Chapter 22
There isn’t much time to be found, it turns out.
Caleb works various jobs: He maintains the camp facilities and forest, leads the town council, is a volunteer firefighter, and is the person everyone calls when something goes wrong.
He’s part arborist, part handyman, part town hero.
And Lina relents, letting Abby stay with him every weeknight so she can focus on school.
It means I see Caleb every evening, with Abby in tow, but I don’t see my Caleb.
Not the one who kisses me like it’s his calling, whispers sweet words into my skin, and makes me feel like a much younger, more impulsive woman.
While watching him from across the room—interacting with Abby, caring for my mom, cuddling with Houdini—I remind myself that I’m going home as soon as Mom’s better.
I can’t afford to fall headfirst for a guy whose identity is Grand Trees itself.
We work on the grant applications while Abby does her homework, but we’re never alone. I have to restrain myself from sitting near him, touching him, staring at him. I am an expert at bottling my emotions and sealing them tight, but Caleb makes me porous.
It’s easier to guard myself with Mom. I’ve had years of practice.
I’m treading lightly, hoping I can rebuild trust before attempting another tough conversation.
I need to show her that I’m here and all in—or, at least, I want to be.
If I convince Mom, through my care and commitment, that I want what’s best for her, maybe she’ll trust me enough to listen and get treatment, prolonging her life and our chance for reconciliation.
If I had the courage to frame it that way, would it make a difference?
Would she be willing to extend her life to share her last years with me?
I’m not sure I’m ready to hear an honest answer. I’m afraid to ask.
As I change her dressing on Wednesday morning, Mom looks especially pained.
“Am I hurting you?” I ask, giving some slack on the bandage.
“No, honey. I just . . .” She trails off, and I freeze and watch her choose her words. “I’m sorry about the way I reacted the other day. It’s hard getting older and feeling like a burden—”
“You’re not a burden, Mom.”
She smiles, but it’s melancholy. “I am grateful for your offer. All I’ve ever wanted is to be closer to you.”
“Then why won’t you consider it?” I wince as I say it, like I’m begging. It pains me to offer myself up to her rejection again.
She pats my shoulder. “You’re young and should be building your life, not caring for me. I couldn’t do that to you after I . . .” She darts her eyes away. “Maybe there will come a time when I’ll need more support, and we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”
It’s something, at least. Not now. But someday.
She clears her throat and continues, “But once my bones heal, I want you to get back to your life and focus on you.”
Perhaps I jumped to the wrong conclusions about her motives. Her refusal felt like another rejection, but maybe it was meant as a kindness.
I squeeze her hand with my free one.
“And about you,” she says. “I’m worried. What happened with Jeff, honey?”
“Oh.” I’ve been dodging this conversation. Telling her the truth about his infidelity might sound like an accusation. Offering a half-truth may be a kindness of my own. “It turns out we weren’t right for each other. Jeff just figured it out before I did.”
Mom offers a warm smile. “It was amicable, then?” I sense she’s distancing my divorce from hers to ensure my recent wound didn’t open an old one.
I nod—a full lie—but I’m committed to this kindness.
“Well, then, this can be a fresh start for you. If you still loved him, it would be . . .” She looks over my shoulder, her face awash in an emotion I can’t read. “Well, it’s hard to start over when half your heart is still beating for someone else.”
I can’t take that bait. I assume she means me, but she didn’t have to leave at all. A mother should never leave. I swallow back a retort so I don’t ruin this fragile progress.
I want to find a way to set aside my lingering anger and learn to love her purely again, without falling prey to these stubborn resentments.
I want to do what I came for—forgive her and rebuild our bond.
But I’m afraid Mom and I can’t heal our relationship without digging into the hurt, and I’m not strong enough for that.
After my surgeries, I went through painful physical therapy.
My body had sealed the hurt into the fibers of my muscles, nerves, tendons, and skin, leaving me with limited mobility and debilitating pain.
But breaking through the scar tissue was more excruciating than the accident itself, as if the trauma had settled into hard, lumpy adhesions, and it put up a fight as it escaped.
For now, I suppose I’ll avoid the tender spots and do my best to make progress on our relationship without unearthing more agony.
Late Thursday afternoon, I’m working on a client project, huddled over my laptop at the kitchen counter, when Caleb arrives alone, sneaking in through the front door and scanning the space before sprinting to me. “Where’s Nicki?” he mouths.
“In her room,” I say, concerned, until he spins my stool and cups my face in his hands, kissing me so fiercely I have to take fistfuls of his shirt to keep myself upright.
He presses me against the counter, tipping my chin higher as he sinks his mouth into mine.
He catches me on a gasp and drags his hands to my jaw, my neck, my bare shoulders.
Warmth floods me, and I am desperate to be alone with him, to explore his body, find every freckle and flaw, to experience his weight on me.
But it’s over as soon as it starts, and he steps away, my lips stinging in his wake.
“Hi.” He drags his focus away from my mouth.
“Hi.” I’m dizzy from the kiss, but the front door swings open, and I come back to reality. Abby and Houdini barrel in, with noise, chaos, and pine-scented air in their wake.
Under the counter, Caleb tangles his fingers in mine and squeezes once before stepping aside to receive Houdini’s exuberant entrance.
“Eden, do you remember your worst teacher ever?” Abby stomps over, swinging her backpack onto the counter.
“Umm . . .” I’m still rattled by the kiss and its abrupt end.
“Because whoever it was, my social studies teacher is worse. He gave us a pop quiz today on something we learned three weeks ago.” She emits a little growl and slumps onto the stool beside me.
“That’s like ancient history. I didn’t even know you three weeks ago.
” She drops her forehead to the counter, her arms dangling limp at her sides.
“BE, even before BC. That’s not ancient history—it’s before history.” Caleb’s head is buried in the fridge.
I laugh, and Caleb winks at me over his shoulder.
“What?” Abby lifts her head with a blank expression.
“BE. Before Eden,” I clarify.
Abby rolls her eyes, looking between us as if we’ve grown extra appendages. “You guys are so weird.”
“I’m sorry, Abs.” I slip my hand over her ponytail. It’s wet and tangled from swim practice and stuck to her neck. I smooth it down her back. “That does seem unfair.”
“He’s evil,” she says. “And I have another three tests tomorrow.”
“You always stress and then ace it. Just skip the stressing part.” Caleb moves to the pantry, pulling out a bag of chips.
Abby and I both groan in unison.
“What?” he asks through a mouthful of Lay’s.
“Boys,” Abby says, just as I say, “Men, always thinking they can solve our worry by telling us not to worry about it.”
“Like, duh. If I could not worry about it, wouldn’t I have figured that out already?” Abby rolls her eyes.
Caleb swallows and looks from his daughter to me, then back, before whispering, “Uh-oh.”
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks from behind me. She moves so quietly that the sound of her voice startles me.
“The two of them are ganging up on me,” Caleb says.
“Did you deserve it?” She tilts her face to his with a teasing grin. She used to look at me like that—adoring, doting.
“Yes,” Abby and I say in unison, and Mom laughs while Caleb glares at me.
“How are you feeling, Grams?” Abby stands to give her a tentative hug.
“Better, actually, as long as I don’t use my arm or touch my ribs or breathe in too deeply.”
“Sounds easy enough. Why would you need to breathe?” Abby winces.
Mom pats her hand. “I’m doing fine, sweetheart.”
“Well, I’m not. I have to study for seventeen hours. Do you want to quiz me on vocab?”
Mom smiles indulgently. “Of course.”
Abby slings her backpack over her shoulder, and the two of them head into the family room, leaving Caleb and me alone-ish in the kitchen area.
I pat the stool next to me. “I need you.”
Caleb offers a lopsided little smile and mouths, “They’re right there.”
The house has zones, but there’s no privacy in this great room. I wish the house were divided into alcoves and nooks so I could press Caleb against a door and release some of the tension that’s been building since he dropped me off at my car on Monday night, already wanting more of him.
I laugh softly, and shift my laptop closer as he slides in beside me. “For the state application.”
His thigh is pressed to mine, and heat travels up my leg like ivy.
“If you say so,” he whispers against my ear, brushing a few strands of hair against my cheekbone.
It feels like a kiss. He’s playing fast and loose with our commitment to keep this private.
I snap my focus to him, intending to flash a warning look, but instead, I’m struck by the warmth in his honeyed gaze. It’s soft, playful, and irresistible.