Alice and Kai were in the kitchen—Alice stirred a large pot of soup, and Kai diced vegetables. I cleared my throat, announcing my presence.
Kai turned, his face ravaged by his own pain, yet he managed to smile for me. Though he had left me for hours the night before, I didn’t hold it against him. I’d once blamed Connor for leaving me in my grief, but this didn’t feel the same.
“Want some soup?” Alice asked.
“Is it ready?” My voice sounded dry, like the crunching of crisp autumn leaves underfoot.
Alice ladled broth into a bowl and set it on the table. “Chicken soup heals all wounds.”
“Even the ones on the inside?” I sank into a chair, not missing the look between Kai and Alice. Kai set down the knife and came to me. Leaning over, he kissed the top of my head and then left the room. I watched him go, wondering how many bowls of soup he’d eaten, and if they had restored him. “Are we going to have a talk?”
“No.” Alice pulled out another chair and sat down, and I picked up my spoon. Placing a hand on my arm, she stopped me from taking a bite. “Look at me.”
It took a moment, but finally I gazed into Alice’s eyes. They were old, battle scarred. They knew things that came from fighting emotional wars she could never win—only temper. Alice knew there was nothing to be said. Some caverns of suffering could not be filled with words.
I was too numb to cry, and I wondered if it would’ve helped anyway.
•••
Alice left me alone on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. Where was Kai? Probably on the mountain, or maybe at the cemetery. Was he praying, hoping for peace, or had he finally given up?
I wanted to comfort him, but I could barely comfort myself.
I heard the back door open, and then Keith was in the living room. “Put on your shoes.”
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
I sighed, but did as bid and then followed him to the stables and into a stall. “I can’t ride yet.”
“I know. This is Mabel,” Keith said, patting the brown mare’s neck. Picking up a currying comb, he dropped it into my hand. “Brush in circles.” He gave me a few whole apples and carrots, and then left me alone.
I stared at the mare. What did horses do when they lost their foals? They went on, because nature designed them that way. It was so much harder to be human.
“What have you lived through, Mabel?” Mabel snorted and shook her head, and looked at me with liquid brown eyes. “I wish you had all the answers and you could tell them to me. Do you have infinite wisdom in all things that matter? Of course you don’t—you’re just a horse. What the hell do you know?” Pulling out an apple, I offered it in the palm of my hand. It disappeared into Mabel’s mouth. The horse nudged me with her head, wanting more, and I obliged. I began rubbing Mabel down, losing myself in time and the repetitive motion. It was soothing, calming, like how a mother would feel patting her infant’s back. The attention was for both of them. So, I lavished love on the mare because I didn’t have a child to hold in my arms—a child I would never know.
It had been a boy.
Kai’s son.
Legacy.
Hope.
My tears came like a bubbling geyser; I looped my arms around Mabel’s neck and pressed my face against her. And because Mabel was a horse, all she could give was her solid, sturdy presence.
Somehow, it was enough.
•••
I reached for Kai but found his side of the bed empty and cold—he’d been gone a while. I trudged to the back porch, knowing he would be staring at the night sky. Looking for answers or forgiveness, I didn’t know which.
I pressed a kiss to his shoulder and then sat next to him and asked, “You ever feel like you’re trying to break through a wall, hoping to find out what’s past the grief?”
“Are you on the other side yet?”
“I don’t know. It’s only been a week. Are you?”
He took my hand and skimmed my knuckles with his thumb, but did not reply.
“Come back to me, Kai.”
We were quiet, and a contentment I never thought I’d feel again embraced me. It made me drowsy, and I cuddled into his arms. We were in the thick of autumn. It would be winter soon. Seasons changed, so did people.
“Still want that house?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Still love me?”
“Always.”
•••
“Where are you going?” Kai demanded.
I put on a jacket and slipped on my shoes, tugging my hair into a ponytail. “To see your father.”
“Sage…”
“Someone has to pull him out of this.”
“And you think you’re the one for the job?” His eyes were full of concern, unsure.
“I do.”
“Haven’t you done enough fighting? Do you have the strength to take on his burdens, too?”
“It’s been over a month since we lost Memaw, and it’s time for him to rejoin us.”
Kai hugged me. What could he say? He knew I was right.
“Jules wants to come down.”
I shook my head. “No, I can’t have another person watching over me.” The giraffe Jules had bought as a gift for our child was now mashed underneath our mattress, along with my journal, and everything else I didn’t want to contend with.
“Okay,” Kai agreed, “but call her and tell her yourself—she doesn’t believe me. Call Celia while you’re at it. She wants to hear your voice.”
“I will,” I promised.
I drove to the Ferris’ house and used Kai’s keys to let myself in. Knowing Claire was not there made it easier, but I still sighed in respite. She’d come to the hospital when I lost the baby, but had stayed in the waiting room. I didn’t know if it had been because she hated me, or because she thought her presence would make my pain worse. I knew she would return eventually, but for the time being I could focus on George.
Alice had given me a casserole to bring with me, hoping that might entice George to eat—I brought a bottle of bourbon. I knew what he needed.
“George?” I called out, but he didn’t answer. Following a hunch, I went to the library. He sat on the couch, a newspaper that he wasn’t reading spread across his lap. He looked at me, his face not registering surprise.
“Are you taking anything to help you sleep?” I asked without preamble.
“Just bourbon.” His voice was rusty, like an old, clogged copper pipe. He held up his glass of melting ice cubes and potent liquor. “What are you doing here, Sage?”
“Thought you could use a drinking buddy.” I set the casserole down on the table before opening the bottle of bourbon and taking a swig. It was only eleven in the morning, but there was nothing like death to make a person forget the time.
“Not even going to bother with a glass?”
I shot him a look. “Careful, you sound very much like your wife, who already disapproves of me. Besides, there’s no one here to witness my crassness except you.”
I poured him a double and then settled onto the couch.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” It was a flimsy excuse.
“Because I’m supposed to be sitting at home in the dark mourning my child?”
He flinched. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I’m sorry for yours.”
“Don’t.”
“Listen, George, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. Hard way is for you to deny me. Easy way is for you to let me sit here, drink until we’re hammered, and I’ll listen to you talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“That’s fine, then I will. I lost my mother, too, remember?”
“And your father. You were a lot younger than me.”
“I don’t remember my dad,” I admitted. “There’s no shame in how you’re beha
ving. We all handle loss in different ways.”
“You’re pretty transparent. There’s no guile in you, no manipulation.”
“Your wife doesn’t agree.”
“Claire doesn’t know what to think.”
“She’s irrational.”
“Undoubtedly.” He paused. “I’m ashamed.”
“Of what? Claire? Kai?”
“Myself—for letting Kai go.”
“He was here one minute and gone the next—you didn’t have a chance to stop him.”
“Didn’t even leave a note. Can you imagine?” George looked at me; his eyes held wonder, confusion, hope.
“Not one of his best moments.”
“Is my son a coward? I used to think he was, but I’m not sure anymore.”
“He left, George, but he did come back.”
“Claire told me Kai was supposed to be in the plane.”
“Yes.”
“God, it’s been awful for him, hasn’t it? I had no idea.”
“Some of us are meant to go on, no matter what life throws at us. Kai is no coward. You know, it was his idea to stay and mend the family after your mother died—it was his idea to build a house on your mother’s land. I had nothing to do with that.”
He took a long swallow of his drink and rubbed a hand over his mouth as though he tasted bitterness. “It’s nice having him home. I’ve missed him.”
“He’s missed you, too.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
He sighed. “I would really like a chance to get to know my son.”
“You will,” I promised, “but he is not going to be the person you expect him to be.”
George looked thoughtful. “I think he may be someone better.”
•••
We drank and talked for hours, and I even managed to make George laugh. His face was ruddy with color and bourbon, and half the casserole was eaten right out of the dish by the time Claire returned home.
She popped into the library, her countenance disapproving. “What’s this?”
“I came over to cheer George up.” I hiccoughed.
Claire looked at her husband as he smiled, his lips curving like the bow of a boat. “It’s not even cocktail hour. How long have you been drinking?”
“When did you leave?” George slurred.
“Ten-thirty.”
“Then about five minutes after that,” George explained, and I couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping my mouth. Claire glared at us.
I rolled my eyes, but said nothing. Drinking with my father-in-law seemed to be doing some sort of trick—for both of us.
“Sage?” Kai called out, the front door opening and closing.
“Library,” I called back, then grinned at Kai when he came to stand in the doorway next to his mother. “Your dad and I were chewing the fat about life and stuff. Right, George?” I glanced at my father-in-law, whose eyes were closed, and he was on the verge of snoring.
“You outdrank my dad? I’m impressed.”
“I’m sleepy,” I admitted. “Take me home?”
Claire’s watchful gaze followed us, but she said nothing. It was out of character, but I would take any reprieve I could get. Maybe Claire felt bad for all that I had lost. I had no idea.
When we were settled in Kai’s car, I said, “Don’t take me to Alice and Keith’s.”
“You said to take you home.”
“That’s not home. We have a home for the time being—your grandmother’s cabin.”
“But—”
“I want my own space, and I want to make love to you as loud as I want.” I missed our intimacy, our physical connection.
His breath hitched. “The doctor?”
“Cleared me a few days ago.”
“How drunk are you?”
“Very.”
“Sage…”
“I always want you. Please, Kai, I need you to hold me, so I can feel your heart beating against mine.”
We barely made it into the foyer before we fell together onto the floor. It was not making love—it was primal, needy, desperate. And when it was over and he cradled my face in his hands, I felt a deep well open. My breath became shallow and tears seeped out of the corners of my eyes.
“What is it, darlin’?”
“My love for you sometimes overwhelms me.”
He pulled me close and rested his lips on my shoulder. “It’s nice.”
“What?”
“Knowing I’m not alone.”
“I’ll love you forever.”
He sighed. “I’m counting on it.”
•••
I was on the front porch of Memaw’s cabin, a notebook open on my lap, doodling in the corner of a page. The door opened and closed, and Kai came next to me, holding his mandolin. He pulled up a chair and sat down, his fingers strumming the strings a few times before stopping.
“Do you think death is organized or just completely random?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, do you think God, or the universe or whatever just picks people off, or is there a method or something?”
“Are you really asking me if there is an algorithm to death?”
He paused in thought before nodding. “Yeah, I think that’s what I’m asking.” He played a quick song; it sounded familiar but wasn’t. It was probably one he had written.
“I don’t know.”
Kai laughed though it wasn’t a joyful sound. “Neither do I.”
Somewhere in the distance, a bird cawed. “Play me something.”
“What do you want to hear?”
“I don’t know. Transport me. Take me someplace else.”
“Climb aboard this magic carpet ride.” He dipped his head and closed his eyes. His hands moved over the wooden body of the instrument that defined him. Kai was a mandolin player. He’d been other things, too; wanderer, dreamer, survivor.
Experiences shaped us. Some we clung to, others we threw to the wind. I wondered if we ever had a choice in how the song of our lives played, or if we were notes written in permanent ink, our paths already defined.
Chapter 27
Kai
By the time the trees were completely bare, the plans for our house had been completed. I’d wait until spring to begin building it.
It was one of those rare stretches of life when there seemed to be nothing but possibilities in front of us, and everything was calm.
It felt like hope.
One mild afternoon, Sage and I took a picnic basket to a small clearing on our land. We spread out the blanket and watched the clouds roll by. Sage’s eyes were closed, her body warm next to me.
“Do you know that sometimes I watch you sleep?” I asked. Her eyes popped open. I was propped up on an elbow gazing down at her. Her features were soft, but she was stronger than steel. My true match. “Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re really next to me, so I put my hand on your belly and wait for the rise and fall of your breath.”
She smiled, reaching up to stroke my face.
I turned my head and kissed her palm. “Lucy and Wyatt set a date for their wedding, and my brother asked me to be his best man.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yes.” I stared across the clearing, neither seeing the trees nor hearing the birds. “But how can I watch him marry my best friend’s wife?”
“Wyatt is your brother,” Sage said, “and Tristan is gone.”
“I know.” In anger, I stood.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” Sage commanded, scrambling up from the blanket.
I stopped my retreat and spun to face her. “You’re right, okay? I know she deserves to be happy, and I know he loves her. I know Dakota should have a father, but I just—can’t.”
She came to me and tugged on the zipper of my jacket. “Are you mad because Lucy found love again, or because she found love again with your brother?”
“Don’t know. I’m trying to sort everything out, and Wya
tt is wrapped up in all of that. Sometimes I wish life really was either black or white.”
“You don’t think I know how that feels? It’s what I’m going through with my writing and my mother’s death.”
“It’s not the same.”
She shrugged. “Trees bend; you know why? If they didn’t, they’d snap.”
“Adapt or die,” I said into her hair.
She paused. “Do you know the dandelion is both yellow and white?”
I was thrown by the change in conversation. “There aren’t two types?”
She shook her head. “The dandelion is yellow before the bees pollinate it. Then it turns white, when it’s ready to spread its seeds. There’s a time for everything.”
“When is it our time? To flourish?”
“When we stop fighting what we can’t change. Lucy and Wyatt are going to get married, and you will stand next to your brother. And when the time comes and Lucy tells you she’s having Wyatt’s baby, you can either be happy you’re going to be an uncle, or you can destroy any shot of ending this estrangement with your family. You have to stop looking at Wyatt like he’s an outsider. You may never be as close to him as you were to Tristan and Reece, but Wyatt is still here. You really want to push him away?”
“You’re not supposed to be this rational.”
“Someone has to be,” she grinned, “because it’s clearly not you.”
“Ouch.” I took her hand and placed it on my heart.
“Call your brother. Tell him you want to take him out for a drink, and try talking to him. Don’t yell, don’t throw punches—talk.”
“Talk,” I repeated.
“He asked you to be his best man. He made the overture; you owe him this.”
•••
I sat with my brother in a low-lit dive bar, taking a swig from my pony neck beer. Wyatt’s gaze was wary, like he didn’t know what to make of me. I didn’t blame him. I had been an ass to him most of our lives.
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