A Family for Tyler

by Angel Smits

  “You’re not even going to ask me why I kissed you?” His fingers made another pass through his already ruffled hair.

  “No.”

  “Good. ’Cause I haven’t a clue.”

  He sounded as disturbed by the lack of control as she was. She smiled. Good. It was nice to know she wasn’t alone.

  She followed him to the edge of the darkness, silently agreeing with the message he was sending. This was, as he’d said, just between the two of them.

  * * *

  WYATT LET HER move in close before he turned back to face her. He couldn’t read her expression, but the faint light still glinted in her eyes. He expected her to turn and run. Every inch of her body screamed that she was ready to take off.

  The urge to reach out and grab her was strong, but he forced his arms to remain at his sides. If he touched her now, there’d be no turning back.

  She looked up, her bottom lip between her teeth. He swallowed hard, remembering the taste of that lip.

  “I...” She started to speak, then stopped and took a step backward. He couldn’t let her go now. His hand shot out and he tried to gently curl his fingers around her wrist. She looked down at his hand, shaking her head. “I really should get going.”

  “Come with me,” he whispered, giving her arm a gentle tug. Maybe if they got out of these shadows, he’d stop wanting to pull her back into his arms. She didn’t resist, though he had to slow his steps to keep from dragging her. He led her toward the corral, away from prying eyes.

  He doubted she wanted him to see the way her eyes darted toward the corral. “This isn’t the place for me.”

  Prism wasn’t asleep. Wyatt wondered sometimes if the big horse ever slept. He was always awake, waiting and ready when Wyatt wanted to ride. The horse sauntered over to the rail. Out of habit, Wyatt reached out and rubbed the soft ears. “Hey, buddy. Be nice to the lady.”

  Prism tossed his head and nickered softly as if agreeing to Wyatt’s request.

  Emily held back, though she’d followed him without saying anything.

  “Come on. He’s waiting for us.” The horse stood there, patiently, his head leaning past the rail.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  Wyatt turned and looked at Emily. The moonlight caressed her features, revealing fear and pain. Her wide-eyed gaze never left Prism. Slowly, he stepped back and wrapped his arms around her. She trembled against him. “Don’t be afraid. He’ll never hurt you.”

  His words seemed to break the panic that had engulfed her. She shook her head and looked up at Wyatt as if just realizing he was holding her. “I’m not...afraid.” Her words croaked out, making Wyatt frown.

  “Then what?”

  The night and the silence stretched out thick and heavy between them, despite there not being even an inch of space separating their bodies. Emily shook her head, her long curls whispering across his arms.

  “When I was a girl,” she whispered, “my father bought me a horse. His name was Sugar.”

  Her eyes filled with distance, and though he held her tight, he sensed her moving away. “What happened?” he prompted, softly, gently.

  Her head snapped up then and the anger in her eyes shocked him. She pitched backward, ripping herself away from him. She’d gone nearly ten feet away, back toward the house before she turned around.

  “What happened?” she cried, shattering the smooth night. “What happened? I killed him, that’s what happened.”

  “Uncle Wyatt?” Tyler’s voice made them both look toward the front porch where Tyler stood, wearing his pajamas. He’d put a hand over his eyes, trying to see through the darkness.

  “Over here, buddy,” Wyatt called, but didn’t move. When Tyler started down the steps, Wyatt told him to stay put. “I’ll be right there,” he called and turned back to Emily. “Look—”

  “No, go on. Take care of him.” Emily headed to her car, and just as she reached the driver’s door, she looked back over the roof. “Don’t worry. This never happened.”

  “’Bye, Ms. Ivers,” Tyler called and waved from the steps. Emily looked back and then hurriedly ducked into her car, but not before Wyatt saw the yearning in her eyes. It took in the house, the horse and for a long minute, him.

  He wanted to run after her, but couldn’t leave Tyler. “Ah, Emily. What happened to make you so afraid?” he whispered, though she couldn’t hear him as her car door was already tightly closed.

  * * *

  LUNCHTIME AT SUNSET Haven was early, so by the time Emily arrived during her own lunch hour, Helen had already returned to her room. Hearing voices, Emily slowed her steps as she neared the doorway. Her mother laughed and Emily smiled. She hated to interrupt a happy time.

  “Ah, and here’s your lovely daughter now,” Hal’s voice boomed, and Emily realized she couldn’t hide.

  “Hi, Mom.” She went in and gave her mom a brief hug. It felt so good, she almost didn’t want to let go.

  “Hello, sweetheart.” Helen returned her hug one-handed, still favoring her injured arm. The bruises on her cheek and eye were ghastly green and purple but looked as if they were healing.

  “We’re having a good day.” Hal pulled himself up by grasping his walker and winked at Emily. Good days were code words for Mom being more alert. She’d learned early on in Mom’s diagnosis that those times were precious and rare.

  Hal headed to the door slowly. “You ladies enjoy your visit.” He stopped next to Emily and touched her arm. “My late wife had a similar condition.” He nodded at Helen. “I learned to relish days like this. See you at dinner, Helen.” With the rattling sound of his metal walker, he headed down the hall.

  “You’ve made a friend, Mom.” Emily settled into his seat.

  “Oh, it’s nothing serious.” But she blushed, anyway. They both laughed.

  “What brings you here? I’m sure you’re busy,” Helen said.

  “Never too busy for you, Mom.” Emily knew her mom wouldn’t be around forever and just thinking about it hurt. She flashed back on Wyatt’s admission the other day that he’d recently lost his mother. She experienced a twinge of sadness but let it slip away. She didn’t need to be thinking about him right now.

  Last night had shaken Emily—but it wasn’t just the kiss or Wyatt. The whole setup intrigued her—the loud raucous group of cowboys and the laughter that permeated the house fascinated her.

  “What’s the matter, hon?” Helen leaned forward and patted Emily’s knee.

  “I don’t know.” She should have brought coffee or something. It would’ve given them something to do.

  A voice came from the doorway. “Oh, what perfect timing.” Rose stood there, smiling. “I was just thinking I should give you a call.”

  “Is there something wrong?” Emily’s heart sped up. She knew she should trust these people, knew they cared for her mother, but the anxiety never quite faded.

  “No, no problems. We’re doing great, aren’t we, Helen?”

  Helen nodded, though Emily could tell she didn’t really connect with who Rose was.

  “I was just about to call and ask if you could go out to the house and get a few more things for your mother.”

  “Like what?” Emily watched as her mother looked down, picking at imaginary lint on her pants, avoiding having to pay attention. Emily turned to the nurse. “How about I come find you after our visit?”

  Rose looked at Helen and nodded. “That would be perfect. Have a nice chat.” The woman left as quickly as she’d appeared. Once Rose was gone, Helen stopped picking at her clothes. She looked at Emily and smiled as if Rose hadn’t ever been there.

  “Don’t you like her, Mom?”

  “Oh, yes.” Helen wasn’t especially anxious, but she leaned forward. “But I don’t know who she is.”

  Emily smiled. She
could fix this. An echo of the feeling she’d felt last night when Tyler had leaned against her rippled through her. Something warm settled in her chest. “Her name is Rose.” An idea that Rose had suggested when they’d brought Mom here made Emily look up at her own picture on the wall. The one she’d labeled “Emily.” “She helps take care of things here. Why don’t we take her picture and I’ll put her name on it so you’ll know? Like we did with mine.”

  Helen brightened, almost relieved. “That would be nice. You’re so smart.”

  “I’ll take her picture when I leave and get it printed.”

  “Did you bring a camera?”

  Emily wasn’t even going to try to explain how her phone had a camera in it. She’d learned that little fibs hurt no one. “I have it in the car.” Technically, it was in her purse, which she’d stowed in the trunk.

  Helen smiled. Simple solutions.

  For the first time since she’d moved her mother here, the visit went well and time flew. Emily didn’t want to leave, but she had to get back to work. It made it harder, knowing that everything would be different next time she came to visit. Helen might not even recognize her. Emily refused to think about that right now.

  “I enjoyed today, Emily.” Her mother met her gaze with a clear one of her own. Emily could almost believe the dementia was gone.

  “Me, too.” Emily’s throat tightened. “I love you, Mom,” she whispered as they hugged goodbye.

  Helen leaned back, a frown on her brow. “You sound like you’re going somewhere.”

  Emily almost laughed. “Not far. Just to work.”

  “Don’t be gone long. Dad should be home soon and I’ll start supper.”

  Emily’s heart sank. The randomness of her mother’s illness was the hardest part sometimes. “Okay,” was all she said before heading to the door.

  At the door, she stopped and looked back at Helen, who stood staring out the window. “Mom?”

  She glanced back, her eyes distant. “Uh, yes?”

  “Do you want me to bring a picture of Dad, too?”

  Helen paused. The blankness seemed to recede, at least Emily hoped so, for a moment. “That would be nice.”

  She refused to even bring up Earl, or believe that her mother could have ever felt something that strong for such a monster. She knew Mom and Dad had loved each other. As Emily walked down the hall, she wondered if the dementia was as much defense mechanism for Helen as it was illness. Maybe it was a blessing that Earl had been wiped from her mind.

  She stopped at the front desk and the receptionist called Rose for her. “What exactly did you need me to get?” she asked as soon as Rose appeared from the dining room.

  “Nothing major. Summer’s coming and some of her outfits are too warm. Also...” Rose hesitated.

  “It’s okay.” Emily had learned that Rose hated giving her bad news. “I know Mom has...issues.”

  Rose smiled and put her hand on Emily’s arm, reassuring and friendly. “We seem to have trouble getting your mom to wear more than a couple of her outfits. She says they aren’t hers. We thought maybe if you brought some of her more familiar clothes, she’d like those better. Maybe she’ll cooperate more.”

  Emily’s stomach tightened and reality slammed back in place. All of Mom’s clothes were out at the trailer. She gulped. “I’ll see what I can do.” She wasn’t committing to anything. Not if it involved going back there. Rose nodded and moved to turn away.

  “Uh, she keeps forgetting who you are,” Emily said. Emily explained about the photo idea, which Rose enthusiastically agreed to. After retrieving her purse, Emily took the picture, promising to bring it on her next visit.

  Reaching her car, Emily stopped and looked back at the building. Mom needed her—and Emily liked being needed. Liked feeling a sense of purpose helping someone else.

  For the first time, Emily understood why the people here did what they did.

  She lifted her chin with resolve. All they gave and they still thought of ways to help her mom. The least she could do was go to the trailer and retrieve a few pieces of clothing.

  * * *

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Emily drove across the abandoned pasture, past the fallen barbed-wire fence and up the hill to park in the old drive. The battered trailer house sat where it always had—on the edge of the knoll, protected from the hot sun and blasting wind, but from little else.

  Emily half expected to see her mother come out the door carrying a small Tupperware bowl or unfolding a dish towel to gather a few vegetables for the coming meal from the garden. The garden, of course, was now choked over with weeds and was as dry as a bone, but still a straggly plant here and there poked out of the dirt. Mom would cringe to see the garden she’d loved in its current state.

  But Mom wasn’t going to see the garden anytime soon, if ever.

  Emily knew she should clean out the trailer, but she just couldn’t face the idea of that task. Too much stuff, too many memories and not enough reason to dig any of it up. Other than her mother’s clothes, she didn’t care if the Texas prairie swallowed the place whole.

  The front door wasn’t locked. No shock there. Earl had kicked in the door in a drunken rage so many times, she was surprised it even stayed latched. She didn’t bother to close it behind her, hoping that maybe some of the fresh air outside would slip in.

  Oddly enough, a sense of familiarity fell over her when she stepped into her mother’s broken-down kitchen. Nothing worked, as the power had been off since two weeks before she’d moved Mom to town. The unseasonably icy wind had been horrid that day, cutting through the tin-can house. How Mom had stood it for those two weeks, Emily hadn’t a clue.

  She’d never know, because Mom couldn’t remember, just like she hadn’t remembered to pay the utility bills. She’d barely recognized Emily that day.

  The worn linoleum and faded green carpeting made her cringe. She hated this place. Really hated this place. Hated the ancient decorations. Hated the smell of time, heat and leftover lifetimes. Hated the harsh words that still echoed in the stale air.

  Hurrying down the hall, she tried to dodge the memories, with little success.

  Emily went past the closed door to her old bedroom. She hadn’t opened that door since she’d left all those years ago. Even when she’d stayed for holidays, she’d slept on the couch or on the narrow bed beside her mother.

  She knew what was in that room and didn’t ever want to remember being the girl who had lived there.

  She didn’t want to see the trophy that Earl had told her she deserved, right before he threw it across the room, breaking the horse from its blue base. The collection of tiny horse figurines was still stored on the dainty shelf behind the door. He hadn’t seen those, so they were about the only things that had survived his angry tirades.

  She immediately thought of Sugar and winced as she recalled telling Wyatt about him last night. The white horse had been a gift from her father. A gift Emily had instantly fallen in love with. He’d never been intended as a weapon.

  In her mother’s room, she pulled open the closet door to face a wall of clothes, crammed together on bent wire hangers. How had Mom ever found anything? Struggling to sort the mess and find some summer clothes, Emily finally gave up and grabbed an armload and dumped it on the bed. A cloud of dust rose up in the dim air. Emily didn’t even care. She batted the dust motes out of her face, then turned back for another load. By the third batch, she’d picked out a week’s worth. That was enough.

  What was the point in putting them back? She laughed at herself. Mom wasn’t coming back, and when and if she had to sort through all this, the pile would make it easier.

  Heading toward the door with the clothes for Mom, she glanced at the half-empty closet and stopped. Why was there a square of the wall cut out and taped back in place? How strange. If it had been one of the oth
er walls, she might not have noticed it. Earl had put plenty of holes in walls with his fist. But in the back of the closet?

  No, this was different. At first she thought it was an access panel to pipes or something, but that wasn’t possible. This wall backed up to the hallway. She stuck her head outside the bedroom door, just to make sure.

  Placing the clothes on the nearby dresser, she went back to the closet and peered at the square.

  Clear packing tape held the patch in place. Caution had her staring at it longer than necessary. Finally, she pulled the tape, the ripping sound loud in the empty trailer house.

  The piece, with the tape still attached, came away in her hand and Emily stared at the hole it left. A hole that wasn’t empty. An old wooden box was wedged in between the studs.

  Surprised and confused, she simply stood there. Why was Mom hiding this and where had it come from? It took her several minutes of wrestling with the box to finally pull it free.

  The thick layer of dust made her shudder. The wood had been varnished once, and the leather straps that held it closed were dry and stiff. It wasn’t heavy. She wondered if there was anything in it.

  The room was dark, with the curtains drawn and no electricity for the lamps. She added the box to the pile of clothing and headed out into the front room. The only place where there was any light was the kitchen, and that came through the window over the sink. She set the box on the counter and unlatched it.

  A familiar photo in an old metal frame lay on top.

  Daddy.

  She remembered this picture, though couldn’t remember when she’d seen it last. He wore his military uniform. And that smile, so alive. Her eyes burned, and she looked away from the image before she lost it completely.

  Dad would have never let them live like this. When Emily had been little, and her dad had been alive, he and Helen had dreamed of a horse ranch, of a big house to raise a big family. Probably a lot like Wyatt’s house.