here and back home in North Carolina. A million plates balancing precariously in the air. And they’re all mine.
Two houses full of stuff, dozens of acres of coveted lake front property, a couple of six-figure life insurance death benefits, a camper from last century, a beat-down pick-up truck, and a vintage Ducati—my inheritance.
I’ve always known it would all be mine when Pops and Nana passed.
But no amount of properly ordered paperwork or competent estate attorneys prepared me for how real it would feel when it finally happened.
For half a second, I think about what it’d be like to wash my hands of it all. Return to the Army and let this—the attics and garages full of stuff, the broken faucets and squeaky hinges—be somebody else’s problem. If I’m not here, maybe it isn’t really happening.
Except it is.
He’s gone.
Mom’s long road to recovery has only begun.
And my military career is over.
But then, another thought flickers behind my eyelids like a prayer. Not a thought, an image.
Hannah.
A burst of sunlight incarnate in an otherwise torrential storm.
Much like her, draped in a wedding dress that should have been a crime to put on her she looked so damn beautiful, running toward me on a sidewalk.
Then, now, and the twelve hours worth of moments we shared in between, she was beautiful in all of them.
What are the chances?
I have half a mind to scatter all my proverbial plates to the wind and march into her office.
Like a good soldier, I took note of the building she walked into.
I could find her if I asked around a bit.
But flirty salute or not, she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
Like the first time she left, I should respect whatever her reasons are.
The shock of seeing her again was so jarring, I didn’t think to check if she was wearing a ring.
It’s possible—likely, even—our one serendipitous night together is nothing more than a blip in her life’s story.
If I was able to see how special Hannah is in a matter of hours, there’s no way another man in this town with the ability to pursue her the way she deserves hasn’t found her yet. The way I would’ve back then if I had been in a position to stay.
But, as it always has, duty called. Duty to family and country. Although not always in that order.
Right now there’s only one: family. Lord knows I don’t have much of it left these days.
I need to clear my head. Inside the glove compartment, I find Pops’ old tobacco container and give it a quick shake. The rattle of metal confirms exactly what I’m looking for.
When I pull onto the main road a few minutes later, I don’t turn in the direction of the city house demanding my attention.
Instead, I roll down the windows, crank up Pops’ favorite Garth Brooks’ No Fences cassette that hasn’t been ejected since 1990, and drive an hour in the opposite direction toward the last place I saw him.
The house that holds all our fondest memories together—Nana and Pops.
The house I’ve avoided since coming back here.
Walking through the front door will bring back a host of memories with Hannah too. Some of them might even hurt. Yet, I can’t make myself turn around.
The lake house has always felt like home. And I could use a big dose of home right about now.
The deadbolt clicks and the sound sends a rush of childhood nostalgia sweeping through me like a tidal wave.
I step inside the modest A-frame, and my steps falter when I reach Nana’s spot. The wood plank in the floor that marks the center of the home. Equidistant to all four exterior walls, Nana insisted—or threatened—she could see everything from this very spot.
An L-shaped kitchen sits to my right. The beam of afternoon sun coming through the window above the sink shines like a spotlight, specks of dust adrift over the four-seater dining table. The table where Pops taught me how to properly clean a gun at sixteen.
On my left is the only bedroom. Barely big enough to fit my grandparents’ queen-size bed, Nana always said it was more than enough space for them.
Ahead is the living room, a single loveseat and small leather arm chair angled toward the thirty-two-inch television I convinced them to get the summer before eighth grade because their old antenna TV belonged in a museum.
Up against the far wall is an end table with two chairs flanking either side where Pops and I played board games in front of the fireplace while Nana made dinner.
Parcheezi and Monopoly some, but mostly chess.
On the mantle above, still hangs the framed American flag.
Thirteen folds to form a tri-cornered display in memory of my dad—Nana and Pops’ only child.
Decades later and I still look at it and wish I had more time with him.
Eight short years fraught with more deployments than time spent at home didn’t leave much space for making father-son memories.
The bathroom sits next to the bedroom. Nana’s favorite mauve floral shower curtain circa 1985 smiles back at me. Pops and I hated it, but she loved it. Five years without her and he never got rid of it. I don’t blame him.
Tucked behind the living room wall on my left is a small staircase leading to a half-floor—the loft where I slept when I visited all those summers. With the pitched roof and minuscule footprint, it fits my old twin bed, small side table, and a bookshelf, but not much else.
And straight ahead, a wall of windows from the sliding glass door to the tiny triangle window at the top of the roof’s peak showcases the pristine lake beyond.
That’s where my feet carry me. This is why I came.
I pause on the back deck to take in the property. Twenty acres on either side, five acres between the front door and the main road, the cabin, the camper, and the detached metal building Pops used for storage—all of it mine now.
I cross the yard, carving a path amidst the towering trees until I reach the top of the small staircase that leads down to the dock. The warmth of July, parsed by the shade of the pine canopy and the crisp air off the water feels like my favorite version of summer.
Two Adirondack rocking chairs sit angled to overlook the water, the mountain summits piercing the horizon.
The last time I sat in one of those chairs, it was Hannah seated beside me underneath a blanket of stars.
Her laugh, the curl of steam rising off her mug of cocoa, the tears that marred her cheeks—I remember everything.
There, between the chairs, on the vertically set log functioning as a table, is Pops’ favorite highball glass. One last sip of whiskey remains—his signature. The thought of him sitting out here, alone, catches like an image frozen in time. A tight fist clenches around my heart.
One deep breath. I march down the steps, swipe the glass, and head back inside.
Head down, needing a distraction, I clean the micro-abode from top to bottom. When I circle to the kitchen to begin clearing out the fridge and pantry, it’s all the explanation needed as to why the Boulder house had no food in it. His life has been here for the past five years.
I toss everything with a broken seal and set aside all the unopened items to donate.
A homemade lasagna in the fridge makes me pause.
While it’s too old to eat now, it was obviously made fresh at some point in the past few weeks.
The thought of Pops hovered over the stove preparing it makes me chuckle.
My grandfather was a lot of things, but home cook was not one of them.
He mostly survived off cereal, cans of beef stew, and cranberry sauce year round since Nana passed.
Good on him for expanding his horizons and trying something new, I suppose.
When I’m finished, I collect the last bag of trash and throw it into the bed of the truck along with the others I’ve collected in my efforts.
My phone pings with a text from Bri as I climb into the cab.
Bri
Captain’s log - Day 4,712…
Is it too early for alcohol?
And I’m still waiting on those tips for hiding a body…
Me
You’re speaking my language. I could use a beer myself right about now.
And I plead the fifth.
Bri
Tomorrow’s a new day. But tonight? We drink!
CHEERS from North Carolina
At the same time, a message comes through from my best friend.
Dubs
LIES!! Your sister is falling in love with me.
A smile cracks through my somber mood, and I toss my phone on the passenger seat.
When I get back to Boulder, I’ll go out for a burger, drown my sorrows in a beer, and turn in early.
Tomorrow is a new day.