Chapter 6 #2
I handed her a purple petunia to plant, and we both moved down the patch of dirt along the front of my mom’s brick rambler home, digging and planting.
Every year, my mom lined her flowerbed with petunias, but she hadn’t gotten to it yet.
She had been busy managing the diner near the highway where she’d worked since I was a kid.
After my welcome speech and roping lesson, the guests had activities in the lodge planned for them, which gave me a few hours off.
I picked Sophie up early from Kelsey’s, and after sharing a piece of chocolate cake from Chad’s restaurant, we ran into town to grab some of my mom’s favorite flowers.
“Wait, just a sec, Bug,” I began, squinting her way and leaning toward her. “I think there’s another big weed right here!”
She knew what I was about and instantly squealed while attempting to stand, but not before I grabbed her and hoisted her up, flipping her so that her stomach was on my right shoulder, holding her arms out while I spun around until we both landed on the grass, dizzy and laughing.
“Again!” Sophie cried out on top of me, her elbows jabbing mercilessly into my ribs and other more vital places as she attempted to stand.
“Alright,” I said as I rolled over, pulling her back onto the grass and tickling her.
“No! Not that. Spin me!” she demanded in bits between infectious giggles. Her blonde hair spilled around her on the grass, framing a perfect, dirt-smudged little face.
We were interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up to a stop in the driveway in front of the garage. I turned to see my mom step out of her old Buick.
“Grandma!” Sophie wiggled free from my arms and ran toward my mom, wearing wrinkled diner clothes, looking tired but happy as she gathered her granddaughter in her arms.
“What are you two doing here?”
“We’re planting your flowers!” Sophie said excitedly, grabbing her hand and dragging her to the dirt. “Then Dad said I was a weed and he had to pick me.”
“He did, did he?” My mom glanced over at me.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, dusting off my jeans as I walked toward her, letting her pull me into a quick side squeeze.
“Why are you two planting my flowers? I was going to do it.”
“We wanted to,” I said as I grabbed one of the four remaining flowers and began digging a spot.
“Grandma, can I play with chalk?”
Once Sophie was settled on the driveway, scribbling happily with the sidewalk chalk my mom kept around just for her, she knelt down beside me and began planting.
“I walked past all the pretty flowers to grab these ugly junkers,” I remarked pleasantly.
“Oh, you stop it!” She laughed, bumping the side of my body while I grinned. “I love petunias. They’re so cheerful.”
“Is that leak in your sink doing better?”
She smiled. “Yes, thank you. Not sure what I’d do without you.”
“Well, I’m not any sort of plumber, so that project could have definitely gone either way.”
I looked up to where she’d parked her car outside the detached garage. “Why aren’t you parking in the garage?”
“I moved your truck in there.”
My stomach tightened, glancing toward the pasture where it had sat all winter. “Why? Just keep it out with the cows.”
“That is a nice truck. I had to have a neighbor come over and help me jump-start it to get it into the garage.”
“I’m gonna get rid of it soon. I just haven’t figured out what to do with it yet.”
“You need to be driving it, Jake.”
“I’m not driving it.”
“Then sell it.”
“I don’t want any money from him.”
“And I thought your dad was stubborn.”
I threw my concentration toward the flowers, not appreciating her claiming I was anything like him.
“I’m either going to find a landmine and blow it up or sell it and donate the money somewhere.
I just haven’t decided yet.” Possibly because I didn’t even want my dad getting credit for any sort of charity either.
“Your old truck is barely hanging on. I was at Bill Tucker’s shop the other day, and he told me the same thing.
” I made a noise but kept my focus on digging the dirt in front of me.
She started again; this time her voice was softer.
“It was a gift, Jake. You should use it. It’s been years.
I’ve moved on from it all. You should too. ”
I laughed, though nothing was funny. It came out bitter, and I hated that it sounded like I cared one way or the other.
I didn’t. “I’ve moved on, but that doesn’t mean I have to use his bribery toy.
” I glanced at the brick garage, hating that the useless truck was taking up her space, and vowed to get rid of it soon. “I want you to use the garage, Mom.”
“I don’t need it in the summer. Stop bossing me around.”
Reluctantly, I gave her a salute and let her win this one.
“Soph! Five more minutes, then we have to go!” I called to my daughter.
My mom sighed. “Thank you for doing this, Jake. I don’t know when you have the time to run to my house and do my chores…” she trailed off, tucking a strand of silver-brown hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you worrying about me so much. I promise I’m doing just fine.”
That was my mom. Independent to a fault.
There was no question what made her that way—or rather, who made her that way—but I had devoted my life to making sure that I was not any sort of burden on her.
If taking a half hour out of my afternoon with Sophie to pick weeds was any sort of help to her, I’d do it every week. I owed her everything.
“Speaking of Bill,” she began, “he told me Shelby was working on the ranch with you. I didn’t know that.”
“She’s taking pictures for the ranch for a couple of months. Then she’s moving.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s good.”
There was a beat of silence before she added, “Have you had fun catching up?” as her pointed eyebrow raised in my direction.
“Yup.”
She laughed. “You need to bring her by to say hi sometime. Is she…dating anybody?”
There it was. She looked innocent, with stress wrinkling around her kind eyes and slightly graying hair, but deep down, she was just like the rest of them.
Lying to my mother was bad, but technically, Shelby had gone on a date with Briggs, and that sounded like enough.
“You can call off the hounds, Mom. She’s dating Briggs. ”
If my mom made any sort of face at that, I was deep in the weeds and not caring.
“Well, I saw one of your old friends in the diner tonight,” she went on.
“Who?”
“Ellie Rogers. You remember her?”
When I said nothing, she continued, “She was a couple of years younger than you in school, but she sure remembers you.” She gave a little laugh while my stomach tightened in annoyance.
“She’s recently divorced too and a little bored, I think.
She told me she’d love to catch up, if you’re interested. ”
I tried hard to keep my expression even. “I’m good, thanks.”
Would this be my constant battle being back home—dodging set-ups and blind dates? How many times did it take for a person to refuse before people would finally believe me? It was almost tempting to move again, even though just thinking those thoughts brought a pang to my gut. This place was home.
“It’s been over a year since she left.”
Her words were soft but sharp. A knife to the gut.
Not because I felt any lingering sentiment toward my ex-wife (I didn’t) but because of the way people around me viewed time.
Apparently, 365 days was the appropriate span of time to be done grieving something.
It didn’t matter that I had no interest. To the outside world, one year seemed to be the required due diligence before the damage had been repaired enough to move on.
To try again. As if recovering from the obliteration of a family had a time stamp.
The year of my supposed grief had flown by in a mixture of panic, anger, and survival, which happened when the only thing you were trying to do was keep your head above water.
I didn’t recall grieving while selling my house in Washington.
I was happy to get rid of any memory involving Miranda.
I didn’t recall grieving while scrounging to pay bills when my wife had taken our entire savings with her.
It was survival mode that helped me to find a daycare, navigate Sophie’s tantrums that followed us ever since, and finally, our move back to Eugene.
But now it had been a whole year.
I guess that damn horse was ready for me to hop back on again.
“I understand that you might not be ready, but I just…I don’t want you to write off relationships forever. One day, I want you to try again.”
“You never did,” I interrupted, immediately annoyed that I had added input. My usual move with conversations like this was to smile, nod, and ignore. But the double standard here was hard to push aside.
“No. I didn’t. But I wish I had. For your sake.”
“We did just fine,” I insisted, moving to wipe my dirt- and mud-caked hands on the grass, certain I wouldn’t have wanted another man in my mom’s house growing up.
“We did. Because you stepped up and took care of us both, even though you were just a kid yourself. And I told myself that it was enough. That we were just fine together. But now I wonder what it would have been like if I had remarried and you’d had a decent father figure in your life—“
“Okay. Sophie’s crying,” I interrupted, pointing toward my daughter humming happily while drawing on the sidewalk. “We’d better go.”
She laughed. “Alright, I’ll stop. I just…” She took a step closer. “I don’t want you hiding away the rest of your life. You’re too good, Jake.”
“Sophie, don’t cry! We’re leaving,” I called out again while Sophie objected loudly, and my mom shook her head.
“Go on a date, Jake. Please. You might feel better.”
“That’s enough out of you, old lady,” I said lightly, calling Sophie over to give her grandma a hug. “We brought you some dinner from Chad’s. It’s in the fridge. If there are a couple bites missing from the cake, it was Sophie.”
She laughed, the lines on her face softening as she patted my cheek like I was a child. “Thank you. You’ll make some woman very happy one day.”
Which was my cue to leave.