by Kimberly van Meter - A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska)
“What does it matter? It’s broken,” she cried, big tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s never going to be the same. Ever.”
“No, it won’t,” Morgan agreed solemnly. “But accidents happen and we have to learn how to move on.”
“This wasn’t an accident,” she said vehemently, wiping at her tears with her free hand.
“And how wasn’t it an accident? Do you feel someone broke your heirloom purposefully?”
“I don’t know but it’s broken and that’s all that matters.”
“Why don’t you show me where you had this heirloom,” Morgan suggested, knowing it was likely the heirloom had been broken long before she’d noticed, and the movers had simply tossed it in the trash pile because that was the rule: anything broken or ruined had to go.
Jennelle paused, not sure if she wanted to comply as if she knew where Morgan was going with this but she nodded reluctantly, and Morgan followed the older woman into the house where a bustle of activity continued unchecked. Jennelle’s face soured into an unhappy pucker as boxes upon boxes of garbage and who knows what were taken from the house, and for a moment it was hard for Jennelle to focus on the task at hand so Morgan gently helped her along. “Jennelle? Show me where the heirloom was.”
By this point, her children had slowly come to stand near their mother, waiting anxiously for her answer. Clearly, Miranda was bothered by the fact that something truly precious to her mother might’ve been inadvertently damaged while the men appeared openly perplexed by their mother’s reaction.
Morgan wanted to explain that this was a normal reaction for a hoarder and it usually had nothing to do with the actual item in question, but right now she needed to focus on Jennelle as this was part of the healing process. Every lost treasure was metaphorical for something else in the hoarder’s mind, although they rarely realized this at the start. “Well, it was over by the mantel,” Jennelle answered, though her lip quivered when she realized the mantel was still covered by an assortment of things. “Or maybe it was in the kitchen...I don’t remember but I know it was in a safe place.”
“Mom...nothing in this house is safe,” Wade murmured regretfully. “There’s a chance it was broken without you realizing it.”
Jennelle whipped her head around to scowl at her son. “That’s ridiculous. I may have a collecting problem but I know where to put things to keep them safe.”
“Mom, if that were true, we wouldn’t be sorting through a pile of trash right now,” Trace said, pointing toward the huge tarp laid out on the front yard covered with items that needed to be sorted, though most of which was going to end up in the trash bin.
“Tell your children about the heirloom...what was it? What did it mean to you?”
“What does it matter?” Jennelle asked bitterly, fighting tears.
“Please, Mom...we want to know,” Miranda said in a gentle tone that caught Jennelle off guard. The mother-daughter dynamic at work was so complicated and needed further help but one crisis at a time. For a long moment Jennelle simply stared at the pieces, lost in herself until she started sharing in a halting voice.
“It was a gift from your father when we were dating,” Jennelle answered, staring at the broken pieces in her hand. “It was the first gift he’d ever given to me. I kept it all these years because each time I looked at it, I remembered how much he loved me then.”
Morgan nodded in understanding, knowing a little bit about the complex nature of Jennelle’s relationship with her husband. Everything in this poor woman’s life was shattered. She was going to need so much help putting it all back together again.
“Mom, we can try and fix it,” Wade said, gently taking the pieces from his mother. “It might not be the same but we’ll do our best to make it right.”
Morgan had a feeling Wade wasn’t only speaking about the broken figurine, and it warmed her heart in a breathtaking way that he was so gentle with his mother in spite of all the trouble she’d caused. “Trace, can you find some glue?” he asked his brother.
Miranda piped in, snapping her fingers. “I have Super Glue in my purse.”
“That should work,” Wade said, and Miranda went to her Range Rover to retrieve it. Trace rubbed his mother’s shoulder and shared a look with Wade that no doubt was about their father, and Morgan knew whatever differences the brothers had, they shared a common disappointment in how their father had abandoned their mother. “Mama, you’re so brave to go through with this,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”
She looked up, tears filling her eyes. “I don’t feel brave,” she admitted. “I feel like everyone is staring at me in my skivvies.”
Wade chuckled and gathered his mother in his arms for a quick hug. “Well, that’s probably natural, right, Dr. O’Hare?”
“Absolutely. And Trace is right. What you’re doing is incredibly brave and even though it’s difficult, when we’re all done, you’re going to be so much happier.”
Morgan could tell that Jennelle wasn’t sure on that score but she jerked a stiff nod and within moments, Trace, Wade and Miranda were able to glue the shattered pieces back together again. Somewhat satisfied, Jennelle allowed work to continue and for a few hours, progress was swift until the time came to go into Simone’s room.
Then meltdown number two happened.
And this time no amount of cajoling was going to make a difference—Jennelle would not allow anyone near that room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JENNELLE LOCKED THE door behind her and ignored her children’s pleas to open the door, going to sit on Simone’s bed. Her entire body ached and she just wanted to close the door on everything that was happening that felt out of her control. As she always did, she allowed the energy of what she believed was Simone’s spirit soothe her ragged nerves. No one understood a mother’s agony at losing a child. No one understood that it never went away. It was a dull, permanent ache that pounded away at her nerves and her sanity until she couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t suffer this horrible pain. So when the pain became unbearable she always came here.
In this room she could forget that her life was falling apart more rapidly than she could piece it back together again. In here was her sanctuary.
“Mom, please open the door.” Miranda’s plaintive tone reached Jennelle through the thick oak. “Don’t do this. We were doing so well.”
She could hear the disappointment in her daughter’s voice but Jennelle couldn’t deal with that right now. It was too much. Everything was too much to bear at the moment. Jennelle closed her eyes and breathed deep the quiet of the room, picturing in her mind her youngest daughter’s smile and sparkling eyes. Lord, she’d been such a beauty. Maybe that had been her downfall. Boys had always flocked to the girl.
Too many nights Jennelle had lain awake fretting that she’d somehow missed the warning signs somewhere. Maybe if she’d been less lenient with Simone, she’d still be here. Maybe if she’d refused to let her and Miranda get a place together, she’d have been home that night. Or maybe if she and Zed hadn’t been so adamant that all the children work for their own car, Simone wouldn’t have had to rely on her sister for a ride home that night. The multitude of maybes wore on Jennelle’s soul like a collar cinched too tight.
She picked up a framed photo of Simone and her girlfriend, Zoe. They’d been inseparable, those two. Until Simone had died and then Zoe had slowly stopped coming by. It was as if Zoe hadn’t been able to handle seeing the hole that Simone had left behind. Jennelle hugged the photo to her chest, catching her breath as tears robbed her of coherent thought. They wanted to tear down this room and take Simone from her. This was all she had of her baby girl. Everything— everyone—was gone.
This room was all Jennelle had left and right now, she wanted to die in it.
The insistent knocking on the door had stopped and sudden silence followed. Jen
nelle waited, cocking her head subtly to listen for the sounds of people but she heard nothing. It was as if everyone had evacuated the house. Was it too much to hope for? Jennelle swallowed and hugged the picture frame closer. And then she heard the most unlikely of voices.
“Jen...open the door.”
Zed? A lump formed instantly in her throat and she couldn’t speak. Was that her husband? No, that wasn’t possible. She was losing her mind. Her husband was not here. He was choosing to rot in jail, far away from her and her troubles. “Come now, Jen...open this door.”
The quiet authority in her husband’s voice was impossible to ignore. It’d been so long since Zed had shown an ounce of interest in anything that she’d forgotten that at one time he’d been the solid head of the household. “Zed? Is that you?”
Only Zed called her Jen. It was his nickname for her and always had been. She rose on unsteady feet and opened the door cautiously. A tiny cry followed when she saw her husband, a man she’d loved with all her heart since she was fifteen, standing there looking older than he ever had but with something in his gaze that had been missing for a very long time—quiet strength. “What are you doing here?” she dared to ask, lifting her chin.
“What I should’ve done a long time ago,” he admitted, reaching for her hand. “It’s time, girlie.”
A soft, vulnerable spot deep inside her trembled at the way he’d always been able to get through to her with so few words. This was Zed...the man she’d always known was the one for her and had been so lost without, but she wasn’t ready to leave that room. She shook her head as tears sprang to her eyes again. “I can’t.”
“You can.” He held out his hand, focusing his gaze on her. “We’ll do this together.”
“This is all I have of our little girl,” she said, her eyes streaming. Why didn’t anyone understand? “I can’t let her go.”
He shook his head gravely and pointed at his heart. “She lives here. Not in that room.”
And with that she crumpled, but Zed was there to catch her, pulling her tightly to him. She clung to him, sobbing big, ugly tears that poured out of her soul, lancing the wound inside her, until she couldn’t manage another drop of moisture, and even then her shoulders shook with the magnitude of her loss. “I miss her so much,” she whispered to her husband, forgetting that they were not alone, though everyone had respectfully gone outside to wait out the storm. “I want her back.”
Zed didn’t say anything, mostly because Jennelle knew he felt the same. She’d always known, just as he’d known her feelings, too, but neither acknowledged that simple truth to one another. “She was a strong girl. This is no way to honor her.”
Lord, she knew that. Deep in her broken heart, she knew. Simone would’ve been horrified at the way Jennelle and Zed had completely fallen apart. Jennelle buried her face against her husband’s chest. At one time he’d been robust and hale but time had taken its toll. Even though she felt the ridge of his chest bones under her cheek, she clung to him, desperate to feel him against her again. In his arms, she found the sanctuary she’d been trying to recreate with Simone’s room and shuddered with relief that he had returned to her. “What do we do now?” she asked, looking to him for guidance.
“We start over.” He motioned to their kids who were waiting outside anxiously. “And we stop fighting each other. Time to make amends. All of us.”
She nodded, the fight going right out of her. She was wrung out emotionally and didn’t have the strength to argue, not that she would’ve. For the first time in a long time, she had nothing to say.
* * *
WADE SHARED SHOCKED looks with his siblings, and he knew they were all thinking the same thing and it was along the lines of “Holy shit” that their dad had suddenly shown up when all attempts to get him to budge had been met with futility. But something must’ve trickled down to that stubborn heart because here he was. When he emerged with his wife, Wade could only stare.
He looked to Trace, and Trace shrugged. “I’m guessing he finally took Rhett up on his offer to spring him.”
“I guess so,” Wade said, still amazed but so thankful. His father was probably the only one who could wrench Jennelle out of her funk. Morgan, sensing the window of opportunity had been flung open, motioned for the cleaners to continue with the cleanup and once again, people were scurrying to and fro, trying to beat the storm that seemed to be gathering power above them. They worked side by side, moving impossible amounts of junk, broken-down boxes and things best left unnamed as slowly but surely, the house became an empty but dirty shell.
“That’s about all we can do today,” Morgan said to everyone’s relief as they stretched sore muscles and wiped away sweat in spite of the bitter temperatures. “But this was an amazing job you all did today. Jennelle—” she turned to Wade’s mother and smiled “—you did a wonderful job pitching in and making this part of your process. How do you feel?”
“Tired but good,” Jennelle admitted, casting a shy look at her husband. “Real good.”
“Excellent. Tomorrow we do massive cleanup. From what the engineers tell me, there is no structural damage to the home—which is lucky because I’ve seen houses with so much damage there was no saving them. New paint, some new fixtures and new furniture and you’re going to be able to sleep in your own bed. Would you like that?”
Jennelle nodded, tears filling her eyes. “I’d like that very much. But where am I staying tonight?”
“I’ll spring for a hotel room for you both,” Wade offered. “Something tells me you two could use some private time to talk things out.”
Zed’s subtle nod of thanks caused a lump to rise in Wade’s throat, squeezing out any other words he might’ve said, but his dad understood.
Morgan smiled and said, “I’m very pleased with the progress today. I will see you all bright and early tomorrow, assuming the storm doesn’t dump a ton of snow tonight.”
Wade made a point to avoid watching Morgan go, even though his gaze stubbornly wanted to refuse. It wouldn’t do any good to let anyone else in on their little secret. He sure as hell didn’t want to explain to anyone something he didn’t understand himself.
“Dad, what happened?” Miranda asked, once it was just their family again. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy to see you here but...we all tried to get you out of that jail cell but you were stuck like glue.”
“Does it matter? He’s here now,” Jennelle said, speaking up in defense of her husband. “I don’t want any fighting.”
“Yes, it does matter,” Trace said. “And we’re not fighting. We’re asking a simple question. I think we’re entitled to that.”
A part of Wade wanted to side with their mother and just let it go but another part of him wanted answers, too.
“It’s cold and I’m frozen to the bone. Questions and answers can wait,” Jennelle said, putting her foot down. She looked to Wade. “We will happily take you up on that hotel room offer. The Orca has always had nice rooms and a very tasty continental breakfast, if I recall properly.”
“You got it, Mama,” Wade said, withholding a sigh. He could wait another day or two to get the answers and so could his siblings. He looked to his dad. “You driving?”
“You can drive,” Zed said, linking fingers with his wife in a protective manner that Wade recognized from his childhood. His parents had always been very affectionate, very touchy-feely. He couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t hugging or kissing and embarrassing their children with their antics. After Simone, that part of them had died, too. So many changes, so many hurts. He rubbed at his eyes, ready for this day to be done. “Let’s load up, then. I’m tired and ready to hit the shower.”
Miranda and Trace climbed into their respective vehicles and after one last look at the property, still shocked at the amount of trash that filled the bin, Wade did the same. It was definitely t
ime to put a pin in this day.
It wasn’t until he had settled his parents into their hotel room and he’d showered himself and was heading to Morgan’s house that he realized something else was eating at him that was a foreign irritant, one that he’d never felt before. A sense of longing tugged at his thoughts, reminding him of everything he didn’t have in his life and hadn’t realized he wanted up until this moment. Family was everything. And he’d abandoned each and every one because he couldn’t deal with the pain.
But the rub? He loved his life in California. He enjoyed his work and frankly, he enjoyed the milder winters. He wasn’t much for the bone-chilling cold of Alaska anymore. Even though it snowed in Yosemite, there was a huge difference in the chill factor of thirty degrees versus five degrees. Hell, his first winter in Yosemite he thought it was downright balmy in comparison to what he’d been accustomed. He’d even been teased about his short-sleeve shirts while everyone else was bundled in wool scarves and turtlenecks.
He didn’t want to move back to Alaska but he also didn’t want to go back to the personal life he’d been living. Something had been missing for a long time and he’d been reluctant to admit it. Maybe that was why he’d been lukewarm about a commitment to Elizabeth because he didn’t trust letting someone get that close. He wanted what his parents had—that deep, enduring love that survived the ugliest moments, tarnished but still strong—but he had to be willing to let someone in first.
That was the key, right?
Yeah, just like closing your eyes was the key to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MORGAN’S NERVES FLUTTERED, and she sipped her wine as her gaze found the clock to check the time again. Would he come? Had he changed his mind? The day had been terribly emotional. She wouldn’t begrudge him the need for some peace and quiet after everything that had transpired. But what an incredible breakthrough. As Jennelle’s psychologist she was pleased with the progress and she actually had hope that everything was going to fall into place for the Sinclair family now that some major hurdles had been achieved. She allowed the wine to sit in her mouth for a split second, savoring the faint woodsy flavor of the dry red before swallowing, closing her eyes briefly. Just relax. Stop being so nervous. If he comes, fine. If not, oh, well. Not the end of the world.
