Chapter 60 Asking for Help
asking for help
Rowan
“Thanksgiving at the beach feels like an oxymoron.”
“You sound jealous, sunshine.”
Hannah scoffs over the roar of laughter I hear from her end of the phone. “Jealous? Please. Canned cranberry sauce is best enjoyed in front of a fire with leaves falling outside.”
I invited her to join my family at our Outer Banks rental for the holiday, but she was excited to host Thanksgiving for her Golden Boys.
She claimed it was because they wouldn’t have anywhere else to go today otherwise, but deep down I know it brings her as much joy as it does them to spend time together.
Selfishly, I’d rather have her here with me, but I’m happy for what she’s found in her crew back home.
“I thought you said Tom was bringing the homemade stuff?” I ask.
“Oh, he did, the stubborn bastard. And, as I predicted, nobody’s touched it.”
“Canned is better.”
“It always is,” she agrees on a happy sigh.
“Pops ate the stuff straight from the can year round.”
She chuckles. “I remember. It’s the only thing he’d eat all those years I brought him Thanksgiving dinner.”
My head falls back on a smile. “God, I love you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” If she only knew the impact of those words—the echo ringing in my ears having heard them before. I resist the urge to tell her everything. Someday.
The sound of clanking pots and running water pull her attention. Seeing as how Mom and Bri banished me to the deck two hours ago, I can imagine what kind of antics those old cranks are up to in Hannah’s kitchen.
“Cecil, stop eating the potatoes!” she shouts. “Dinner is in twenty minutes. You can wait.”
I snicker. “You tell ‘em, baby.”
Her groan bleeds through the line. “Ugh, I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
Things go quiet on her end, the small sound of a door click piercing the silence. “Wanna know something kind of embarrassing?”
“Always,” I supply.
“You might think it’s gross.”
“You should tell me anyway.”
The thing about Hannah’s smile is, it’s something you feel in your bones. From thousands of miles away, even though I can’t see it, I know it’s there.
“I haven’t washed my sheets or the ones at your cabin because I like that they smell like you.” Like us.
“So gross.”
She rolls her eyes—something else I don’t have to see to know with absolute certainty. Hannah James is the most compelling subject in my universe, and I am nothing if not a model student.
“But it’s also cute,” I add. “I suppose I owe you something embarrassing now?”
“It’s only fair.”
I kick my feet up on the deck railing, sink deeper into my chair. “Bri caught me staring at your picture on my phone this morning.”
She huffs a warm laugh. “Which one?”
“Just one I took out on the dock.”
Her, knees tucked under her chin, hot chocolate in hand, long golden hair swept all to one side.
It’s too dark because I left the flash off so she wouldn’t see me take it, but you can just make out her flicker of white teeth as she gazes up at the stars from Nana’s chair.
On the dock, behind the cabin where every beam of wood and rusty hinge, down to the soil in the ground tells the story of me.
In that single image, it was as though this place—this tangible piece of who I am—had welcomed her, saying, see? she belongs here.
It’s when I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that someday we’d make this place ours.
“Lovesick fool,” she teases.
“You’re one to talk.”
We hang up a few minutes later when Mom summons me inside and Hannah has to run interference between Artie and Richard arguing over who gets to carve the turkey.
One window is left open as we settle around the Thanksgiving table, the sound of waves beating the shore wafting through the small rental.
“Now, let’s go around and say what we’re thankful for,” Mom says. She turns to my stepsister. “Bri?”
A finger whirls around the rim of her wine glass as she considers. “I’m thankful for you, Tess, and your health. You’re kind of the only family I have, so I’m grateful you’re here.” Two of my favorite women exchange a tender smile, but there’s an emptiness in Bri’s eyes that doesn’t sit right.
“Hey,” I prod, her smile dropping a little when she looks at me. “You have me, too. Always.”
“Of course, yeah.” Bri waves a dismissive hand. “You know what I mean.”
I regard her for long seconds. Do I know what she means? She averts her gaze and takes a pull from her wine.
Mom claps her hands once. “My turn. I know it’s the obvious choice, but I’m thankful for my last doctor’s report.”
The reminder of the reason we came to the beach in the first place sparks a genuine excitement among the three of us.
Mom’s scans at her most recent follow-up last week showed no immediate concerns.
No more surgeries. Her PT will continue for many months to come and her nerve endings may take over a year or more to fully repair themselves.
She’ll need to continue using her cane or walker when the pain flares up, but her doctors assured us the need for assistive devices will diminish with time.
And we’ll go in for scans every couple months to ensure no issues arise, but the operating tables, extended hospital stays, surgery wound care—it’s all done.
When I asked how she wanted to celebrate, she knew right away: Thanksgiving at the beach.
“And”—she folds a hand over Bri’s and mine—“for my kids.”
Bri’s lips flutter before lifting into a grin—a flash of hesitation. Mom calls on me before I can parse out what it might mean. “Rowan?”
I bounce my eyes between the two of them.
My response doesn’t come quickly—there’s so much I’m thankful for this year, I’m not sure how to narrow it down.
Naturally, my thoughts circle to Hannah, and I know Mom and Bri wouldn’t be surprised if my only answer was her.
But I owe so much to the two women sitting at this table with me.
“I know I’m not good at asking for help, but I’m trying to be better about not going at everything alone.
” I shift in my seat, clear my throat. “So, I’m thankful for the two of you and how you’re always there when I need you most, whether or not I asked for it.
” A thoughtful silence expands the air, and I lock eyes with Mom and then Bri, holding a bit longer on the latter.
“I love you both very much. And I suppose if I’m thankful for the people who show up for me time and time again, I have to say I’m also thankful for”—I lift my beer—“Walker Willis.”
Bri barks a laugh I saw coming a mile away, smile wide behind her wine glass. She’s not as inconspicuous as she thinks she is. Her amused eyes meet mine as I tip back my bottle. I just arch a brow like yeah, I see you.
Dinner rolls along as the sun sets. Mom and Bri collapse onto the couch while I take care of the dishes, the two of them giggling over some Christmas movie they’ve found on the television.
I imagine Hannah laughing around her table with the guys, Kristen showing up in her pajamas after everyone’s left to share a pie straight from the dish with her best friend.
I imagine Hannah curled up in one of the rocking chairs on Nana and Pops’ dock, looking up at the stars. An uncomfortable surge of adrenaline rushes through me when I recognize the snapshot doesn’t include me.
The life I want for myself isn’t a secret. Pretty sure I wear it on my sleeve like a tattoo. But things outside of my control have kept me from taking hold of it. No time like the present to swallow my pride and ask for help.
We wave Bri off early the next morning as she heads for the airport since she’s due back in Dallas for a shift tomorrow. Mom and I opt to stay one more night before returning to Charlotte.
After getting the holiday recap from Hannah over the phone, complete with a picture of the tiny Christmas tree she set up at the cabin that made my chest physically ache, I find Mom out on the deck, scrolling on her laptop.
She closes the screen on my approach and sets it aside. “Hey, sweetheart. How’s Hannah?”
“She’s good.” I drag a chair over. “Can we talk?”
“Of course.”
My shoulders rise and fall, gaze searching the water for a few beats before I look at Mom. “I wanna go back to Colorado.” A swallow. “Permanently.”
Her lips twitch, soft eyes locked on mine.
“I need to be with Hannah, Mom. She’s…it for me.
But I don’t wanna live two time zones away from you.
So I was wondering if you’d come with me.
” I take a deep breath and wait. She doesn’t answer.
“I was thinking we could sell the house and use the money to build you a place on the lake. Whatever you want, I’ll build it for you, just…
” I pinch my eyes, choose my words differently. “I’m asking you to come with me.”
Her hand comes to rest on my cheek.
“Please, Mom.”
She stares at me for too long and I think she might refuse—tell me the same thing she’s always told me, that she’s not ready to leave. My heart pounds in the silence as I wait for her to say something.
Without warning, and with a paradoxical look of affection on her face, her palm makes sharp contact with my jaw—it doesn’t hurt, but it’s definitely enough to make me flinch.
I jolt back. “What was that for?”
“For ruining the surprise.” At my bewildered look, she collects her laptop and opens the screen. “I’ve been doing some research the last few days.”
Mom clicks through tab after tab on her internet browser. Realtor listings, local neighborhood price comps, moving company directories, house listings in Boulder. I close the last tab without a word and she chuckles.
“I realized something when I was back there for Norm’s funeral.” She closes the laptop, tone sobering. “I’ve waited for something here that might not ever come. At fifteen years, I think it’s time to call it.”
Doug. She’s been waiting for Doug.
I grab her hand as she goes on. “A part of me will always hope he gets well and comes back, but I can’t sit around and wait anymore.” She releases a long breath. “If he wants to find me, he has my number.”
We all want to see my stepdad return, but I think Mom most of all.
I intertwine our fingers, my hope bound together with hers. “I hope he comes back too.”
Her expression is tight as she squeezes our palms together, then opens her screen again. “Now, let’s figure out how quickly we can get you back to your girl.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Thank you for asking.”