by Leslie North
Annabeth put Scott in the highchair attached to the table. She put his bowl in front of him, a spoon in his small fist, and dropped into the next seat.
“Is it good?” Annabeth asked Scott.
“Good,” he repeated, then turned in his seat and pointed his spoon at Rachel. “Mama, sit.” She smiled at her son, loving each new word he learned to say.
“She’s resting a minute,” Annabeth told him gently. “You know, Rachel...don’t overthink this. If he’s not able to give you what you want, he’s not the right man for you. That’s all I want to say about it. I’m the last person who would think you needed to stay with him just because he’s Scott’s dad.”
“I know,” Rachel said. But her friend’s words didn’t help. No weight lifted from her tired shoulders. Nothing helped. All she could think about was what it would feel like if she were settling into Jonas’s tonight—wanting him close. Not that she wanted to admit that to Annabeth. “Thank you for sticking around,” Rachel added.
“You want me to stay the night?”
No. That was the right answer. Rachel was a single mom, and Scott was her responsibility, and no one else’s. And yet...help sounded nice. More than nice. “Yeah. The spare bedroom is already made up.”
“Okay.” Annabeth tickled Scott’s arm. “Hear that, buddy? I’m staying the night.”
“Stay,” Scott repeated, shoving another bite of food into his mouth. Most of it anyway.
The three of them whiled away the afternoon, not discussing the elephant in the room. It was easier to pretend nothing was wrong. Annabeth took Scott for a walk on the paths through the apartment complex, both coming in with pink cheeks and red noses from the cold. But it had been a wonderful respite for Rachel as she tried to sort out her life.
Annabeth ordered Indian food for dinner, and Rachel joined them at the table. The pain in her shoulder seemed to be letting up, at least a little—every time the pain medication wore off, it hurt a little less. She picked her way through a plateful of butter chicken and naan. By the time they were finished eating, Scott was yawning, and starting to fuss.
“I got this,” Annabeth offered. “Let me get him in his PJs.”
Rachel was as tired as Scott looked, and she didn’t have the energy to argue with her friend. She could hear them in the bathroom as Annabeth washed his hands and face, brushed his hair, and helped him with his miniature toothbrush.
“He’s all yours,” she said, coming back to the living room. Annabeth handed a sleepy boy off to Rachel.
She took him into his room, rocking him back and forth a minute in the shadowy dark, her son cuddled on her shoulder. Would it be like this if Jonas were here? Would they both come to the side of the crib, or would he wait for her in the living room, like Annabeth was doing now?
Scott didn’t protest bedtime, lying down almost at once. Rachel was all for joining her son in slumberland, but Annabeth had other ideas, having turned on the TV.
“How are you doing?” her friend asked as Rachel sat in the overstuffed recliner.
“I’m all right. And I’m glad you’re here,” Rachel said. “Turn it up a bit.”
The two of them watched TV until Rachel’s eyes were burning, and she stood, stretching her good arm above her head. “I hate to say it, but I’m tired,” she admitted. “Do you need anything before I go to bed?”
Annabeth gave her a long look. “I’m fine,” she said. She stood, putting her arms around Rachel, careful not to jostle her arm. “Have a good sleep.”
They went their separate ways, and for the first time all afternoon, Rachel gave in to the urge to check her phone. She flipped through the notifications sitting on the edge of her bed. Missed call after missed call, all from her mother.
More importantly, none from Jonas.
Her shoulder hurt. Her chest hurt. Or was it her heart?
You wanted him to let you go, and he did. This is what you wanted.
Then why didn’t it feel good? Why did it feel so awful he hadn’t called? The lack of his name on her phone screen was a gaping wound, even more painful than her arm. More painful than anything she’d ever experienced.
She turned out the light and curled up in her own bed, rolling over at the last minute onto a soft lump in the middle. Rachel searched with a hand and came up with the fuzzy shape of a stuffed elk. The emotions of the past week—of the past day, of the past hour—came crashing down on her, along with that old familiar letdown of the holidays being over. No more Jonas. No more holidays. No more merry and bright at the Elk Lodge. No more Christmas music, and no more wild hope—
When she’d seen his face and his reaction to his son, it had swept over her like a wave. Now, just like a wave that had crashed into the shore and receded, the hope was gone, and she was left with an aching heart.
Rachel burst into silent tears, all of them dripping down onto her pillow. She cried and cried until, finally, sleep carried her away.
19
The storm had barreled in while Jonas wasn’t looking, pinning him down to the resort. He couldn’t see past his two hands when he left to go home and get his car. He scanned the skies, hoping Rachel managed to stay ahead of the storm. He went back inside the lobby.
His brothers looked up at his approach. “You’re not leaving?” Gabe asked.
“The snow’s coming down hard and fast. It’s whiteout conditions out there,” he said, his plan rearranging itself around the new circumstances.
“Sorry. Maybe it’s for the best,” Chase said. “Grandmother sent a message. She’s not feeling well—and plans to stay in her rooms the rest of the day.” A spike of fear drove itself through Jonas’s heart. This was all his fault. She was a frail and sick woman, and he upset her. She was supposed to have more time, and he had to make things right with her. “I’m going up there.”
“Not by yourself, you’re not,” Gabe said, as his brothers stood, prepared to join him.
Jonas tried to let the warmth of the resort seep through him as they made their way to the elevator, but instead, he felt chilled to the bone. They rode up to her floor in silence, each one knowing that every day their grandmother had was a blessing that would soon come to an end.
Jonas tried the door, taking the lead. He’d been taking the lead all his life, and he wasn’t going to stop now, just because he was sick with shame and fear.
The door was unlocked, a sign the brothers were welcome. Jonas shook off the last of the chill and tried to focus. A quick glance at Gabe told him he wasn’t the only one feeling ill at the prospect of their grandmother’s swift decline. What if this was the last time they had with her? The doctors had no way of knowing.
Jonas pushed the thought out of his head. He’d treat every time he spoke to her as the possible last time. That’s what he should do with everyone just in case something went wrong and the people he loved were ripped out of his life. A new panic seized him—Rachel was out there on the road, even now. His fingers itched to text her. But he wasn’t going to do that. She’d asked for space. He was proving he could give it to her with his silence, though it felt hellish to do it.
Chase got to the bedroom door first and knocked softly. “Grandmother?”
“Come in,” she called right away.
They entered the lamplight glow of her room. She sat up in the bed, propped up on an enormous pile of pillows, her hair in its usual elegant chignon. A cup of tea was cradled in her hands, and she looked out toward the storm. “Hello, boys. It looks like it’s gotten nasty out the last few hours.”
His brothers held back, and Jonas charged in—if walking in on soft feet could be called charging. “Grandmother.” He leaned over her bed to kiss her cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“Exhausted,” she admitted, her eyes traveling over each of them. There was such sadness there. And it was because of him.
Jonas pulled up a chair next to the bed.
“Have you come to talk?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, reaching for her hand.
She put the teacup down and took his hand in hers. A silence fell over the room, almost prayerful, and Jonas waited.
“I don’t understand,” she said finally. “I don’t understand how you could have kept this secret, Jonas.”
He felt the weight of the family’s gaze on him, the way he always had, ever since the day that he knew his parents had died. It would be up to him one day. Jonas knew it with crushing certainty. And all of it—everything he’d ever done—stemmed from that moment. How could it be otherwise?
He took a deep breath. “When Mom and Dad died, I thought—I knew—that I would have to take care of everyone in any way that I could.” Jonas’s throat tightened at the memory, the old feelings welling up again. The devastating loss. The sensation of losing all sense of direction, blindly fumbling for a wall somewhere that could guide him to sunlight.
“I’ve been…I’ve been trying to survive since they died and keep everyone else moving forward, too. Including the resort. That’s what it comes down to. It’s become my life.” He tapped his chest, the gesture almost unconscious. “I can’t let it go.” He kept his voice even, but it was a struggle. “I can’t let go; this need to protect you. And my brothers. Somewhere along the line, it extended to everything—even unwelcome news. Anything I thought would upset you. I couldn’t stop. Especially now.”
Jonas sucked in a breath, the oxygen flooding his system. He’d finally been honest about the way his parents’ accident had upended him, letting himself become vulnerable to those around him.
“Oh, Jonas,” his grandmother said, clasping his hand with a gentle firmness.
“It makes me anxious,” he burst out. “To lose control. I can’t stand it, and I tried to do it again this time, and it didn’t work. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know,” she said, her voice quavering. “I knew it was awful. Horrendous, when you lost your parents. But I didn’t know that it ...had such an effect. On any of you.” Her eyes traveled around to his brothers, then settled back on his. “It can’t go on like this,” she said gently. “No matter what happens to me.”
“She’s right.” Gabe’s voice was thick with emotion. “You can’t do this forever. It’ll take you away from us just like a car accident would.”
The pressure bore down on him again, harder, before it let up. Gabe was right, which irritated him. But then a hand came down on his shoulder, then another, and his family surrounded him.
“You have to let go of some of this,” Chase added. “Some of this worry you carry. The need to be in charge of everything. For the people you love, but also for your own sanity. A person can’t keep this up indefinitely.”
Jonas held his grandmother’s hand. He found he couldn’t let go. They were all right—of course they were. It was only logical. His heart cracked open; Jonas was finally willing to admit it was something he’d known all along but refused to admit. You couldn’t fall asleep with an aching jaw and tense shoulders for years without knowing it on some level. Now it was at the forefront of his mind, waving at him, yelling at him. Cheering him on, even, because he’d finally figured it out.
“Jonas,” his grandmother’s voice broke through the introspection. He raised his eyes from where they held hands and looked into her eyes. “I forgive you for what happened with Rachel and Scott. And...” She shook her head, stopping him from interrupting. “And I forgive you for not telling me.”
“Thank you,” he said, getting a full breath of air for the first time in what seemed like years. “Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you, too. I love all of you.” The color had come back into her cheeks, and the knot at the pit of Jonas’s gut loosened. This wouldn’t be the end for her—he could see it in her face. Grandmother nestled back against the pillows. “Now, go have something to eat, the three of you. Don’t hang around here. I’m going to rest today, and I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”
They said their goodbyes; each leaning in to kiss her forehead before they left to head downstairs for lunch. It was a quiet, subdued affair, and at the end Jonas excused himself. He spent a few hours in the office, making sure everything at the resort was going smoothly. He could be unsettled. He could be wrung out from sharing so much with Grandmother. But he couldn’t let things slip at his job.
It was evening by the time he left the lodge to go home.
Crisp air and starry skies guided his walk home, helping to clear his mind. The storm had rolled over and disappeared into the night. His misery hadn’t. His grandmother’s forgiveness was a relief, but a deep sadness had settled in him. He’d lost Rachel. And in a horrible catch-22, the only way to prove his respect for her was to give her the space she wanted.
His home greeted him with a burst of warmth from the front door and another layer of quiet. Unwelcome quiet. It hadn’t been silent when Scott stayed here, and Rachel had her own ways of creating sound, her own patterns on the steps. Jonas closed his eyes and let himself imagine them there one more time. Then he hung up his coat and went in, sitting on the sofa and opening his laptop.
There were always things to check on at the lodge, and he went through his email on autopilot. It was Rachel’s name that stopped him in his tracks. Her name, there with the subject line Extra Photos.
His heart rocketed up into his throat as he clicked on it, trying to be nonchalant. And failing. Who was he pretending for? He laughed at himself in his empty house. Jonas ran a hand through his hair and braced himself for what might or might not be inside the email.
Jonas,
These were some photos that didn’t make it into the scrapbook. Wanted to make sure you had them anyway. Enjoy!
–R
Promising, right? It was probably something she did with every client, but Jonas thrilled at the friendly tones. At least she wasn’t telling him good riddance. Jonas clicked on the link at the bottom of the email. Another page opened, featuring a photo gallery with photos of his family.
Complete with vivid colors and natural smiles. She’d even caught his brothers with their new partners, looking so in love it took his breath away. But it was the photos of him with Scott that stole his heart completely.
Walking on the trails, holding his little hand, grinning down at his son. Tossing him up in the air by the Christmas tree. The two of them on the floor in this very room, Jonas helping Scott ride around on the stuffed elk.
In the photos, there was no sign of the man he’d been two hours before—the broken, anxious man who had desperately tried to keep his family together with his bare hands. The man in the photos was happy. Satisfied with the moment he was living in. He looked happier than Jonas realized he could be. Or had been.
It was what he wanted more than anything.
To be happy with Rachel and Scott.
He stared at the computer screen until his eyes burned and the images blurred in front of him, flipping through the pictures repeatedly. Down to his bones, they were what he wanted in life. Nothing else. Nothing more.
Finally, he flipped the laptop closed and went hunting through his desk for a pen and paper. He took it back to the sofa and sat down, using the laptop as a writing surface.
Jonas was going to write Rachel a love letter. He wanted to paint the life together he saw—show her what they could have together.
The decision, however, would be up to her.
Jonas wrote tens of emails every day on behalf of the Elk Lodge. None of them would ever come close to the weight of the words on this single sheet.
He rubbed at his eyes, trying to get them to cooperate, then took the pen in his hand.
Dear Rachel.
Once he started, the words began to flow until the paper was covered in his neat writing, front and back.
He’d said everything. Now all he could do was send it special delivery to her address, and hope.
20
Rachel’s shoulder felt better after a night’s sleep. Apparently, you could cry out a shoulder injury. It just wasn’t as easy for heartache. It was New Y
ear’s Eve day, but there was nothing to celebrate—not for the year going out or the new one coming in.
Annabeth only stayed for breakfast, promising to call later in the afternoon to check on her. She’d been gone three minutes when there was a knock at the door.
“Beth,” Scott cried, sprinting for the door. He reached for the doorknob but couldn’t quite make it. Which was a good thing considering his hands were still sticky with syrup from the pancakes Annabeth had whipped up. They’d been excellent—fluffy, light, and delicious, and Rachel had eaten six, making her more than a little tired.
“I’m coming, buddy,” Rachel said. Things were going to be okay, she promised herself as she made her way to the door. More than likely, Annabeth had forgotten something and had returned. Rachel pulled open the door with her non-injured arm. “What’d you forget, your—Mom?”
Her mother stood impatiently in the hall outside her apartment, snowflakes melting in her hair. “It’s time for us to have a conversation.”
The carb-coma Rachel had been about to enter disappeared in a flash, replaced with a stiffness in her back and a tension she didn’t want or need. She couldn’t believe her mother had followed her here after she’d specifically told her to go away. The woman had some nerve.
“Gamma,” Scott piped up, grabbing her by the leg. “Pick up.”
“This isn’t a good time, Mother. I think it would be better if you headed out.”
“Hi, Scott,” her mother said ruffling Scott’s curly hair. “How’s Grandma’s little boy?” It was just like her mother to ignore Rachel’s request.
“Goodbye,” Rachel said. “We can talk when it’s a better time.”
Susan held out a hand to block the door from closing, then pursed her lips like she was tasting something sour. “I’m sorry.” The words clearly hurt her to say. Susan Lincoln hated apologizing even more than she hated bad photos of her in the press, which was a lot. “I’m sorry for the pressure tactics,” she continued. “Could I come in?”