Chapter 13
Jewel hit the porch steps without slowing down, Sylvie right behind her. Once outside, it took her almost two full seconds to find them.
Both Beck and Della were pressed back against the paddock fence, shoulder to shoulder, while Scout had planted himself in front of them, every hair along his spine standing on end. His bark had now turned low and rhythmic, full of menace and warning.
And coiled at the base of the fence post, watching the three of them, was the snake.
Not a small one, either. It was thick in the middle, with a dark pattern, and its head was lifted and swaying in that slow, deliberate manner that showed it had decided not to go anywhere. Its hissing reached her from ten feet away, a dry, sustained sound that made the hair on her arms stand up.
“It’s an Eastern milk snake. And it’s a big one.” Sylvie’s voice came from just behind her left shoulder, sounding completely calm and level.
“Can you—”
But Sylvie was already moving, quickly scanning the yard before crossing to the woodpile beside the porch and grabbing a splitting maul handle from where it leaned against the stack.
She wasn’t rushing, but she wasn’t hesitating, either.
The way she moved with a calm, confident manner suggested this wasn’t her first large snake, and it probably wouldn’t be her last.
Carefully moving between the children and the snake, she spread her boots wide and used the handle to herd—rather than strike—the snake, pressing the thick end of the stick firmly against the ground just beside its body.
The hissing instantly grew louder. When Scout shifted, she told him to hush, and he obeyed.
With three slow, deliberate prods, Sylvie moved it away from the fence post and toward the tree line, where the snake uncoiled and, with a sudden fluid speed, disappeared into the brush.
Both children came off the fence at once.
Della covered the distance to her mother in four running steps, screaming in full volume, “Mommy! Mommy!”
And Beckett, without a half-second’s hesitation, did the same, his small legs churning toward her, his voice pitched to match Della’s. “Mommy!”
She was already crouching to meet him when he hit her with enough force to rock her back half a step, his arms locking around her neck and his face pressing hard into her shoulder. She held on and didn’t think—there wasn’t time.
It was only over the top of his head, when she looked up and saw Sylvie watching her with Della wrapped around her own waist, that the word fully landed.
He’d called her Mommy.
She felt the question on her face without actually intending to ask it, and Sylvie’s answer was a single lift of a shoulder and the quietest possible smile. A smile that said, let it be what it is.
She kept her arms wrapped around him, one hand at the back of his head. “It’s okay; it’s gone now. You’re okay, buddy.”
“It was hissing at Scout. It was really big.” His voice was muffled, indignant, and terrified in equal measure.
“I know. But Scout was so brave. And so were you.”
He pulled back just enough to look at her face, checking her as if making sure that his fright was being fully understood. “I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all.”
“Nobody would like that. It was scary.”
He nodded, pushing down a sob and then pressed back in, tightening his grip around her neck and burying his face against her hair.
She pressed her cheek against his and held on until he finally pulled back, swiping at his face with the back of his wrist, and looked past her toward the tree line.
“Is it going to come back?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, it can’t come back today. It’s my birthday today.”
“Snakes don’t know about birthdays. They’re very rude that way.”
He considered this with great seriousness. “Scout would bark at it again.”
“He absolutely would. Scout takes his job very seriously.”
That seemed to settle him somewhat. He slid out of her arms and down, landing on his feet, immediately looking over at Della. “Did you cry?”
Della, who was still attached to Sylvie’s side, drew herself up. “No.”
“I cried a little bit. But just a little.” He said it with the particular honesty of a boy who had decided the truth was easier than trying to pretend.
“Well, I almost cried. I didn’t, but I almost did,” Della admitted.
“That’s basically the same as being brave.” His look was one of pure admiration, and Della’s chest puffed out ever so slightly.
They all made their way back inside with Scout close behind, still conducting important perimeter checks every few feet.
The dining room awaited, its half-finished cheerfulness still lingering.
Streamers hung on one side of the doorframe; the other side remained bare.
Unopened balloon bags sat on the table, while the scent of chocolate drifted in from the kitchen like a promise.
Sylvie picked up the strand she’d abandoned. “So, where did we land on the lights?”
“How about along the buffet and then up over the window?”
“That’ll be pretty.” With a nod of approval, Sylvie started working the strand free of its remaining tangle.
Taking her cue, she pulled open the first balloon bag and began the slow, necessary task of inflation.
For a while, there was nothing but the soothing sound of two women finishing their work and the children’s voices drifting in from the living room, where they’d returned to play with their plastic horses.
The snake was already becoming a story to tell rather than a source of fear.
They heard the truck before they saw it.
Beck heard it first, just like he always did, and came skidding into the dining room with his socks sliding on the wood floor. “They’re here! Grandma’s home!”
He ran to the front door while she followed at a calmer pace, stepping onto the porch to see Conrad’s truck coming up the driveway with Cole in the passenger seat and Susan visible in the back, her silver head turned toward the window.
Conrad brought the truck to a stop and moved to the back passenger side to open the door before the engine finished ticking. He was deliberate and gentle in a way that made Jewel’s chest ache as she watched.
Susan emerged slowly, one hand on her oldest son’s arm, blinking in the afternoon light like someone coming back from a very long trip.
She looked smaller than she had a few weeks ago, even thinner and more delicately boned.
Tired. But as soon as she saw Beckett launching himself down the porch steps, her face completely lit up.
“There’s my birthday boy.” Susan’s voice was thin but warm, her arms opening up to take him in.
“Grandma! You’re home.” The boy hugged her cautiously, like a child who had been told more than once this week to be gentle. “We made the dining room beautiful. Jewel and Aunt Sylvie did it. There are lights, streamers, and everything. And Jewel got a cake, and it’s chocolate.”
Susan’s eyes lifted to find her over the top of his head. “Chocolate. My favorite kind.”
“Let’s get you in the house.” Conrad carefully guided his mother inside, his hand still at her elbow.
They settled her into her armchair, which had been arranged in the best position in the room, with a pillow behind her and, despite the mildness of the afternoon, a blanket across her lap. Before anyone even thought to ask, a cup of tea appeared from the kitchen, courtesy of Sylvie.
Conrad stood by the window, arms crossed, watching his mother with an expression that no longer had its usual guarded look. Just making sure she was real, alive, and at home.
Cole moved through the room, doing small, pointless tasks and straightening what didn’t need to be straightened, checking things that didn’t need to be checked, with a restless motion of someone trying to be useful but unsure how.
Jewel caught him in the kitchen doorway. “She looks good.”
He exhaled softly. “That she does. Better than I expected.”
“She’s tough.”
He looked past her toward the armchair, at his mother’s silver head bent over what the children were showing her, and his expression softened in a way he probably didn’t realize she could see. “Yeah. She is.”
By five o’clock, the dining room had been officially declared beautiful by the only judge who mattered.
Beck had conducted a full inspection, his hands clasped behind his back in an unconscious imitation of a serious judge.
He approved of the lights. He approved of the streamers.
And after a long, solemn moment, he stood before the cake and approved of that, too, although he noted that four candles seemed quite a lot.
Jewel smiled at him. “It is quite a lot. You’ve been alive for a very long time.”
He thought about it. “Almost as long as Della.”
“Yes, almost as long as Della.”
This seemed to please him enormously.
She lit the candles, and everyone gathered around the table.
Susan sat in the chair they brought from the living room, while Conrad stood behind Sylvie with one hand resting on her shoulder in a moment of relaxed ease.
Cole stood on the other side of the table, his blue eyes on his son, the candlelight catching the angles of his face and something in his expression that looked like a man watching a moment he already knew he’d want back someday.
Beckett stood before his cake with the gravity of someone receiving an honor.
They sang, all of them slightly off-key, with Della loud and committed, and Susan’s voice thin and sweet beneath the rest. Beckett endured it with great patience, then took a deep breath, so big it looked too large for his small chest, his cheeks puffing out as he blew.
All four candles went out at once.
The room erupted, and he looked up from the smoking wicks with an expression of such pure, uncomplicated joy that her throat tightened without warning.