Wildflowers from Winter (3 page)

Bethany’s heart quieted. The usual stain of worry in Mom’s voice had lifted, as if she’d doused her words in Clorox and scrubbed them clean. This couldn’t be about David.

“Dan was admitted to the hospital the other night. I guess he had a heart attack. He’s apparently doing fine. He’s going home in a couple days, so there’s really nothing to worry about. I just thought you’d want to know.”

Grandpa Dan? When was the last time she’d talked to Grandpa Dan? She rewound time, thinking back several months, when she called to wish him a happy birthday. Hearing his voice always brought back a slew of memories. Feeding the calves, watching him and his cousin Ray pitch hay in the barn, listening while he taught her how to groom, saddle, and ride a horse. Every time she talked to him on the phone, an inexplicable feeling of homesickness would sweep over her—like a cloud passing in front of the sun. Now he was in the hospital, and that same unfamiliar feeling stole
through her body. It didn’t make any sense. How could she be homesick for a place she hated?

She plopped onto the leather sofa and rested her elbows on her knees. She had her reasons for avoiding Mom and Robin. She had her reasons for shunning Peaks. But Grandpa Dan? She couldn’t shut him out of her life.

Bethany powered her phone off and rested back on the cushions, desperate to leave behind this headache of a day. But as hard as she tried, her brain would not rest. The idea of going to Peaks returned, stronger this time. She couldn’t ignore it. Just like she couldn’t ignore Robin or her grandfather. For whatever reason, Peaks wanted her back.

Three questions scrolled through her mind like sleep-repellent ticker tape, keeping her awake well past midnight. Should she go back? Could she live with herself if she didn’t?

Could she live with herself if she did?

TWO

P
lowed fields, once rich with hay and corn, lay covered in patches of white, nodding off for a long winter’s nap. The beginning of December always brought a sense of lethargy to the countryside. Bethany yawned as the two-lane highway undulated before her, an occasional barn or silo breaking up the monotony in brief but consistent intervals. Whenever she passed one of those solitary structures, with nothing but a pair of leafless oaks to keep it company, a lonesome feeling would nudge up against her. A feeling she had known well as a child.

She shook away the encroaching memories, steered her car through a sharp bend in the road, and spotted a paint-chipped barn where three Shetlands had their heads bent low over a trough. It was the Masons’ old farm. And although the horses had changed, the milestone hadn’t. She was five minutes from Peaks.

She took a long, slow breath. One week. She could handle one week. Seven days to fulfill her obligations and get back to life in Chicago. Embracing the pep talk, she bent her head toward one shoulder, then the other, a poor attempt to release the stiffness that had accumulated during her three-hour drive into farm country.

Peaks’s water tower emerged over the top of an abandoned barn. Her right foot shifted from the gas to the brake as she approached a familiar four-way stop—the one with Jorner’s General Store on the corner. The sight
of that old store sitting behind Peaks’s unchanged population sign stroked pieces of her soul that had lain dormant over the past ten years. The fatherless, trailer-park Bethany of her past threatened to resurface. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and pushed that girl back down. That wasn’t who she was anymore.

Bethany turned off the main road. Gravel pinged against the belly of her car as Dan’s farmhouse peeked from behind a large machine shed. A glance in her rearview mirror showed two unfamiliar Border collies trotting alongside her rear tires. She shifted in her seat. The place was like an unaged photograph. She hadn’t laid eyes on it in ten years, yet it looked so much the same. Black shutters against white siding, floral curtains visible through second-story windows, the rocking chair sitting vigil on a wraparound porch. Even the tire swing Dan put up for her and David still hung from a bough of the elm tree out front. While time had its way with everything else, this farm had somehow escaped its snare.

She pulled up next to a black Ford Ranger, which sat in the spot where Dan’s rusted-out pickup used to be, and got out of her car. Beside her, a dirty Bronco decked with a bug-splattered grill hummed and hissed as though the owner had turned it off only a moment ago.

Unease settled in her stomach. When she’d called Dan yesterday, he hadn’t mentioned anything about visitors. She’d hoped it would be just her and Dan at the farmhouse while she stayed in Peaks. She had no desire to catch up with old acquaintances.

The dogs followed as she rolled her suitcase over the uneven ground. She stepped onto the porch, wiped her hands on her jeans one at a time, and raised her fist. Before she could knock, the door flew open and a man filled the doorway, looking over his shoulder toward something inside.

Bethany’s muscles jerked like a giant hiccup. Her hands flew out in case he lunged outside without seeing her.

The man turned his head and took a quick step back.

“Who are you?” They spoke at the same time, the deepness of his voice drowning out the surprise in hers.

He glanced down at her luggage, then back at her. Scruff covered the entirety of his chin and darkness circled beneath his eyes. The man looked like he could use three weeks of solid sleep followed by a long nap, and he still might not escape the exhaustion haunting his face. Blinking away her distraction, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Bethany. Dan’s granddaughter.”

His eyes flickered, then cleared. “So you really exist. How about that.”

She straightened her spine and moved to take back her hand, but he swaddled her palm with a callused grip. “Are you going to tell me who you are?” she asked.

“I’m Evan. I run the farm.”

The name sounded familiar. Dan must have mentioned him in one of their conversations, but she couldn’t remember.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “Dan talks a lot about you and your brother. But ever since I started working here, I’ve never seen a trace of either of you.”

“David’s in Afghanistan.”

“And you’re in Chicago. Making it big as an architect.”

She leaned back on her heels to put some distance between them. She didn’t like this stranger knowing things about her when she knew nothing about him. She didn’t like his tone either.

“What brings you back to Peaks?” he asked.

“Dan had a heart attack.”

He scratched his chin and studied her, like he wasn’t sure he believed her.

“It’s cold out, you know.”

He swept his hand toward the foyer. “By all means, come on in.”

“Thanks for your permission,” she mumbled, tugging at her suitcase.

“It’s killing him.”

She stopped. “His heart?”

“No.” He reached out to help, but she didn’t relinquish her hold. She hadn’t asked for his help. Despite her refusal to let go, he moved the suitcase over the threshold with one easy lift. “Resting. He doesn’t like the doctor’s orders. Yesterday I caught him trying to carry the cattle corn buckets, and those things aren’t light.”

“Do the doctors think he’ll make a full recovery?”

“He’s seventy-five. He has high blood pressure and even higher cholesterol.”

“The farm’s kept him active, hasn’t it?”

“The farm’s also fed him meat and potatoes every day of his life since he was a kid. Not so great for a person’s arteries.” Evan must have sensed she was going to jump in and say something, because before she could get the words out, he held up his hands. “Don’t get worried. Dan just has to rest and cut back on the bacon, that’s all. The doctors say he might live twenty more years.”

He also might not
. But Bethany swallowed the words.

“And he’s well taken care of here. So if this”—he twirled his hand in the air—“newfound sense of obligation you’re feeling is throwing a kink in your plans, you can go back to Chicago guilt free.”

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could bring shape to her thoughts, Evan stepped out onto the porch and tipped his head. “It’s been a pleasure.”

He gave a sharp whistle. The two Border collies emerged from behind the house and joined him as he walked down the driveway. He didn’t get in either of the vehicles. Instead, he headed toward the paddock, and on his way, thumped the hood of her Audi.

“Nice wheels,” he called over his shoulder.

She didn’t miss the laughter in his voice.

The stairs creaked beneath Bethany’s feet. Whenever she crept up that twisted stairwell as a child, she imagined walking to a secret lair, where something magical awaited. She and David would climb the stairs and hide in a cubbyhole in her grandpa’s closet. They’d crouch in the corner and decorate the cobwebbed walls with bright, dancing circles from their flashlights. As an adult, she felt that same sense of anticipation. Only this time she knew nothing magical awaited her on the second story.

Just Grandpa Dan.

Her throat closed tight as she tiptoed down the narrow hallway, past the peeling, rose-patterned wallpaper, and peeked through the crack in his doorway. Dan lay in bed, leaning on some pillows, flipping through muted television channels. Silver had crept up his temples and painted his once-brown hair a shiny gray. Weak sunlight outlined his profile, revealing the same prominent nose, the same cleft chin, the same wide forehead she remembered as a kid. It was the sight of his arm that made her suck in a silent breath. Once strong and tanned, it now hung deflated and pale, lax instead of taut.

She rapped her knuckle against the door frame. The sound must have caught his attention because he turned away from the television. His eyes flickered, cleared, then blinked several times. He gave his head a shake, as if she were nothing more than an apparition. Then his face crinkled into a grin—one that reached all the way up to his hairline.

“Bethany.”

It was just her name. Nothing more. But a flood of unspoken emotion rested behind those three syllables. Joy. Love. Relief. Invitation. All the anxiety swirling inside her chest—fears that ten years of neglect would sour their reunion—morphed into the overwhelming urgency to sit next to him, to place her hand over the steady thrumming of his heartbeat. Assurance
that he was alive and well. She hurried to his side, took his hand, and inhaled the familiar scent of tobacco and mint.

Home
.

He squeezed her hand. “It’s really you.”

“It’s really me,” she said.

She admired him for an extended moment, taking in all the things changed and unchanged. Although new wrinkles adorned his pale features, he was still her Grandpa Dan.

“How’s Chicago treating you?”

“Wonderful.” The automatic response stuck in her throat. Was it really wonderful? She had become an architect to design museums and hotels and skyscrapers. She hadn’t become one to make run-down facilities less rundown. She shook away the pessimism. She was only twenty-eight. With more time and hard work, she’d get there. “How are you feeling? Do the doctors—”

Dan waved his hand. “I’m fine. Healthy as a horse. If it weren’t for Evan, I’d be out there right now, fixing my tractor.”

“Grandpa”—she dipped her chin—“you had a heart attack.”

He brought the palm of his hand to rest over his chest. “This heart’s just fine. God was getting my attention, is all. Wanted to remind me not to take things for granted.”

“I’m not sure I agree with His method of attention-getting.”

Dan chuckled. “So is that why you came back? To check up on me?”

“I wanted to see you. Take care of you for a few days.”

“I love you for that, Bethany. I really do. But I don’t need taking care of.” He patted her hand. “You can stay as long as you like. As a guest, though. Not as my nurse.”

“I didn’t take a week off work to sit around and be a burden. I can clean. Or keep you company while you’re cooped up in this bed.” She almost laughed at the concerned lines rippling across his forehead—as if she were
the one who had a heart attack instead of him. “Plus, it’ll give me an excuse to slow down.”
And figure out how to approach Robin
.

“I won’t argue with you there. But the last thing I need is another person around here mollycoddling me. Evan does enough of it.”

“Well, Evan won’t have to worry about that anymore. He can leave it up to me. It’ll give him more time to spend at home. With his family.”

Dan frowned. “Bethany, this
is
his home.”

“What do you mean?”

“Evan’s lived here for the past five years.”

THREE

B
ethany pulled the quilt over her head and turned toward the wall, away from the shafts of sunlight filtering through the blinds. She hadn’t gone to bed until late. Very late. Earlier in the evening, Evan had cooked dinner. After the awkward meal, she’d spent her time with Dan, sitting in the worn-out recliner next to his bed, first talking, then watching black-and-white sitcoms he’d recorded over the years.
I Love Lucy. Leave It to Beaver. The Andy Griffith Show
. The box of tapes Evan fished from the cellar turned out to be the only thing that convinced her grandfather to stay in bed for the evening.