She stared hard at him, eyes seeking, then closing. “That lifts a weight. I can’t tell you the weight that lifts, knowing that’s the truth.”
His father, Callen thought, hadn’t been the only one to make mistakes, to let people down. “I can be sorry I didn’t lift it sooner. I am sorry.”
“I made mistakes. I made mistakes when I made excuses for him, when I made them to you and Vanna.” She squeezed his hand. “I can be sorry for that, and I am. He’d tell himself he had it licked. He’d know better, but he’d tell himself that. He’d just sit in on a friendly poker game, or put a small bet on a horse race, anything really. He knew he’d slide back, but he’d tell himself he wouldn’t. He’d stop going to his meetings.”
“What meetings?”
“Gamblers Anonymous. He didn’t tell you or Savannah about going to them. The truth is, part of him was ashamed for going, for needing to go. He wouldn’t tell me when he stopped going, though I’d start seeing signs. The only thing he ever lied to me about in our lives together were those meetings—skipping them to gamble. I could forgive him for that, because the lies and the gambling were the same.
“He was proud of you, you and Savannah. Maybe you’ll never feel the truth of that—and that’s his blame not yours. Maybe you’re not going to remember the good times, and we had them. Or how he put you up on a horse the first time, brought home your first dog, taught you how to hammer a nail and mend a fence. But he did those things, Callen, and had a father’s pride in you. And your father never forgave himself for costing you and Savannah your birthright, for gambling away the ranch acre by acre.”
“It was your home.”
“I’ll tell you a secret.” She laid a hand on his arm, rubbed. “The ranch was nothing but work for me. Means to an end. I’d have liked a house like Vanna’s. Neighbors close by, a yard, a little garden. Horses and cattle and fields to plow and plant—just endless work. Your daddy loved it. You love it. I never did.”
“But you…” He trailed off, shook his head. Maybe a man could never understand women, and the strength that ran through them. Or how they could love.
“I learned well enough how to be a ranch wife, but the truth is, it was never natural for me. I love living with Savannah and Justin and that baby boy. And I’m useful to them—that’s natural to me. I can help make their lives easier, and every day I’m blessed to see how happy they are together. How my girl’s made a good life for herself. I’ve never figured out what to do to make your life easier, to make up for having what was yours gambled away.”
“You don’t need to. I can make my own. I don’t need what was.”
“I know you can. Didn’t you send money to me every single month? Don’t you still—and there’s no need for you to—”
“I need to,” he said, cutting her off.
“You can make your own, Callen, and I know you’ll build your own happy life, but the land was yours, and I couldn’t keep it for you.”
“I don’t want you to carry that, Ma. I don’t want to think I’ve left that weight on you. If it was only the land, I could’ve bought it back, or enough of it. I left to make my own, to prove I could—to myself. I came back because I had, and I missed home. Home wasn’t that plot of land.”
“I wanted you to bring me today so I could say these things, and maybe put them aside for us. He never forgave himself for losing what should’ve been yours. And when he finally accepted he’d never get it back, it was in that despair that he took his own life. I couldn’t forgive him for that.”
Katie looked back at the stone, at the name carved there. “For all the rest, I’d forgiven him. The day we buried him here, I had no forgiveness in my heart. Anger and blame. I couldn’t feel anything else. Friends and neighbors came, I said the words back to them you’re supposed to say. I said words to you and your sister you’re supposed to say. But the words I said to him in my private thoughts were angry and unforgiving.”
“But you come here, to put flowers on his grave.”
“I’d have done that whether or not I’d forgiven him. And I have. I have forgiven him. He lost so much more than some acres of ground, some buildings, some animals, Callen. He lost the respect if not the love of his daughter, he lost his son. He lost the years he might have had with his grandchildren. So I forgave him. I come here, and put the flowers on his grave and remember there were good times, and there was love between us. We made you and Savannah between us, and that’s my miracle. So I can do that, and let the rest go.”
She bent down, laid the flowers. “I don’t ask you to forgive him, Cal. But I needed you to try to understand, and try to put this aside between us. I want to watch my boy build his own good life.”
For too long, for too many times, he’d thought her weak. He saw now that Cora Bodine wasn’t the only woman in his life with steel in her.
“There’s nothing hard between us, Ma. I’m sorry if I let you feel there was. I just couldn’t stay.”
“Oh, no, Cal, you were right to go.” She dug a tissue out of her pocket. “I missed you something awful, but I was glad you left to make your own.”
They weren’t words he said easily or often, but he saw she needed them, would never ask, but needed. “I love you, Ma.”
Her eyes already swimming, spilled out tears. “Callen. Cal.” She leaned against him, pressed her face to his chest. “I love you so much. My boy, I love you so much.”
He felt her release a breath as if she’d held it for years. “Now I know you’re really home again.”
“I left because I needed to. I came back because I wanted to. I missed my ma,” he said and heard her muffled sob against his heart. “Stop worrying now. You’re getting cold. Come on, let’s get you in the truck with the heater going.”
Katie looked down at the stone, the flowers. “Yes, it’s time to go.”
“Good, because I’ve got a date with a pretty woman.” He slipped an arm around her. “I’m going to buy her a fancy dinner.”
She dashed the lingering tears away. “Would that run to a glass of wine?”
“You’ve got a taste for wine, do you?”
“I do tonight.”
“Then we’ll get ourselves a bottle.”
*
When he got back to the cabin, he’d seen the tracks in the snow right off. The rage that he’d nearly choked down spewed back up as he strode to the shed, found the door unlocked.
He roared inside sure, still sure, he’d find her. She wouldn’t dare, wouldn’t dare disobey.
But the place he’d provided for her was empty, not even fully put to rights.
She’d pay for it, pay dear.
He rushed back out, squinting as he surveyed. The moon gave him enough light to see those tracks, though the clouds were coming in.
She wouldn’t get far. Ungrateful whore. And when he caught up with her, he’d break both her legs. Walk off, would she? It would be the last time she walked at all.