Clear to Lift (38 page)

“Welcome, you two!” Jack announces. I whip around to see Jack holding the front door wide open.

“Great to see you,” Will says to Jack, none to enthusiastically.

I pick up my bag, and Will and I share a to-be-continued look and a couple of deep breaths.

“Ha! Fair William! You wear your heart on your sleeve. But I would have it no other way.”

Jack, awash in laughter, pulls me into an enormous hug as Will hops in on his crutches. And, oh … sweet heaven. I pull away from Jack and turn toward the aroma—the mouthwatering smells of a traditional Thanksgiving feast. Turkey and stuffing and … wait. My mom's stuffing. My
mom's
stuffing … in Jack's house.

I shake my head, blinking.

“What is it?” Will asks.

“I just—”

Mom emerges from the kitchen, and Jack leaps down the stairs to join her, sliding his hand into hers.

My mom and my dad. I'm looking at
my mom and dad.
Holding hands.

Will moves his hand back and forth in front of my face. “Hello in there,” he says.

“That…,” I say, pointing. “I'm just trying to get my head around … that.”

“Is it okay?” my mom says.

I nod. “It is. It's very okay.”

“Well, come on down then,” Jack says. “I'd say alcohol is probably in order.”

“Fine by me, except I don't think we've been formally introduced yet,” Will says, looking at my mom.

“You haven't…,” I start. “Oh! You haven't!”

After Will was taken to the hospital, my mom went home with Jack. And once our crew returned to Fallon, I drove back to Carson City to stay with Will, who suffered clean breaks to both the tibia and fibula. The surgeon said he didn't anticipate any healing complications—the word “lucky” was spoken several times during his prognosis—and now Will wears a cast, while sporting some rugged-looking scratches on his face for good measure.

I start down the three long stairs that lead to the sunken living room while Will carefully negotiates the steps with his crutches.

I meet my mom for a strong embrace, then step back. “Mom, this is Will,” I say, a blush rising. “Will, this is my mom, Candice.”

My mom forgoes any formality, wrapping her arms around Will. “It's so wonderful to finally meet you.”

“And you,” Will says.

My mom steps away, looking back and forth between the two of us, which causes me to shift a bit, nervous for some reason. Will reaches his right hand to me, which I take, and he pulls me to his side, all while balancing his crutch under his arm. My insides glow, warming like a luminaria at Christmastime.

She doesn't have to say a word for me to know what she's thinking.
Right choice.

“So, let's go get something to drink,” Jack says, putting his arm around my mom and guiding her into the kitchen.

What a marked difference in my mom's demeanor. She never looked like this in Nick's arms, almost as if they held each other as brother and sister. But it looks as if she's suction-cupped to Jack, like she fits there perfectly. She leans into him, he bends over and kisses her forehead, so sweet and tender, and very, very real.

“Actually, Jack,” my mom says, “I'm gonna steal Ali for a second.”

Jack's gaze shifts to the tiny jewelry box on the counter, and my mom nods, smiling.

“Take your time,” Jack says sweetly. “Will's gonna help me set the table.”

“I am?” Will gives his best sympathy-garnering look, motioning to his crutches.

“Oh, please,” Jack says, pointing to the cupboards. “Get to work, mister.”

“I didn't think that would work,” Will says, shrugging. “Ah, well.” He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before moving forward for his kitchen duties, just as my mom scoops up the box.

“Oh, Will,” I say, remembering. I hand him my bag and whisper in his ear. “Hide this somewhere for me, okay?”

“Will do.”

My mom and I make our way downstairs, lowering ourselves to sit on the same couch where Jack and I held our heart-to-heart conversation three weeks ago. A homey fire crackles in the fireplace, as it did then, and—ah! There's Mojo!

“Come here, you,” I say. My mom and I pet him well before he takes his leave, returning to his spot next to the fire.

“Here,” my mom says. “This is for you.”

“What's this?”

“It's something I wanted to give you at the lodge.”

“But what—”

“Just open it.”

I lift the lid. An antique silver locket rests in soft, white tissue.

“This is…” I lift the locket by its silver chain, letting it dangle in front of me. “… exquisite. Where did you…?”

“It was your grandmother's. Jack's mother gave it to me, when we were married.”

I lay the locket on my palm, smoothing my finger over its oval shape and the etched design in the center.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“A larkspur flower, yes. His mother's garden in Bielsa was filled with them.”

“A larkspur…,” I whisper, admiring the intricate and perfectly rendered flower. “But I can't take this. It's yours.”

“No, it's yours now. Look inside.”

I open the locket, focus, blink, refocus. And then the image blurs as my eyes water over.

“Your dad loved to take you on walks near the river. He would perch his little Magpie on his shoulders, and off you'd go, up and down the Walker. He'd carry you for hours.”

“He told me, but I just couldn't remember.”

“Grandpa Alther took that photo of the three of us, before we set off on one of our hikes.”

“You used to hike,” I say, noting the backpack she wears in the photo. “You climbed. You served in search and rescue! Jack told me all of that. I never … I never knew.”

“It was so hard for me to go back to the lodge,” she says, her voice cracking.

I look up, and the tears are streaming freely down her cheeks.

“Every time, I had to face the biggest mistake I'd ever made in my life. But I couldn't undo it. I'd married Nick.…” Her breath catches. “I did it for you. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Mom—”

“I'm so sorry. I'm so—”

“Mom, don't. Please. It's okay. I understand.”

“I wanted to show you this,” she says, pointing to the locket. “Tell you about our time as a family in Walker Canyon. Do all of it right there at the lodge. Tell you everything. Apologize. But now it's gone,” she says, wiping her eyes. “It's gone, and now, we can't go back.”

“You're right,” I say. I scooch closer to her, wiping the wetness from her cheeks, tucking the loose strands of hair—the same auburn color as mine—behind her ears. “We can't go back. But we
can
go forward.”

She nods, sniffing.

“And why would we look back, anyway? I mean, Mom, look where we are now.”

She smiles through her tears, and our arms fly around each other.

“Are you guys finished yet?” Celia says, peeking around the corner. “I'm starving!”

“Celia!” I say, rising to give her a hug. “When did you get here?”

“Ben just picked me up at the hotel. Just got here.”

“Ben? Who's—?”

“You know. Boomer.”

“Oh, oh yeah. But hotel? You stayed at a
hotel?
Mom, what's up with that?”

“We begged her to stay here, but she insisted. Sort of like you insisting Jack and I not come to the hospital,” my mom says, eyes narrowing. “Same reasoning.”

“Ah,” I say. Nice that Celia was thinking like I was on that one, allowing my mom and Jack some getting-reacquainted time.

“So are we good here?” Celia asks.

“I'd say we're pretty good.” I glance at my mom. Yep, we're in the same—very good—place. “Did you see what she brought me?” I say, holding the locket out to Celia.

“I did. Here, let me help you put that on.”

She takes the locket, steps behind while I pull up my hair, and places it around my neck.

“Did you know this is why your mom wanted to have Thanksgiving at the lodge?” Celia says as she secures the hasp.

“It wasn't
my
idea,” my mom says. “It was Celia's. And it took a lot of convincing. I never would have gotten to the lodge—never would have gotten to that point
mentally
—without her.”

“Yeah,” Celia says, head dropping. “Too bad I wasn't there—”

“Stop, Cee,” my mom says. “You were there for me
exactly
when I needed you.”

Celia rolls her eyes, clearly unconvinced.

“So, am I gonna have to call Dr. Grant on
your
behalf or what?” my mom says. “I will, if you don't stop the moping.”

“Says you,” Celia answers with a playful shove on my mom's shoulder.

“Says me.” My mom shoves her back.

“What is going
on
down there?” Boomer says. He tromps like a pregnant bear down the stairs. Tromp. Tromp. Tromp. “Let's
go,
ladies!” he says, stopping on the bottom step. “I need to eat, ASAP!”

*   *   *

I lean back, stretching my legs under the table, blissfully stuffed with stuffing. Will reaches over, laces his fingers through mine, and pulls our entwined hands to his lap. Throughout the evening, Will has laid a gentle hand here, stroked my cheek there, while Boomer has regaled the group with another retelling of “the rescue.”

We finally learned why my mom and Celia were in Cabin Eleven, not in the main lodge as I thought they would be. I guess the hero business runs in the family. They sacrificed their chance to leave the main lodge safely, instead choosing to run to all of the other cabins to ensure their guests got out first. They were on their way to Cabin Ten when the river exploded around them, trapping them in Cabin Eleven.

So many close calls. So many …

I think that's why Will and I are so touchy tonight. Just making sure, still there, still there. The image of the cabin pulling him into the river is one that won't soon fade, I'm afraid. Embarrassingly, I woke up shouting Will's name in his hospital room after having fallen asleep there the first night. It happened the second night, too. And, yeah … last night, as well. I think he can even sense when I'm thinking about it, like now, as he gives me a reassuring squeeze of the hand.

It's happening across the table, too. Mom and Jack, holding hands, stealing glances, sharing smiles.

I'm looking at my mother and father. My
mother and father …

They catch me staring.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “This just hasn't sunk in yet. It's so beautiful, but it's hard to believe it's really happening.”

“That makes three of us,” Jack says with a chuckle. “But you know what? We're gonna have a long time to get used to this. Your mom and I have decided to live together again.”

My mom beams. Celia does, too.

“Now that's news worth drinking to!” Boomer says, raising his glass.

“To new beginnings,” Celia says.

As we bring our glasses to our lips, I think of my mom's real-estate business, flourishing, successful. She's worked so hard for all she has.…

“Will you be moving to Sacramento, then?” I say.

“No, Ali,” my mom answers. “I'm coming here. I'm coming home to Larkspur.”

“You're coming … here? But what about—”

“What I've built in Sacramento is nothing compared to what I have here,” she says, looking up and smiling at Jack. “If I ever feel the itch to do real estate, then I'll just start over, because I know where I want to be. I know where I belong.” She winks at Jack, “
And
I've got an in with a construction company that's building some beautiful new homes!”

I reach up, as I've done most of the evening, to finger the locket on my neck.
Where I belong.
That's what it feels like. The missing piece has been found. And as I squeeze Will's hand, I know that on this Thanksgiving, everything I've ever wanted to say thank you for is right here at this table. I have to blink as my eyes start watering. Again.

Yikes. What is it with the waterworks?

“Ali…? Ali?” my mom says.

“What's that? Sorry?”

“I said, and as a bonus, I'll be closer to you and Will.” She looks at Will. “You know, Jack's told me so much about you.”

“Uh-oh,” Will says.

“It was all good, I promise.” She then returns her gaze to me. “Ali, honey, as happy as you are for Jack and me, we're overjoyed for you and Will. Truly.”

“I'll drink to that!” Will says.

“So how about dessert?” Boomer says.

We all start to rise to help clear our plates, but Jack shushes us down. “Keep your seats, guys. We'll get this.”

He and my mom go about clearing, acting as if it's the most wonderful thing they've ever done together, while Boomer goes back to storytelling mode. “Oh, and that reminds me,” Boomer says, stopping midstream. “Totally different subject, but Alison, your detailer called, while you were out.”

My detailer?

My detailer …

My detailer!

“He … he did?” I say, nursing the oddest sensation—a spider scurrying under the skin. “What did he say?”

“That he hasn't had any luck on your transfer request. Although, I suppose that would be good news now wouldn't it?”

I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.

“Your detailer?” Will asks. “Transfer?”

“That was before … us. Obviously, I don't want to leave anymore.”

“Well, don't forget to call him when we get back to work on Monday, then,” Boomer says.

“I won't. Trust me.”

Whoa. Just five weeks ago, I would have leaped at orders transferring me from Fallon. And how long have I pestered the detailer? Thank god he was thwarted in his efforts.