by Amber Kelly
It took me several years before I could even ask someone to dinner. As the years have passed, it’s gotten easier, but I’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than a few months before it fizzled out. Not because I refuse to give my heart to another woman—Heather wouldn’t have wanted me to grieve forever—but because I just haven’t run across anyone who makes my heart skip the way she did. Once you’ve had that kind of spark with another human, you know when it’s missing with someone else.
“I’m serious,” Mom insists.
“Taeli and Leona haven’t had the best relationship since she moved away, and she is hoping that this time together will give them a chance to mend fences. With her beloved husband, Bernard, passing away suddenly, and Gene running off, this will be good for her. She’s my friend, and I want this for her. So, if that means each of us makes an effort to help Taeli and her son acclimate into the community, then that’s what we will do,” she commands.
We all love Leona. She and Mom are very close, and my brothers and I treat her like a second mother. One or more of us are at her home almost daily, taking care of things she needs done around the farm or being fed until we have to roll back down the mountain. She’s a funny, lovable, and quirky woman, and we all get a kick out of spending time with her.
“I promise to try and make them feel exceptionally welcome,” I assure her.
Her eyes brighten. “Thank you.”
Once Pop and I take a look at the damage, we conclude the patch will work for now and set to start draining the pool. Some of the kids look on in despair as Pop hangs the Closed sign on the entry gate, so he takes my truck and runs to the hardware store to buy a dozen inflatable pools and several water sprinklers to attach to hoses and run through the grassy area beside the playground.
When he returns and sets everything up, he decides to stay and hang out with the families while I take off to Leona’s. As I pull out of the site, an ice cream truck pulls in. I look in the rearview mirror and see Pop hand the man a wad of cash as all the kids stand around his feet, waiting for their treats.
He’s a sucker for those tiny humans.
I make my way up the mountain and arrive just as my crew is loading up the van with their tools.
“Hey, boss,” John says as I park.
“How did it go?” I ask as I exit and meet them in the driveway.
“It should be up and running. We reworked the electrical box and added a kill switch that will turn off the entire breaker, and we wired the generator straight to the box. That way, she can flip one switch to shut off the entire box and then hit the button on this remote to start the generator up. Once power is restored, all she has to do is turn off the generator and flip the box back on,” he explains.
“Thanks. That will be a lot easier for her. Are you guys heading out to lunch?”
“Yeah, Brian is filling the generator with gasoline now, and I stored an extra tank in the barn,” he says.
“Lunch is on me today. Use your company card to pay for it,” I say.
“Thanks, boss. See you back at the shop,” he says as he hands the remote off to me.
I go in search of Leona to teach her how to work everything. I walk around the back of the house and pass Brian as he makes his way to the van. I inspect the work, and it looks great. The equipment fits nicely on the concrete pad, and the guys extended the overhang, which shelters the heating and air units to protect them from snow and ice, to cover the generator as well.
Leona emerges onto the back deck and calls to me.
“Graham, it looks good, doesn’t it?” she says, pleased with the job.
“It does. If you have a minute, I’ll show you how it works.”
She descends the new steps with a guardrail my brothers Weston and Morris installed last week to make it safer for her to walk down to the breaker box during a storm.
I show her the new kill switch and how to operate the remote control. She is thrilled with the setup.
“I feel so high-tech,” she declares.
Leona Tilson is an easy woman to please.
“I’m glad you like it. I’ll definitely make life a bit simpler for you this winter.”
“Thank you, Graham. Come on in for a glass of lemonade,” she requests.
“It is lunchtime,” I say as I follow her inside.
“Perfect timing. I just took a chicken casserole out of the oven,” she calls over her shoulder.
“My favorite,” I tell her, which is something she already knows.
Taeli
It is jarring, waking up in my old room. As I open my eyes, I have to blink a couple of extra times until the walls come into focus and I realize where I am.
I throw the covers over my head to escape the sunlight peeking in the window from between the cream lace curtains. I forgot how much brighter mountain mornings are.
I hide for as long as I can, ignoring the sounds of Mom puttering around the kitchen. When the banging underneath the window of my room begins, I know it’s time I get up and face the day.
Settling for only a cup of coffee in lieu of the chocolate chip pancake breakfast Mom and Caleb enjoy, I decide to take a long, hot bath before I get ready for the day.
I do my best thinking in the bathtub—always have. It’s like the warm water lulls my sore, stressed-out body into a calmness that allows my mind to tackle the big issues and think through what my next steps will be. It might sound nuts to others, but moms understand. The bathroom is the only place of true privacy. It’s a sanctuary from our demanding families.
While I soak, I devise a plan for the day. My goal is to get Caleb out into the fresh air and give him a tour of the place where I grew up. This might not be the summer he had in mind, but I’m going to do everything in my power to make it a great one. For him and for me. Balsam Ridge is a far cry from the city, but it holds it’s own unique charm, especially for children. Growing up here was magical and I have often wished Caleb had the same small-town adventures to enjoy. This is my chance to introduce him to the fun of nature.
After about an hour of me time, I get out and throw on a strapless mint-green sundress and run a brush through my hair. I skip makeup and settle for moisturizer and lip balm. Then, I make my way back downstairs to find my son.
When I make it to the hallway at the bottom of the steps, I pause in front of the collage of photos Mom has hanging above a wooden bench.
I run my fingers across the frame of a picture of me and my daddy sitting on the back of his old truck. The one of Gene pushing me on the old tire swing makes me laugh. I have such a look of terror on my face. He would push me so hard that I would swear I was about to fly up to the roof of the house. Then, there is one of me in my volleyball uniform. I’m in the air above my teammates, spiking a ball over the net. It was the state championship game my senior year. I was named MVP afterward, and it was one of my proudest moments.
I hear footsteps coming up the hall and stopping behind me.
“Is that you?” a deep voice asks, and I startle.
I was expecting Mom, but I turn quickly to find Graham Tuttle looking over my shoulder.
Where did he come from?
He looks down at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologizes.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, and he smiles and nods toward the photo on the wall. “Yes, that’s me. The last game of my senior year.”
“It’s a good picture,” he muses.
I sigh. “Yeah, I wish I still had that lean athlete’s figure,” I admit.
“Why?” he asks.
I turn to face him.
Isn’t it obvious?
“Because I couldn’t squeeze a leg into those uniform shorts now,” I state.
His eyes move from my face down, taking in my dress, and back up.
“Soft curves that fill out a dress like that are nothing to wish away,” he says, and my knees turn to jelly. “Don’t go wishing them away.”
Oh my.
We are locked in a heated staredow
n when Mom’s head pops around the corner.
“Come on, you two. Lunch is on the table,” she announces before disappearing into the kitchen again.
“After you,” Graham says, stepping to the side so I can walk past him.
Caleb is seated at the table, and Mom is scooping a helping of chicken casserole on his plate. I take the seat beside him, and Graham sits across from us.
Mom tells us to help ourselves, and we load our plates while she fetches a pitcher of fresh squeezed lemonade from the fridge.
Once we all dig in, Mom asks what the plan is for today.
“I thought I’d take Caleb and show him around town. Let him see his mom’s old stomping grounds,” I tell them.
“That sounds like fun, doesn’t it, Caleb?” she asks.
He just shrugs as he shovels food into his mouth.
“There are a few new attractions you guys should check out. We have our own vineyard now. What’s it called, Graham?” Mom asks.
“Shining Rock Winery,” he answers.
“That’s right—Shining Rock. They have really good wines, and they have a café that makes an excellent fig and pear salad. They even bottle grape juice for the kiddos to enjoy.”
“Where is it?” I ask.
“You know, I can’t remember. I’m so bad with directions. Maybe you could show them, Graham,” she suggests.
He stops with a forkful of chicken casserole in midair. His eyes slide to Mom.
I want to crawl under the table.
“We wouldn’t want to impose. I’m sure I’ll be able to find it. Besides, Caleb would probably enjoy riding the trolley through the valley more than a winery,” I quickly interject.
Mom shrugs. “I just know that you enjoy wine and thought it would be fun.”
“I have to get back to work,” Graham begins.
“See, he has to work,” I quip.
“But,” he continues, “I’ll be happy to show you another time. Maybe this weekend, if you don’t have other plans.”
“That would be lovely. Wouldn’t it, Taeli?” Mom answers for me.
“I guess,” I say, not wanting to be rude.
“It’s a date, then,” Mom decides.
“Not a date,” Graham and I say in unison.
“Oh, relax. I didn’t mean a date, date.”
I give her a look that says, Stop.
I finish my lunch in silence as Graham and Caleb chat about school and the missed soccer camp.
I’m in awe of how easily he gets my closed-off son to open up. Caleb is not a talker. He’s more the grunt-and-mumble type. I have to pry information out of him, yet here he is, animatedly chatting with a man he’s known all of twenty-four hours.
Do all kids hate the sound of their mother’s voice or just mine?
“Mom?”
Caleb’s call pulls me from my thoughts.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Can I go?” he asks impatiently.
“I’m sorry, bud. I wasn’t listening. Can you go where?”
He huffs. “To the campground with Graham.”
“Now?” I ask, confused.
“Graham was just telling us that he left his father at the campground, entertaining the children with water guns and sprinklers. He thought Caleb might enjoy dropping by and meeting some of the kids his age and cooling off in the water,” Mom explains.
“What about the trolley?” I ask Caleb.
“Can we do that another day?” he asks.
“I guess so,” I mutter, disappointed.
“I didn’t mean to cut into your plans. I’m going to be working out there all day, and I’m sure Dad and the kids will be playing into the evening. Then, we’ll probably fire up the grills and throw some hot dogs on them. You two should stop by,” Graham says to me and then turns back to Caleb. “After your day of exploring with your mom.”
Caleb frowns, but he doesn’t object.
Then, all their eyes look to me for an answer.
“We can do that,” I agree.
“Then, it’s settled,” Mom gleefully announces.
After lunch, Graham says his good-byes, and Caleb and I help Mom with the dishes.
“Do you want to come with us today, Granna?” Caleb asks.
“Oh, no. You and your mother need some alone time,” she tells him.
“No, we don’t. All we ever are is alone,” he tells her. “Dad moved out, and all Mom wants to do is hide in her pajamas and watch TV all day.”
“I do not,” I object.
His head turns to me.
“Uh huh. You haven’t wanted to go anywhere since Dad left. You barely even shower.”
He’s right. I spent the better part of the last few months of the school year avoiding people. I knew the state of my marriage and Damon’s new lover were the topics of conversations in all the school drop-off and pickup lines and every end-of-year PTA function. The last thing I wanted to do was pretend that everything was fine. That I was okay. I just couldn’t stomach the whispers and the looks of pity from my former friends. So, I hid, and Caleb was the one who suffered the most.
“Well, that’s all about to change. No more mopey mom for you,” I promise him.
He just rolls his eyes.
“You’re welcome to come with us, Mom,” I offer.
She waves me off. “No, no. I have a busy afternoon planned myself. I’m getting my yoga room together,” she says.
“Your what?”
“My yoga room. I’ve been seeing a masseuse down at The Root Cellar Holistic Spa, and she talked me into taking a few of the yoga classes. It’s a mind, body, and spiritual workout,” she explains.
I’ve taken a few yoga classes myself.
“Why do you need your own yoga room?” I ask.
“Helen, the yoga instructor at the spa, had to return to Virginia to take care of her elderly mother. So, I told the girls that I’d host yoga here once or twice a week.”
“But don’t you need an instructor?” I ask.
“I’ve got it covered, I bought videos,” she states.
Videos really? That should work.
“Well, good luck with that,” I tell her.
Caleb pouts. “Maybe Granna needs our help,” he says.
He really doesn’t want to spend the day with me.
“We can stay and help if that’s what you’d rather do, bud.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s just packing up some things on the screened-in porch and moving some furniture around. You two go have fun and bring me back a hot dog from the campground,” she insists.
“Why don’t you join us at the campground later?” I suggest.
“That’s a great idea. I can get things done here. You two can explore and then we’ll all meet back up for hot dogs. I’ll call Sara-Beth and offer to make baked beans,” Mom agrees.
Caleb gives in and runs upstairs to find his shoes and his tablet.
“Give him time. It’ll get better,” Mom tells me as she dries her hands on her apron.
“Will it? Because right now, I can’t seem to say or do anything right. Maybe I should just let him do what he wants instead of forcing him to spend time with me.”
“That’s nonsense,” she scoffs.
“No, it’s not. I’ve done enough damage. He wanted to stay with his friends this summer. I could have let him and not uprooted us both.”
“And why didn’t you?” she asks.
“I was afraid he’d sit in front of a gaming console. Matthew, his friend, has older brothers, and they are always online, playing with strangers all over the world. I don’t trust them. I walked in one day, and the language they used and the things they called each other were awful.”
“Exactly. You can’t just let a child decide for himself. Not at such a tender age. Children will clutch on to the first shiny thing that gets their attention. The wrong things and bad ideas disguised as fun are too often covered in glitter and wrapped in fanciful distraction. It’s a parent’s job to help them navigate the pi
tfalls until they are older and gain an adequate amount of maturity to recognize them for the illusions they are. Temptations are hard enough for us to resist as adults. Guiding them to wait or to trust us until then is essential. They’ll have plenty of opportunities in life to learn from the consequences of poor decisions down the road. How about, for now, we just let them be children and do the heavy lifting ourselves? Even if they give us attitude. You’re doing right by him,” she tells me.
“I sure hope so.”
“I know so,” she assures me.
Caleb comes slinking down the steps, clutching his tablet and phone, with his shoes on and his earbuds in his ears.
I hold my hand out, and he looks at me.
“What?”
“Hand me the earbuds and leave the tablet and phone here,” I request.
“Why?” he whines.
“Because I don’t want them to distract you. We’re going to have a technology-free day, enjoying nature and each other,” I tell him.
He pulls the earbuds from his ears and tosses them in my hand and sets the devices on the foyer table.
“Whatever,” he mumbles and storms out the door to the Volvo.
Here goes nothing.
I join him and spend the afternoon serving as his tour guide through town, and in the national forest. It’s fun exploring and seeing how much things have changed and grown since the last time I was here. I regale him with stories from my childhood as I’m flooded with the memories. I introduce him around the valley, everyone treats me as if I never left and they all gush over Caleb. The concern evident in their voices as they ask the uncomfortable question again and again—how I’m doing? I just smile and politely tell them that I’m wonderful. It’s a lie. I know it and so do they.
Graham
“Is that Taeli?” Mom asks as the black Volvo pulls into the gate.
“Yeah. You wanted me to be nice, so I invited her and her son over, so he could meet some of the other kids,” I tell her as I load the debris into the dumpster behind the office.
“That was a great idea,” Mom says as she hurries over to where Taeli has parked.
She hugs her as she exits the vehicle, and they both walk around to the passenger side and wait for Caleb to emerge.