Home at Last

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Yeah.” Heavenly stopped. They were halfway between the fence and the trailer, halfway between where they’d been and where they needed to be.

  Halfway to the horses that Heavenly had been talking about from the first day they’d met.

  Had it been three years?

  Four?

  Halfway to Heavenly’s nearly fulfilled dream.

  But she stopped, looked into Sunday’s face, her eyes rimmed with dark shadows and filled with memories of things no child should ever experience. “Can I tell you something, Sunday?”

  “You know you can tell me anything,” she replied, her heart thumping madly, because she didn’t want to say the wrong thing, make this moment something it shouldn’t be or keep it from being what it should.

  “I didn’t believe in you and Matt when you brought me here. You were like Santa Claus.” She glanced at her siblings, who were sitting in a row on the fence. “Great until Christmas morning when there are no presents under the tree.”

  “You’ve had a lot of disappointments in your life,” Sunday assured her. “We understood that.”

  “No, you understood it. Matt liked the idea of being a savior, but he didn’t really like the work involved. Like, he wanted people to think he was a good guy . . .”

  “He was a good guy.”

  Heavenly shrugged. “He was a nice guy. He did things for people. He treated me really well, and I appreciated it. But good guys don’t cheat. Good guys don’t go off for weeks and leave their kids and their wives, so they can be with other women.”

  “Did you read my journals while I was in the hospital?” Sunday asked, shocked by Heavenly’s words.

  “I didn’t have to. I lived with you. I saw stuff, and I heard stuff, and I know who wanted me here and who just liked the idea of it. If I could give you a prize, Sunday, it wouldn’t just be for trying. It would be for being the mother I never had. For sticking with me when I was a pain in the ass.”

  “Language,” Sunday said automatically, and Heavenly smiled.

  “See? That’s what I love about you. You always want me to be my best. That’s what a mom does, right? Come on. I can’t wait to see Early again.”

  She could have sprinted on ahead.

  Sunday would have understood.

  But she stayed. Talking about the red horse and the gray one, and the beautiful filly that she’d ride one day.

  And Sunday let her, because life was about this moment, and every moment like it. It was about living and breathing and enjoying things like slow walks across newly sprouted fields.

  She’d think about Heavenly’s words later. After the horses were in the fields, and the kids were back at the house, and the sun wasn’t quite so beautiful.

  Or maybe she wouldn’t.

  Maybe she’d just let them be what they were—a truthful statement about the way things had been.

  But weren’t any longer.

  * * *

  Flynn had to give Sunday credit. She was great at avoiding things without being obvious.

  If she was asked a question she couldn’t remember the answer to, she sidestepped and shifted the conversation.

  If she greeted someone whose name she’d forgotten, she filled in the blank with sweetheart, honey, or friend.

  And when she didn’t want to ride a horse, because she was afraid of falling?

  She’d give every one of her kids an opportunity, cheering them on from her seat on the fence or gently leading the horse by the reins as Moisey or Twila or one of the twins held on to the saddle horn.

  He’d been watching her for three days.

  Three days of horse rides for the kids and smiles from Sunday, and excuses about why it was always someone else’s turn to ride.

  Now, the kids had returned to the house, and Heavenly was in Early’s stall, brushing her the way she’d been taught, whispering secrets in the mare’s ear about life and about what she loved.

  Flynn didn’t listen as he replaced horse tack and swept the small office that he didn’t think had ever been used when Matt was alive. It had been furnished with a desk, a chair, and an old file cabinet that had been empty except for a few rogue spiders. Now it was filled with files and paperwork. Eventually, Heavenly wanted to board horses for other people in town. The barn had ten stalls, and four were being used, so it made sense.

  It was expensive, though, and a lot of work.

  Flynn had decided to let her prove she could care for their horses before he broached the subject with Sunday.

  So far, she was doing great.

  But, then, everything was easy for a few days.

  It was the marathon he wanted to see her run. Not the sprint.

  “I’m finished, Uncle Flynn,” Heavenly called, and he stepped out of the office, watching as she stepped out of Early’s stall and secured the door.

  “You’d better go on back to the house, then. Rosie probably has dinner waiting. You’ve got your first choir rehearsal tonight, right?”

  “I’d rather stay here,” she muttered, but she took off her hat and hung it on a peg near the tack.

  “Don’t give up one dream for another when you can have them both,” he responded, and she scowled.

  “You always say things like that.”

  “Because one day, when you’re my age, you’ll remember them and smile.”

  “Or roll my eyes,” she replied.

  “You already do that,” he said, and she smiled.

  “Clementine and Porter are taking me to practice tonight. They’re bringing all the kids for ice cream while I’m there. It’s a long trip out there, you know.”

  “Forty minutes?” he said, wondering why she was bringing it up. The drive had been discussed plenty of times. Flynn, Porter, and Sullivan agreed it was worth the effort. Sunday had agreed. Heavenly had seemed excited and willing to sacrifice a few hours twice a week for the chance to be part of the county’s junior choir.

  “There and back. Plus, a two-hour practice.”

  “Are you wishing you weren’t chosen to be part of the county choir?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, because he, his brothers, and Sunday had also agreed that if Heavenly changed her mind about wanting to be in the choir, they weren’t going to force her to do it.

  “No! I’m excited. We’ll be singing at some fancy party at the children’s hospital in Spokane next month. Did I tell you that?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, we will be. I’ll have to have a blue dress. That’s what all the girls are supposed to wear. Long sleeves.”

  “We’ll find you one,” he assured her, still not sure what the conversation was about.

  “Mom and Rumer are taking me before school starts. Next week. Can you believe that? Just one week, and I’m starting eighth grade. Next year is high school.”

  “That’s a big deal. Is that why you’re worried about the forty-minute drive to practice? You think this last year of middle school is going to be too busy?”

  “I’m not worried. I was just mentioning it, because it’s Friday night.”

  “And?” he prodded, because the clock in the office was ticking loudly. He could hear it, and he knew that if Heavenly didn’t get moving, she’d be running late for dinner and for practice.

  “Rosie always goes home for the weekend Friday night. After she cleans up the dinner dishes.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Sullivan and Rumer are in Portland until tomorrow night.”

  “I’m aware of the schedule, Heavenly,” he reminded her, and she sighed. Loudly. Deeply. With every bit of the teenage attitude he’d come to expect from her.

  “You and Sunday are going to be here. Alone.”

  He’d been aware of that, too, but he didn’t bother mentioning it.

  “And it’s a gorgeous evening. You can feel fall in the air, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s Sunday’s favorite time of year. Did you know that?”

  “No. I didn’t.”
>
  “It is. She told me that the first year I lived here. Just like she told me that she loved horses, and that when she was a kid, she used to ride her dad’s old gelding. He was a roan. Just like Chance. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  “Damn, Uncle, you really need to be more informed.”

  “Language,” he chided, and she grinned.

  “Sorry, but you do. So I’ll tell you one more thing, and then I need to run, because Rosie made fried chicken tonight, and that’s my favorite.”

  “Go ahead,” he said, curious because he’d been spending a lot of time with Heavenly, and she almost never mentioned Sunday.

  “In biblical times, if a man died and left a widow, his unmarried brother was required to marry her. So they could, you know, carry on the family line.”

  “What?!” he sputtered, and her grin broadened.

  “It’s true. It’s in Deuteronomy.”

  “Heavenly, I don’t know what you’re getting at,” he began, but her smile had faded, the happy kid replaced by a serious young woman.

  “I’m not getting at anything. I’m just stating a fact. Sunday deserves to be happy. She deserves to have a man in her life who likes what she likes, who supports her dreams, who makes her feel like she’s enough.”

  “Heavenly.” I’m not going to be that man, he was going to say, but she was still talking, ignoring his effort to cut her off.

  “Twila and I have discussed the issue,” she announced as if there’d been a board meeting and a PowerPoint presentation listing pros and cons. “And neither of us thinks it would be weird if you and Sunday fell in love. But even if you’re not planning to do that, tonight is a perfect night to take Chance and Whisper to the river and watch the sun set. Don’t you think?”

  “I’ve already put up the tack.”

  “And you’re smart enough to know how to take it down again,” she said, sounding just like Emmerson had all those many years ago when he’d been teaching Flynn the ropes.

  Just like Flynn did when he was working with Heavenly.

  The old man would be proud to know his legacy was living on.

  “She’s got to get up on a horse eventually,” Heavenly prodded, obviously sensing his weakness and going in for the kill.

  “If I take her riding, it’s not going to be because I need to fulfill some archaic biblical law,” he growled, snatching his cowboy hat from its peg, annoyed that he was verbally sparring with a thirteen-year-old and that she was winning.

  “Oh. I know that,” Heavenly said. “The Deuteronomy thing is just a point of interest. Not a call to action.”

  “Where in the heck did you learn to talk like that?” he demanded.

  “Didn’t I tell you I was on the middle school debate team last year?” she asked, shooting a jaunty smile over her shoulder as she walked out of the barn.

  Chapter Ten

  They were gone.

  All of them.

  The kids and Rembrandt accompanying Heavenly to her practice.

  State choir? County?

  Sunday still couldn’t get it right, but she knew that’s where they were headed. To choir practice and ice cream.

  Rosie had left for the weekend.

  Clementine and Sullivan were with the kids.

  Flynn had gone with them.

  Sunday was alone.

  Finally.

  Thank God.

  With school looming and a wedding and fall festival being planned, life had been moving at a frantic pace.

  Sunday had been trying to keep up.

  Dear God, had she been trying!

  Throwing herself into the midst of things, messing up, forgetting, trying to be kind to herself and to the kids and not get in the way but not step out of it, either.

  It was a balancing act that took more energy than she had, but she didn’t dare think about that. Not when the kids needed her to keep going. They’d been happier these past few weeks, walking through the fields beside her, working in the kitchen while she washed dishes, sitting cross-legged while she did her daily physical therapy exercises, chattering endlessly about all the things they loved.

  It was true, she didn’t remember most of what they said. She’d retired the notebooks and only journaled now, jotting down what she could remember at the end of the day, when the kids were in bed.

  So she lost a lot, but she retained some, and the kids? They were retaining a lot. They’d bring up things she’d said or flower crowns she’d made or stories she’d told, and maybe she didn’t remember, but they did, and that was what mattered.

  She hoped.

  Because it was all she had.

  God, she was tired.

  But now the house was quiet, and she was alone and could do what she’d been wanting to for days. Sit in the recliner and stare at the wall and let herself drift.

  She must have closed her eyes, because she was suddenly in the car, speeding along the highway, the windows open to let in the cold autumn breeze.

  And Matt was beside her. Clear as day. Light brown hair whipping in the wind, hands loose on the steering wheel.

  “Pull over,” she said, but the words were carried away by the wind.

  “Matt! Pull over,” she screamed, because she knew what was coming.

  Headlights swerving toward them.

  Matt’s quiet curse.

  Glass shattering and metal bending.

  “Matt! Please,” she yelled, and he seemed to finally hear, because he turned and looked straight into her eyes the way he had when they were kids. Before they’d married and gone through years of infertility and learned each other’s flaws as well as their strengths.

  When he’d still looked at her as if she were the sun and the moon and every star.

  “You deserved better than me,” he said.

  “No,” she replied, but it was too late.

  The lights were there.

  Flashing across his face, highlighting the charming, handsome man he’d been.

  And then the glass and metal and the darkness.

  “It’s okay, Sunday. You’re okay,” someone said, running warm palms down her cold cheeks.

  For a moment, she thought she was in the hospital again, hooked to machines and trying to free herself from the darkness she’d fallen into.

  She sat bolt upright, pushing the hands away, heart galloping, pulse racing, breath heaving.

  “Sunday?”

  She blinked.

  She wasn’t in the hospital. Or the car. Or rehab.

  She was home, sitting in the easy chair, Flynn crouched beside her.

  “I thought you were gone,” she managed to say, her voice thick with tears she hadn’t realized she was shedding.

  She touched her cheek. It was still damp.

  “I was out in the barn, fixing one of the stalls.”

  “Oh. I thought you went with the kids, and . . .” Her mind was blank, and she stood, something clattering across the floor as she moved.

  “Porter and Clementine?” he provided, reaching for the thing that had dropped.

  “Right.”

  “I’m driving on Wednesday. Twila made the schedule, and we’ve all been schooled on the importance of sticking to it. Is this yours?” He dropped a rock into her hand. Smooth. Light pink. Heart-shaped.

  “I . . . the boys must have given it to me. Maddox gave me one a few weeks ago, and they’ve been bringing them to me ever since.” But she didn’t remember having this one when she sat in the chair, and the boys had been gone before she closed her eyes.

  “How many are in your collection?” he asked.

  “Twenty-five. Twenty-six now.” She tucked the pink rock in her pocket. “Most of them are river rocks.”

  “That looked like pink onyx.”

  “Yes. It did,” she agreed. Still shaky. Still confused.

  You deserved better than me.

  “Moisey says they’re kisses from heaven,” she continued, not wanting to think about the dream. Not wanting to cry
over the finality of those words.

  Deserved.

  Past tense.

  Not present.

  Because he was gone, and there was nothing that could be done to change the things that had happened while he was alive.

  “Your kids have a lot of interesting things to say,” Flynn said, smiling gently.

  And, God!

  She wanted to cry again, because he was there, and Matt wasn’t, and somehow that was okay with her. Somehow, it was even nice.

  “What have they been saying to you?” she asked, walking past him. Out into the hall. Dust motes danced in the sunlight like tiny ghosts of her forgotten memories.

  “According to Milo, his fifth-grade teacher is a hot tamale.”

  “He did not say that?!” she laughed.

  “He did. Maddox doesn’t agree. He says she’s old.”

  “Their teacher is . . . Emma Wilkens? Blond? Pretty. Maybe twenty-five?”

  “Ella McIntire,” he corrected. “But yes to everything else.”

  “If she’s old, I must be ancient.”

  “If you’re ancient, what’s that make me?”

  She laughed, but didn’t respond. The word wasn’t there, and she wasn’t going to fight for it.

  Besides, what she wanted to say was wonderful.

  Because that’s how Moisey described him all the time.

  Wonderful Uncle Flynn.

  As if it were all part of a very professional title.

  “That’s better,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Laughter instead of tears.”

  “I wasn’t crying.”

  “That was just water sliding down your cheeks?”

  “Sometimes, I dream about the accident.”

  “I see,” he said, opening the coat closet and pulling out her cowboy boots. “Here.”

  “What do I need these for?”

  “Heavenly says it’s the perfect evening for a horse ride.”

  “I’m not sure what that has to do with me.” Because there was no way she planned to climb on a horse’s back. Not tonight. Probably not for a very long time.

  “You asked what kind of things the kids were saying to me. That’s what she said.”

  “Oh.”

  “So put on the boots, and let’s head out.”

  “Flynn, you know I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can barely walk without tripping. How am I going to stay on a horse?”