by Tawna Fenske
“I wasn’t.”
Her mother looked down in her lap. “I’m sorry. I know it’s too late, but I’m sorry.”
Too late.
The words kept hitting her over and over. How many times had she thought them, said them out loud?
But she was here right now, wasn’t she? And she had answers, a few of them anyway. The gaps were still there, hollowed-out craters of loss and regret and sadness.
Slowly, she reached a hand out and touched her mother’s. Denise looked up, eyes searching Willa’s, a flicker of hope in the green depths.
“Can you—?” Her mother’s voice broke there, shaky and fragile. “Is there any way you can ever forgive me?”
Willa looked at her. Looked hard at the weathered face, the limp hair, the tired eyes. What good did it do to keep mourning the mother she’d been or hating the one she’d become?
“I forgive you,” Willa said softly.
Lip service, she thought at first. But when she said the words out loud, she realized she meant them. “I forgive you,” she said again, louder this time.
She still hated her mother. Hated what she’d done.
But more than anything, she felt sorry for her. Sad for everything she’d lost. Everything they’d all lost.
“Thank you.” Denise lowered her face as another tear slipped down her cheek. Willa slid a hand into her purse and pulled out a travel pack of Kleenex. She handed it over, conscious of the fact that she was offering her mother more than a tissue.
“I thought I didn’t deserve you,” Denise said as she dabbed her eyes. “I’d made so many terrible choices that I thought I was finally making the right one by staying out of your life. Giving you a chance to be normal.”
Willa choked out a laugh. “That didn’t go according to plan.”
Her mother studied her. “You seem pretty normal to me.” She bit her lip. “No…mental health issues?”
Willa shook her head. “I mean, not that I know of. Some anxiety stuff, sure, but…” She trailed off there, wondering if there was more to it. If her parents weren’t the only ones who could benefit from professional help.
Relief washed over her mother’s face. “I worried. These things can run in families. That’s another reason I never meant to get pregnant. I didn’t even know I was pregnant until I was so far along.”
“I know.” Willa looked down at her hands. “Dad didn’t talk about much, but he did tell me that.”
Silence stretched out between them, but it no longer prickled with animosity. Just sadness and a soft swirl of relief. When Willa looked up, her mother was studying her.
“I don’t regret it,” Denise said softly. “Having you, I mean. I regret so many other things, but not that.”
There was no room anymore for regrets. No point in accusations. Just a need to move forward, and that’s what she would force herself to do.
“For years, I didn’t check on you,” her mother said, reading her thoughts. “My parents hired a PI a couple of times and told me you were doing well in school. That you seemed happy. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I looked you up online. You’re a business owner.”
“Yes,” Willa said, bracing herself for the familiar rush of worry about clients and deadlines and money.
It didn’t come. There was no panic. Just a strange sense of…hope? “I’m okay.” The words surprised her, and so did the truth in them. “I haven’t always been, but I’m okay now.”
“I’m glad.” Her mother seemed to hesitate. “You’re not married or…?”
“No.” Willa pressed her lips together. “I’m not.”
“Do you want those things?” Denise flushed. “I’m sorry; it’s not my place to ask.”
“It’s okay. I—I guess I didn’t think it was an option.”
“Why not?” Her mother looked genuinely perplexed.
“Too busy,” she said. “Building security, chasing deals, trying to keep things from falling apart.”
Her mother nodded, understanding flickering in her eyes. “You get so focused on beating yourself up, driving yourself hard to succeed, trying to be stronger, to be better—you forget about why you’re doing it in the first place. The things that make it worthwhile to get up in the morning and go about your day.”
Willa opened her mouth to speak. Then she closed it. Was that what she’d been doing? She shook her head, not ready to wrap her head around that possibility. For fuck’s sake, was she really looking to her child-abandoning mother as a source of wisdom?
But as a pang of hope hit her square in the chest, she realized she was.
Her mother must have seen the struggle in her expression, because she leaned forward in her chair. “Can I give you some advice?”
It must have sounded ridiculous, because Denise stammered a clarification. “I—I know I’m the last person in the world—”
“No, it’s okay.” Willa gave a soft, humorless laugh. “I’m in dire need of it right now.”
Denise nodded, straightening a little. “Be gentle with yourself,” she said. “And allow yourself to be happy. Don’t fight it; don’t decide that you don’t deserve it. You do. You deserve the world, baby girl.”
Baby girl.
She’d forgotten both her parents called her that. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone care so deeply about her. To have someone watching over her and wanting the best for her.
You forgot until Grady reminded you.
Emotion flooded her system, rushing through her until she couldn’t catch her breath.
Grady.
Maybe she hadn’t wrecked things beyond repair. If she could forgive her mother, if they could find their way to a second chance, maybe Willa could have the same with Grady.
It was Willa’s turn to choke back the tears, to feel the flood of emotion clogging her throat. “I’m going to go now,” Willa whispered, not sure what else to say. “I got what I came for, and I think…I think that’s enough for now.”
She stood up, and Denise stood, too, watching Willa’s face with concern. “You’re not just going to fly back, are you?”
Willa nodded. “Tonight, yes. I’m not staying.” She bit her lip, hesitating. “But maybe I could come back sometime. Or you—you could visit me.”
“I’d like that,” Denise said. “I’d love it, actually.”
“Good.” She offered her mother a shaky smile. “That’s a start.”
It was. And for now, it was the best Willa could hope for.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Grady.” His mother blinked at him from the front door, then broke into a smile. “What a surprise.”
That made him feel like an asshole. He’d had plenty of that lately, so it was just another log on the pile.
“Hi, Mom,” he said. “Sorry, I should come by more often when it’s not family barbecue day, but—”
“No, it’s fine!” His mom laughed and pulled him in for a hug. “We’re always happy to see you, sweetheart. Come on in.”
He let himself soak up the comfort of his mother’s embrace, feeling like a kid again. And then feeling shitty again, because Willa had never had this. The comforts of home, two parents who were there for her always.
He’d taken so much for granted.
“I love you, Mom.”
He said it from the depths of her hug, and she drew back to look him in the eye. He expected to see surprise, but all he saw was sympathy. “I love you, too, baby. Are you wanting to see your dad?”
He nodded, taken aback. “How did you—? I mean, why—?”
“Willa called.” Sympathy deepened her stormy eyes to dark gray. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out between the two of you.”
“Right.” Shit, he’d meant to tell them himself. He’d been planning to get around to it, but of course, he’d put it off. He hadn’t ev
en responded when they’d asked if she’d be joining him for family barbecue, which, of course, he’d skipped.
Because he was an asshole.
“How did you know I’d want to see Dad?” he asked.
“Because your father’s been where you are right now,” she said softly. “And he might have some thoughts to share.”
Grady was too stunned to respond, so he let his mother take his hand and tow him down the hall to his father’s study. He looked up as Grady entered, face breaking into a smile.
“Grady! I thought I heard voices out there.” He got stiffly to his feet, and Grady resisted the urge to lend a hand. The same pride that led his father to choose his career, to stick with it for so long, would keep him from accepting help now.
“Hey, Dad.” He clapped his father’s back in a familiar hug, breathing in the familiar scent of woodsmoke he knew was all in his mind. His father hadn’t been out on a fire for years, but sensory memory took over, and Grady hugged his father much tighter than usual.
“Your mom told me about Willa.” His father drew back and cleared his throat. “Sorry to hear that. I really thought… Well, it doesn’t matter now.”
“What did you think?”
His father hesitated. “Have a seat.”
They both sat, easing themselves into matching leather armchairs beside the desk. His dad aimed a remote at the television, killing the football game he’d been watching. Then he turned back to Grady. “Your mother and I—we thought Willa might be the one.”
Grady took a deep breath, desperate to cool the ache in his chest. “She was.” The past tense hit him like a boot to the face. “Is.”
His father registered the correction and nodded. “You’re not giving up?”
Grady looked down at his hands. “She wants me to. Says it’s over, but I just—I can’t—” His voice shook, and he couldn’t bring himself to look up. When he finally did, the steadiness in his father’s gaze gave him strength. “I fucked up, Dad.”
His father nodded, completely unsurprised. “Want to tell me, or you want me to guess?”
That surprised him, too. It also gave Grady a chance to avoid the ache of telling the whole dumb story. “I guess I’d like to hear what you think.”
His dad folded his hands on his lap. “The job,” he said simply. “To do it, you’ve gotta come to terms with the fact that every fire, every jump might be your last. And it’s hard as hell to plan a future—for yourself or with someone—when you know deep in your gut there might not be one.”
Grady breathed in and out. These words, these ideas. They’d been tumbling through his darkest thoughts for weeks. Hell, probably for years. But he’d never given voice to them before, not ever.
And now his father had.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Grady said softly. “Urging Willa to live in the moment, be spontaneous. But I’m realizing I need to be more like her. To plan for a future instead of being terrified there might not be one.”
His father offered a small smile. “That can be scary as hell,” he said. “The job’s not easy, and it’s tough to accept that you can’t do it forever.”
“Yeah.” Grady nodded, throat pinching tight. “I guess I’ve never wanted to think ahead. To accept that I need a backup plan for when I can’t do this anymore.”
Running his fingers through thinning hair, his father studied him long and hard. “I should have hung up my chute years before I did. And I should have been less afraid of admitting I was, well, afraid.” He laughed, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “How’s that for irony?”
Grady tapped his father’s foot with his own, not wanting to interrupt the conversation with a full-on hug. “You’re the bravest guy I know, Dad.”
He shook his head. “Bravery’s overrated. I should have been focusing on compromise. On finding a way to put marriage and family at the center of my life instead of the periphery.”
His father hesitated, glancing at the door. “Your mom and I, we had some rough patches. Did you know I moved out once?”
“What?” Grady sat back in his chair. “When? How did I miss that?”
“Easy. I was gone all the time anyway.” His father gave a dark chuckle. “You were little, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember. My point is, even the strongest relationships go through tough stuff. The test is in how you handle it. In whether you can bend and she can bend and somewhere in the middle of all that, you form this perfect bridge.”
Grady kept breathing, still processing his father’s words. He clenched his fingers, a plan forming in his mind already. He laughed, conscious of the fact that maybe this was the key. Making a plan, finding a way to meet Willa halfway.
“I’m going to do it.”
His dad cocked his head to the side. “Do what?”
“Win her back.” Grady released his clenched fingers, feeling relief for the first time in days. He managed a small smile, and his father smiled back.
“Atta boy,” he said, clapping Grady on the shoulder. “A man of action.”
Grady laughed. “Even better. A man with a plan.”
…
Grady scraped his fork through the last greasy pile of caramelized Spam and scallion pasta and loaded it into his mouth. He frowned down at the glossy page balanced on his knee and uncapped a blue marker.
“What the hell are you working on?” Tony stood up and started gathering plates from the rest of the crew.
On the other side of camp, Jimmy laughed. “That’s Grady’s arts and crafts project.”
Grady kept his head down, tracing another box in bright blue. “I’m making plans.”
Tony laughed and stacked the plates together. “Now there’s a switch.”
Something in Grady’s expression must have told him not to push, because he turned back to Jimmy and started talking about Spam campfire muffins for breakfast. Grady missed most of what they were saying as he finished with the blue marker and picked up a red one. He’d been working on this for days, stealing a few moments here and there after the rest of his crew had turned in.
But tonight was their last night on this fire. They’d pack up camp in the morning, and Grady would have his chance. His one chance to make things right with Willa.
He couldn’t blow this.
“—ever since Kayla and I broke up, we’ve been—”
“Wait, what?” Grady jerked his attention back to the conversation between Tony and Jimmy. “You and Kayla broke up?”
Tony leveled him with a look. “You’ve missed some things while you’ve had your head up your butt these last couple of weeks.”
Grady grimaced, feeling like an asshole. “Sorry.”
“Nah, it’s no big deal.” Tony smiled, not looking too broken up about things as he scrubbed the plates under a thin trickle of water from a canteen. “The whole thing was friendly enough. That’s the problem, honestly.”
“Huh?”
“We’re better friends than lovers,” Tony said slowly, as though explaining something to a dense first grader. “Not like you and Willa.”
Willa.
Just hearing her name made Grady’s heart ache again. He looked back at the pages in his lap, then picked up the yellow pen. He could fix this; he knew he could.
Making a few more marks, he thought about something he’d been wanting to ask the guys. Something personal, something he felt like an idiot asking.
“You guys have a rainy-day fund?” he asked at last.
Tony cocked his head. “You mean like a savings account?” He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Not as big as I’d like it to be—”
“That’s what she said.” Jimmy snorted and slapped his knee, but Grady and Tony ignored him.
“But like if work dried up,” Grady continued. “Or if you got hurt off the job or something and couldn’t work for a few months.
”
“I’ve got about three months’ salary socked away,” Tony said. “I know it’s supposed to be more, but I’ve got college loans and a mom who needs help sometimes.”
“Right.” And Grady had no one and a savings that would carry him about six days if he suddenly lost his job. “I met with a financial planner last week.”
Tony’s brows lifted. “No kidding? Did you see the guy I recommended?”
“Yeah.” Grady cleared his throat, not sure why he felt embarrassed about taking control of his future. “He sure knows his stuff.”
“Told you. How’d it go?”
“Better than I thought it would,” Grady admitted. “I’d been putting it off for years, thinking all they’d say is that I’ll never be able to retire.”
Even Jimmy was paying attention now. “What did he say?”
“We came up with a plan,” Grady said. “Not just for saving but for what I’ll do when I can’t jump anymore.”
Frowning, Jimmy stabbed a fork into his pasta. “You’re never too old to jump.”
Spoken like a rookie. Or like Grady before he pulled his head out of his butt.
“I’ve got plenty of good years, but I won’t be one of those guys who stays in too long,” Grady said. “I’m looking into pilot training.”
“Shit, you’d be great at that.” Tony grinned. “I’d fly with you any day.”
“Thanks. That means a lot to me.”
It did, too.
Just not as much as it would mean to earn Willa’s trust. To convince her he could offer the sort of stability she deserved. The thing she wanted with a desperation he was only beginning to understand.
He flipped the calendar page again and made another mark, this time with his green pen.
An hour later, he closed the pages and tucked the last of the markers into his pack. Then he crawled into his sleeping bag and folded his hands behind his head. Staring up at the stars, he thought of Willa. Right now, she’d be home in her king-size bed with Barrow and Earmuff curled beside her and an ocean of glow-in-the-dark stars overhead.
Win her back.
That was his last thought before drifting off to sleep with all his hopes tucked in his pack beside his head.
