“. . . ask your grandma.”
“Grandma!” Casey jumps up. “Can I have more hot chocolate?”
Though I can tell my mom wants to give in to Casey’s every whim, she folds her hands in her lap. “Only if your father says it’s alright. We don’t want you bouncing off the walls all night, like he used to do.”
My dad’s head whips around, and his easy expression tenses, but he doesn’t look angry.
Casey’s big brown eyes turn to me, wide and pleading. “I won’t get any on the carpet and I won’t touch anything.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Of course you can, Case.”
She grins at her grandma. “Can I have marshmallows, too?” Casey’s practically jumping in place, unable to control her excitement. “Pleeeease?”
My mom smiles and stands up, holding out her hand. “Of course, darling. Come with me.” Casey takes my mother’s long, elegant fingers and laces her small ones between them. “You can help me make it this time. I’ll even show you what the secret ingredient is.”
“Really?” And as my mom and Casey exit the room, I’m grateful that we decided to come. I’ve never seen my mother act so young and vibrant. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her this happy before; maybe I just never paid much attention. I begin to wonder if she’s right, if I’m not as stubborn as my dad, more so than I realized.
It’s only after hearing his knees creak as he rises to his feet that I realize we’re in the room, alone. He clears his throat. “You’ve got a beautiful little girl, son,” he says, stepping over to the cluster of chairs by the fire. He takes a seat in the one furthest from me, but I don’t take it personally.
“Thank you.”
“She has Kylie’s eyes and your nose. Maybe even your temper.” There might be a tinge of amusement in his voice, but I try not to look too much into it. He stares into the jumping flames and folds his hands in his lap. A few awkward moments pass before either one of us speaks again. “You made your mother very happy bringing her here to visit. She’s wanted this for a very long time.”
I’m not sure if he’s trying to make me feel like more of an ass or if he’s just making conversation. “Yeah, well, Mom was persistent.”
That earns me a small chuckle. “That she is.”
There’s more silence filled with crackling flames and ticking clocks.
“Mom said you have a big case,” I say, uncomfortable in the stillness. “I’m surprised you’re home.”
My dad makes a noncommittal sound before he answers. “Things become more clear with age, Colton. You start to reprioritize.”
“Does that mean you’re not spending so many hours at the office these days?”
He nods but says nothing. The sounds of clanking pots and pans echo through the foyer from the kitchen, and my father and I continue to sit there in stilted conversation.
“So, your mother tells me you’re living in Saratoga Falls now.”
“I am,” I say, playing out in my head how this conversation would’ve proceeded six or seven years ago. There’s nothing there, I don’t know why you chose that place. Small towns are for people who want to hide their heads in holes and don’t want to deal with real life.
“I heard it’s a quaint little town.” I straighten in my seat, interested to see where this goes. Surprised, even. “At least your mother says so. She wants to come visit you, says there are the cutest bed and breakfasts there.” Although his face remains lax and fixed toward the flames, his voice is comical as he imitates her almost perfectly.
I smile to myself and lean back into my chair. “Ah, yeah. I like it more than I would’ve thought, actually. It’s definitely different than the city.”
He nods. “Are you still working on cars or did you get a position working with Ben?”
“Still working on cars,” I say, pausing to look at him. “That’s what I do best.” But my dad’s only reaction is a slow, thoughtful nod. It’s almost like he’s got a mental list of questions that are safe to ask and he’s slowly checking them off. “Ben told me about the shop I’m at though,” I add. “It’s small but has a big reputation. Ben knows Cal’s son from the U. I’ve been working there for the better part of six months.”
He makes another noncommittal noise and continues to stare into the fire.
I wait for him to say something in reply or to ask another one of his practiced questions, but he doesn’t say anything. Try as I might, I can’t ignore the pregnant silence. “Say it,” I bite out. “Whatever it is you’re thinking—just say it. I don’t do well in miserable silence.”
He turns to me and has the audacity to look baffled. “Say what, Colton?”
“Whatever it is you’re thinking.”
He watches me a moment, an unfamiliar expression weighing his features. “I was just wondering if you’re happy,” he says, barely loud enough to hear.
Ready for an argument, I open my mouth to respond, but then his words register. “Happy?”
He looks at me again. “Yes, with your life, with your decisions. Was everything worth it?”
Although I want to curse him for being so smug, I can’t bring myself to do it. He doesn’t seem to ask it in contempt, but more curiosity. Other than being around Mac and the way she makes me feel, I haven’t allowed myself to think about happiness in a long time.
He watches me. Blinks.
“Yes,” I finally say. At least I’m getting there. “It’s been difficult, but I’m doing the work I enjoy and I get to see Casey more. I can put money away for her college, not as quickly as I’d like, but—”
“Then you made the right decision,” he says, unfolding his hands only to steeple them again.
“Really?” The ten-foot walls that go up when he’s around start to crumble. He sounds sincere. I wasn’t expecting that.
He finally looks at me again. “It’s hard to believe, I know.” He says it like it’s a normal reaction—a normal conversation between us. “But despite some of the things I’ve said, I have never wanted you to be unhappy, son. I’ve disagreed with your life choices and I’ve judged you for them, but I’ve never wanted you to be a failure or be miserable because it would teach you a lesson.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just wanted you to be okay. I thought working for me would ensure that, but clearly I was wrong.”
My mouth is gaping, but I close it before he notices.
“Don’t look at me like that, Colton. I’m not completely heartless.” He smiles and stands up, stretching before he moves to poke at the fire.
“And you’ve waited this long to tell me all of this . . . why?” It’s everything I can do to keep myself from being a confused, pissed-off teenager.
“Back then you were spoiled and young. I thought for sure you didn’t know what you were throwing away.” He tosses something into the fire. “Parents always know best.” He looks at me and grins. “Am I right?”
I can’t help it. I smile, just a little. “I’d like to think so.”
Then, after he stares at me for a few heartbeats, his expression changes and his eyebrows draw together. “I know I was hard on you,” he says thoughtfully. “Then you started getting into trouble, racing and drinking . . . then there was that accident . . . of course I wanted you to be here, home and safe, where we could keep an eye on you.” But his words are too punitive, too easy and seemingly insincere, and my hackles begin to rise again.
“You were worried about me? I was in the hospital for weeks, in physical therapy for months, and you never bothered to come see if I was okay, not one single time.” His nonchalance stokes a long-burning flame of hurt and resentment. “Every day I would look in that doorway and hope that you’d be standing there with her and you never were.”
He turns around, his face red. “I visited you, Colton. I saw how badly you were hurt. I sat with you, your mother and I both did, for hours before you gained consciousness.”
Resentful words dissolve from my tongue and I’m speechless. “Why didn’t
Mom ever say anything? Why didn’t you ever come back?”
“Once you woke up, I refused to sit there and watch you suffer. You did that to yourself, and I get it, you were going through a tough time, but I had tried to help you and you pushed me away. Call it a prideful moment.”
“You pushed me away! You said I was a disappointment.”
“Words said in anger, Colton. Do you think me that callous? You thought I wouldn’t come see you, my only son who almost died? That I never wanted to see you again? Yes, I was angry with you, but things change. You’d know that if you weren’t such a damn stranger. It’s been tearing your mother to pieces.”
That gives me pause. I know she’s been anxious, persistent even, but I never realized how deeply my distance has affected her.
My dad shakes his head and lets out a heavy breath. When he leans against the hearth and rubs his eyes, I realize how much older he looks, how gray his hair is—how tired. “I’m not a patient man,” he grumbles. “I’m not compassionate like your mother. But I’m not the tyrant you’ve always made me out to be.” His voice is rough and constricted. “I’ve done my best by you. I’ve tried to protect you and provide for you the only way I know—the only way you’d let me.” He finally looks at me, his eyes red. “When I saw you in the hospital bed, all I could see was failure—my failure and guilt for pushing you to such extremes.”
My heart sinks, plummets, and thuds in my gut, and I have to force myself to breathe.
“That’s why you never called,” I realize, another resentment dissolving away.
“I couldn’t help you, and I wasn’t sure you wanted me to anyway. So I left—I gave you your space.” He huffs. “I ran away.”
I lean back in my chair as moments I once saw in shadows of anger and regret become moments of clarity.
“I knew better than to go street racing; that had nothing to do with you. I blamed Kylie at the time, anyway, not you. I was being reckless and stupid—that was on me.” The remnants of a spoiled brat who didn’t get his way.
He looks at me with an understanding I’ve never seen in his eyes before. “I’m not sure you would’ve felt so abandoned by her if you hadn’t felt something like that before.” A part of me knows he’s right; I wasn’t just angry when he’d sent me away, I was heartbroken.
I walk over to the window facing the English garden my mom spends half her days in. “Your mother will be back any minute. We’d better be talking about something or she’ll worry.”
I nod, but I can’t think of a single thing to say.
“How’s Kylie? Is she still with that deplorable Scott guy? Do we still hate him?”
Surprised, I glance over my shoulder.
My dad smiles. “Your mother told me sometime last year that we were supposed to hate him because he was moving in on your girl.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “No, we don’t hate him. He’s not such a bad guy. Besides, Kylie’s not my girl, she hasn’t been for a long time.”
“But there’s someone else,” he presses.
“Yeah, there’s someone else.” The pavement outside is wet from the constant winter drizzle, the bushes verdant in the mist, different from the blanket of white we’re used to up in the mountains.
“I overheard Casey telling your mom that this ‘someone else’ likes to take pictures. Is she a photographer?”
I’m about to shake my head but stop myself. “Yes, but I don’t know if she knows it yet. She actually works at the shop with me. She’s the office manager . . . and the owner’s daughter.”
I hear him sigh, and I turn around. My dad sits back down in the chair, a cup of tea in his hand. “Sounds a little sticky.”
Walking toward the fire, I realize I’ve never talked to my dad about a girl in my life. “It’s hard, but not because of work—well, it’s a little hard with work.”
He stares at me, waiting.
“I think I might’ve ruined things between us. She wants things I’m not sure I can give her yet.”
“Like what?”
I shrug. “Commitment, a reassurance that I’m not going to push her away again. It’s just that things have been moving so fast. Casey’s getting attached, and I—”
“Are you really worried about Casey, son, or are we talking about you?” He takes a sip of his tea, his eyes fixed on me over the brim. “I’m serious,” he says and licks his lip. “You want Casey to like whatever woman you’re dating, don’t you? And you can’t not date, you need a partner in life.”
I’ve never thought about that before. I don’t plan on being alone for the rest of my life. And Casey won’t always want to talk to me like she does now. Mac, though, they’d likely be best friends. “You’re right,” I say, and I try to imagine what life would be like a couple years from now with Mac in the picture. Would we be married? Would we have a family car or more kids? It’s an overwhelming thought, but I almost smile as I imagine her multitasking and muttering a curse or two like always but with a crying baby in her arms.
“Mac’s different than anyone I’ve ever met before,” I say aloud. “She makes me happy.” I glance at him. “She’s tough, the type of woman I hope Casey will be someday. Save for the cursing like a sailor part.”
He chuckles. “She sounds like a keeper to me.” I realize my smile lingers and my dad is still staring at me. “So, what’s the problem then?”
Our conversation feels strangely normal, or natural, at least. The oddest part of it is that I want him to know her; I want to talk about Mac. “I’m not sure I know anymore.”
* * *
Later that night I’m in bed in my old room. It’s mostly the same, sports posters still lining the walls and flannel drapes and linens to match. The housekeeper is clearly the only person who’s been in this room since I went away.
Casey’s sound asleep in the bed beside me, too restless in an unfamiliar house to sleep on her own tonight. I stare down at my phone, deciding to finally give in and call Mac now that I have some time to myself. It’s a little after ten on a Saturday night, she’s probably awake.
With a deep breath, I dial her number, uncertain what exactly I’ll say but desperate to at least meet up tomorrow so that we can talk.
The phone rings four times and I expect it to go to a message when a male voice answers. “Ah—hello?” I hear people chatting in the background and an indecipherable country song filling the sporadic silences. “Hello?”
It’s a deep voice, somewhat distracted. And as much as I want to hope, I’m certain it’s no one I know. “Can I talk to Mac?”
“She, uh, can’t really come to the phone right now,” he says.
My adrenaline starts humming as I process that some fool is answering her phone. “Why not?”
There are more loud noises; I hear Mac laughing, trying to catch her breath. “Oh, my God, I just, can’t.”
The guy sighs. “Who is this?” he asks and I look down at Casey, sleeping, trying not to lose my shit. “Colton—her boyfriend,” I bite out, no matter how foreign the word feels on my tongue. I want to claim her so that he knows she’s mine.
“Hmm. I’ll tell her you called.”
“Come dance with me,” I hear her say and the call ends. I want to throw my phone against the wall, but I refrain and drop it on the carpeted floor instead. I tell myself that Mac isn’t going to run off and sleep with some guy. She’s not vindictive, even if she did sound drunk. Adrenaline rushing and mind reeling, I text her.
Me: Please call me when you can. I’d like to talk.
No matter what’s going on or how innocent, my stomach curdles at the thought of another man’s hands on her, of what they’re doing and what it means that she’s even with him to begin with.
Fifty-Five
Mac
Glancing around Nick’s place, I’m surprised how empty it feels in here, how different it is now that the last of my things are gone. A weekend of packing and the last few days of moving instead of work have given me time to get into my duplex b
efore Christmas, though I’m beginning to wonder why I was in such a rush.
I step up to Marilyn and Monroe’s tank and lean in to say goodbye. “You’ve provided hours of amusement, ladies. I’m not sure Nick knows how lucky he is to have you gals.” They jet up to the surface of the water, waiting for an early dinner.
With a resigned sigh, I sprinkle a few bits of fish food on the surface and stand up. I can’t help it, I stare at the wall—through it—to Colton’s apartment. It’s been exactly six days since our fight. Five days since David returned and I ended up at Lick’s, drunker than I ever remember being in my entire life, and my brothers had to fetch me. Five days that I’ve been waiting for Colton to realize that maybe I’m worth the effort to him or whatever it is that’s really holding him back. But he hasn’t called or texted me—nothing. And I fear that being off work this past week has put too much distance between us, making it easier to be angry with me or start to forget about us, at least for now.
My phone vibrates in my purse. The hope that it might be Colton has worn off, but I smile when I see that it’s Sam. “Hey.”
“Hey! Your phone’s working!”
I roll my eyes. “I know, seriously. I’m losing count of how many phones I’ve had this year.”
“Well, I’m at your place. You on your way?”
“Yes, just finished up here. I’ll be there in a few.”
“Okeydokey. See you soon! I can’t wait for a girls’ night!”
I smile. “Me too, Sam.”
She laughs on the other end. “You’re not going to believe what I brought us to watch. You’re going to freak.”
“Uh-oh, that sounds bad.”
“It’ll be awesome. See you soon.”
I shake my head, smiling as I hang up the phone.
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 64