A Light at Winter’s End

by Julia London

  “No. Not all of it. Not you.”

  Not Wyatt. Just the situation with Wyatt.

  Thinking about it all, sorting through the complexities of her emotions, made Holly crazy. At night, she would sit on her bed after she’d bathed Mason and given him a little bit of milk and read him a story. She would sit with her legs pulled up to her chest, staring out the bay windows at the darkness, rocking back and forth, wishing, and praying. But the days kept rolling by, and the executioner kept getting closer, and Hannah kept rebuilding her life and her relationship with Mason, while Wyatt kept trying to be there for Holly, and January turned into February, and Holly could not find peace.

  She wanted peace. She wanted to feel good about everything again. She wanted to feel like she had the world by the tail. But how did she grab onto it?

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The only moments when Hannah felt whole were those she spent with Mason. That little boy with the big smile and the curly hair had brought her back to the land of the living, and her determination to atone for her behavior during the first year of his life grew stronger each day.

  It had not been easy, obviously. When she’d returned to Austin after her stint in treatment, Hannah had felt so fragile. That was several weeks ago, and now she felt entirely capable of reclaiming her life.

  She had to thank Rob in part for it. Rob Turner was not the most handsome guy Hannah had known, and he could, at times, be annoyingly cheerful, but the man had the biggest heart of anyone she’d ever met. For the first time in her life, Hannah was seeing a man who really cared about her.

  She hadn’t intended to date Rob. She hadn’t really wanted anything from him, but Rob would not step back. “I’ve seen you this far, and I’m not going to let you down now,” he’d said with all the confidence of a partner in a big law firm, which he was. As time went on, Hannah began to find him attractive in a big teddy bear sort of way. But what really drew her to him was the way he cared about her. He took her success very personally, and he was there for her worst moments and her best.

  One night, before Holly had agreed that Hannah could see Mason, and Hannah had feared an awful, protracted fight with her sister, she’d felt such despair that she had walked down the street to a little café with the intention of having a drink.

  Just one drink, she’d told herself. One stupid drink wasn’t going to make her undo all the work she’d done in the last several months. She had had the wine list in hand when Rob had strolled in and sat down at the table with her. He had taken the napkin from the plate and whipped it open, spread it across his lap, then smiled at Hannah. “Feeling down?”

  Hannah had blinked. “Really down,” she’d admitted. “How did you find me?”

  Rob had shrugged as he’d taken the wine list from her hand. “I had a feeling.”

  Hannah had sighed wearily. “You’re always there to save me, aren’t you?”

  He’d smiled wryly. “I care about you.”

  “But it doesn’t seem fair. You’re there to save me and I … I don’t have much to offer right now.”

  “I don’t care,” he’d said in his usual cheerful manner. “I’m not here because of what you can offer me. I’m here because I care about you and there is a little boy out there who needs his mother.”

  It was the nicest thing he could ever have said to her. She’d slid her hand across the table and covered his. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

  With Rob’s help, she was slowly working her way back to normal.

  There were obstacles, of course. One was Loren. He’d harbored a crazy idea that they would get back together again. As if nothing had ever happened—as if he’d never cheated and she had never been an addict—he had thought they’d just go back to what they were. Even when Hannah had finally told him that would never happen, he’d been resistant. “You act like there was never anything between us.”

  “Loren, listen to me. There was never anything between us. We married for all the wrong reasons.”

  “Give me a break. Did you learn that from some shrink?”

  When Loren had finally understood she would never take him back, he’d threatened her with Mason. “There’s not a court in Texas that will give him to you,” he’d said angrily.

  “What will I do?” Hannah had tearfully asked Rob later, convinced that her stay in rehab would shift the court’s favor to Loren. It was a nightmare—Loren didn’t care about Mason. He’d seen his son only about half a dozen times over the last several months, but he had no trouble using his own child to get what he wanted.

  “No offense, but he doesn’t want you,” Rob had said to Hannah. “He just doesn’t like to lose. I’ve known Loren Drake a long time—longer than you have—and I promise you that is what this is about. He does not like to lose.”

  But Loren had lost. Rob had had a talk with him, and Loren had conceded on the issue of Mason. “You can have him,” Loren had angrily informed Hannah. “But you can’t have that house. Got that, Hannah? You are not going to milk me for the worst years of my life.”

  Hannah could not have cared less about that stupid house. It had been Loren’s from the beginning. Hannah had never wanted the house and its furnishings; she’d just followed along behind Loren, drinking her wine and nodding in a blurry haze. “What did you say to him?” she’d asked Rob over dinner that night.

  Rob had grinned and shrugged. “Anh,” he said with dismissive wave of his hand. “Loren has a few skeletons in his closet that have no bearing on you. But they are useful in negotiating. So was that house. He thinks it is worth something.”

  “It probably is.”

  “I am sorry you gave it up,” Rob had said.

  “Not me. It’s a part of my past I don’t want to remember, much less have to deal with.” Hannah wanted a new beginning, free of Loren, free of the person she’d been then.

  Her second obstacle was work. Hannah was intimidated by her return to the office, convinced that everyone knew about her fall from grace. One of the things she’d learned in therapy was that she and Holly had been raised to believe that appearances to others mattered more than anything else. It was what drove Hannah to be perfect and, she suspected, what had made Holly turn away achievement for fear of failure. Rob said it didn’t matter what anyone thought, and that they were too busy thinking of themselves to think about Hannah.

  Nevertheless, Hannah felt entirely conspicuous. She tried to suppress memories of things she’d done at the office when she was high—losing checks, letting things fall through the cracks. Vomiting in the ladies’ room after a drinking binge the night before. But the memories were like roaches—ugly little things that snuck in through the cracks in her resolve.

  And then Tamara, her second in command, the woman who wanted her job and, Hannah was certain, thought she’d have it, sidled into her office one day and said, “Did your sister ever find you?”

  Hannah had looked up from her work. “Excuse me?”

  “Your sister,” Tamara said. “She called one day last year looking for you. She didn’t know where you were.”

  Hannah blinked. She smiled. “Yes, she found me. Thanks.”

  “No problem,” Tamara said, and slid out.

  It was time, Hannah thought, to find a new job. A new start. When she had Mason, she would find a new job.

  But the hardest, most gut-wrenching aspect of Hannah’s recovery was Holly. Holly had obviously accepted that Mason would come back to Hannah. Yet Holly was Hannah’s little sister, and no matter what had passed between them, Hannah’s heart ached for her. She couldn’t begin to imagine how painful this was for Holly, for it was clear how much she loved Mason.

  The guilt Hannah felt for having put Holly in this horribly untenable position was stifling, but Hannah couldn’t turn back the clock. She could not make this better for Holly, short of giving Mason up. But she could spend the rest of her life trying to fix what was broken between them. It was her silent promise to her sister. It was all s
he had.

  In the third week of February, springlike temperatures arrived, and so did Hannah’s release from the transitional house. She moved her few things to the condo she’d bought with her savings. It was close to the Montessori day care, where she’d managed to reserve Mason a space in the toddler program. The condo had a backyard that was perfect for a small dog, and there was a playground across the street.

  Hannah had furnished the condo with items taken from the Tarrytown house, and she was happy with it. But she wouldn’t spend her first night of freedom there because she was going out to the homestead. She thought she ought to come and spend a few nights with Mason and Holly, so that Mason would not be surprised when he left with Holly and moved with Hannah to his new home. To Hannah’s great surprise, Holly agreed. Hannah had expected an argument, but she got none.

  “That will be fine,” Holly said.

  “Seriously?”

  “It’s best for Mason.”

  “Right,” Hannah said. “It’s best for Mason.”

  Holly was waiting for her when Hannah pulled up to the house. Mason was playing in the yard, happily chasing after a litter of barn kittens. When he saw Hannah, he said, “Kitty!”

  Hannah’s heart opened up like a flower. “I see him!” she said, and squatted down to give Mason a hug. But when Mason squirmed to get away and run after the cat, Hannah stood up and looked at Holly. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” Holly said. “I’ve been staying in your old room. You can stay in whichever room you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  Holly turned around and walked up the porch steps and into the house.

  Hannah sighed. She was under no illusion that this would be anything less than three days of torture for her and Holly both. “Mason!” she said brightly, and held out her hand for her son.

  “No!” Mason shouted, and ran from Hannah.

  When she’d corralled Mason and brought him inside, she set him down in the living room and glanced around. Holly had left the house as their mother had had it, but now there was sheet music, a guitar case, and toys everywhere. She guessed her mother would not be happy with the clutter; she used to ground Holly for spreading her life around her room and not picking it up.

  Hannah could hear Holly banging around in the kitchen, opening cabinets and then shutting them, and followed the sounds after she’d made sure Mason was occupied.

  Holly looked up when she entered. “Where’s Mason?”

  “In the living room. Something smells really good,” Hannah said.

  “Roast,” Holly said, and opened the fridge.

  “Roast? Where’d you get it?”

  Holly shut the fridge. She was holding a can of biscuit dough. “I made it.”

  Hannah smiled at what she thought was a joke, but Holly did not. “You made it?” she repeated incredulously.

  Holly’s gaze flicked over Hannah. “Yes, I made it. I’ve been teaching myself to cook.” She nodded toward the bar, and Hannah saw their mother’s old cookbook. It was open, and bits of paper and index cards stuck out from between the pages.

  “Wow,” Hannah said. “That’s great. Surprising, but really great.”

  Holly shrugged, cracked open the can of biscuits, and began to lay them out on a cookie sheet.

  “Is there something I can do to help? Set the table?” Hannah asked, and turned around to see that the table was already set. For three. “Oh,” Hannah said. “Is someone coming?”

  “Wyatt.”

  “Ah.” Hannah was actually relieved. She liked Wyatt, what little she knew of him. Frankly, she’d welcome anyone. This was uncomfortable. Holly obviously didn’t want to be alone with Hannah, and it left Hannah feeling wobbly … and a little despicable. “Looks like you’ve got it all under control,” she said uneasily. “I’ll just put my stuff away.”

  “Wait,” Holly said, and Hannah felt almost hopeful as she turned back to her sister. Holly picked up a dish towel and frowned down at her hands as she wiped them. “I don’t know how to ask this.”

  “Ask me anything,” Hannah said. Anything, Holly. Anything.

  Holly drew a breath. “Okay,” she said. “I found the pills in the toilet. I got rid of the wine bottles that were in the closet. I need to know if there is anything else in the house.”

  The blood drained from Hannah’s face. She shook her head.

  Holly considered her for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll take your word for it.” She turned back to the stove.

  Holly would never trust her again. Never. Could she blame her? Hannah made herself walk out of the kitchen, away from the air of disapproval and distrust. In the living room, she picked up her bag, then her son, and whispered to him that she loved him as she walked up the stairs. She went to the nursery first to change him. She looked around the room and felt a wave of nausea. In those weeks after her mother died, Hannah would bring Mason out here. She’d put him in his crib, then go downstairs and drink. He would cry when he wanted out, and Hannah had had the ability to ignore him. God have mercy on her soul. Hannah shook her head and looked down, blinking back tears.

  “Doggie,” Mason said, and held up a plush dog toy.

  Holly was right not to trust her. Hannah could hardly trust herself. But they were still sisters, and somehow Hannah had to find a way for them to be sisters again, in spite of all that had gone between them.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Holly could hear Mason’s laughter drifting downstairs and into the kitchen. He was squealing happily, having a grand time with his mother.

  She went through the motions of making dinner. She felt like a fool cooking like this. It was like she still had one foot in the little fantasy she’d created. Holly, a cook? Hannah had been shocked, and really, what a laugh! Okay, so she could heat up a roast with the best of them and open a can of biscuits. Holly wasn’t a cook. She was a glorified oven operator.

  Holly heard a vehicle pulling up to the house and leaned over the kitchen sink, peering out the window, squinting in the waning light of the day. She saw Wyatt get out of his old truck with Milo and reach into the bed. She smiled as he heaved a big sack of something onto his shoulder. She loved him. No matter what else, she loved Wyatt.

  Holly tossed the dishrag off her shoulder and went out onto the porch. “Hey,” she said as Wyatt walked across the yard.

  “Hi baby,” he said, and smiled up at her.

  “What have you got?”

  “Fertilizer. I am determined to bring this yard back to life this spring.”

  God, she did love him—so why was this so hard? “Jillian called today,” she said. “The will has been probated.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I can sell this place now.”

  “That’s good news. Are you still willing to sell it to me?”

  “Of course.”

  Wyatt grinned and dropped the bag of fertilizer on the ground. He put his hands on his waist and gazed up at her. He was such a handsome man. A kind man. A great father to Grace, a hard worker … So what was her problem?

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Holly tried to smile, but somehow the smile came out as a shake of her head, and Wyatt mounted the steps, wrapped his arms around her, and held her tight. He kissed her temple, but he didn’t say anything. He just held her. It felt good to have him hold her.

  Holly drew back and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Wyatt. For everything.”

  “Whoa,” he said, and arched a brow. “That sounds like you’re going to give me my paycheck and send me home.”

  She laughed. “I just want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

  Wyatt’s smile faded; he kissed her. “The feeling is mutual.”

  The sound of Mason’s laughter reached them, and Holly slipped her arm around his waist. “I should get dinner.” They walked in together, their arms around each other’s waist.

  Hannah was standing inside with Mason in her arms. She looked nervous, Holly thought. It was so strange to se
e Hannah nervous and uncertain.

  “Are you sure there isn’t something I can do to help?” she asked Holly.

  This was bizarre. That was usually Holly’s line, and then Hannah would give her a look of impatience and say no, it was taken care of. “No, thanks,” Holly said. “It’s all taken care of.” But playing Hannah in this bizarre little play didn’t suit Holly at all. “You could help keep Mason occupied. He likes to help.”

  Hannah nodded. “Hello, Wyatt.”

  “Hannah.”

  Holly put the food on platters. She carried the food to the table, filled glasses with water—she’d taken all the wine from the house and given it to Wyatt—and then looked around. There was nothing left to do but eat. “Okay,” she said. “Dinner is served.”

  And what an interminable dinner it was.

  They sat down after making sure Mason was situated. Holly had put his chair next to Hannah. She could hardly bear to do it—not feeding him seemed the last act of surrender—but she had to do it for Mason’s sake.

  She sat across from Hannah and kept her focus on her plate. Wyatt was at the head of the table, and he tried very hard to lighten the mood. “How are things going for you, Hannah?” he asked.

  “Oh. Good. All things considered,” she said, and self-consciously tucked a tuft of hair behind her ear. “I, ah … I reserved Mason a spot in a Montessori school near where I live,” she said, looking at Holly.

  “Oh, that’s great,” Wyatt said. “I hear those are good schools.”

  “Yes, I think he’ll really like it there,” Hannah said. “And there is a playground across the street from my condo.”

  Holly forced a bite of roast down her throat. Her throat was dry, as dry as the inside of her. “That’s wonderful,” she said. For all her anguish, she was trying too.

  “The roast is delicious,” Hannah said.

  “Thank you,” Holly said.

  No one said anything for several moments. Mason babbled about his food and tried to fit carrots on his little spoon.