Pops hated coffee, but he loved his wife. A mission then ensued to find a tolerable hot beverage he could share alongside her in the mornings. He passed down his affection for the sweet drink to me—his only grandchild. A taste preference I received relentless grief for by my squad mates whenever a Swiss Miss care package arrived in whatever no-man’s-land location we were stationed in.
As though the god of stubborn asses has summoned him, my phone vibrates with a call from my best friend and squad mate, Walker Willis.
“Dubs.”
“Shaw, did you make it there alright?”
“Yeah, got in day before yesterday.”
Dubs and I met in the Army’s 75th Ranger Regiment. He’s a few years younger than me, but we’ve always served side by side. He and I have skirted death, lost brothers in arms, and seen each other through allthe crazy mess in between. His roots may be in Texas, but we never lose touch when we’re not on post together.
“Say the word and I’ll be there to help you.”
“I appreciate that, but I got it.”
He heaves a long breath, both of us knowing just how stubborn the other one is. “I can’t believe you’re hanging your hat early, man.”
I lean back, run a hand down my face. “You know I had to.”
“Yeah, I’m just sorry it’s all played out this way. Life dealt you a crappy hand this year.”
“Yeah,” is my only reply. Not much else to say beyond that.
“Rowan, let me come help.”
“Listen,” I say, pushing off my foot to set the swing into motion. “I love you for offering, but I’m good. I’ve got a list of fixes to make to the Boulder house and a realtor all lined up. I’ll be headed back to North Carolina in a few weeks.”
He grumbles something in Spanish, and I can’t help but smile. Dubs may have been raised a Texas cowboy, but he’s also a full-blooded Puerto Rican. When he’s in protective mode, a switch flips and he’s all fast-talking and dramatic hand gestures. Frankly, I’m thankful for it even if it’s only because my obstinance annoys him.
The incoherent verbal lashing continues for several beats before he composes himself. “How about your mom? She and Bri doing alright?”
I stretch an arm over the back of the seat. “Good as can be expected, I guess. Doctors say Mom’s still got several months, maybe a year or more, to a full recovery. Bri’s residency starts in August, so I have to be back to relieve her by then.”
Nobody plans for their mother to be in a horrific car accident that leaves her with extensive spinal damage and enough broken bones to make you question the validity of X-ray technology as a whole—I’m still convinced those first images had to be a hoax. Most people couldn’t survive such injuries. But my mom isn’t most people. With her multiple surgeries, physical therapies, and two-steps-forward-one-step-back progress, I was lucky to be near the end of my current military contract so I could request an honorable discharge from service. It was years before I planned to retire, but the choice had to be made—Mom needed me.
Pops’ passing wasn’t on my bingo card for this year either.
If my grandfather were here, he’d tell me to stop wallowing. He’d say he’s dead but I’m not, so get moving. That life’s tough shit sometimes but feeling sorry for yourself won’t change what’s already been done. Then he’d wrap me in a hug, tell me he loves me, and push me out the door with instructions not to come back just because I think he needs my help.Because he doesn’t, he’d say.
Andthat’swhy I haven’t been back to Colorado in five years. Because every spare minute of leave I’ve had has been spent in North Carolina helping Mom.
I shouldn’t have listened to a word he said. I shouldn’t have let myself believe weekly phone calls were enough. I shouldn’t have convinced myself there’d eventually be enough time to make it out here to see him. I should’ve outsourced some of the repairs back home and gotten on a damn plane, especially after Nana passed.
I pause, shaking my head. “Bri texted earlier. One of the gutters fell off the house.”
My childhood home has been in a constant state of disrepair for years. Now that I’m home for good, I’m painfully aware of how much needs to be done. And despite my best efforts and offers to pay for it, I can’t convince Mom to move. For reasons unbeknownst to me, she says she’s not ready to leave.
My hat comes off and I rake a hand through my hair.
“You’ll get through this, man,” Dubs says.
Knots pull tight in my chest. “It’s so much.”
“Shaw, you’re anArmy Ranger! Where’s the dude with the badass bravado who goes toe to toe with a terrorist like it’s just another Tuesday?”
I guffaw. “Is it weird to say that actually sounds easier than...all ofthis?”
Dubs laughs unashamedly. “To a civilian? Maybe. But I get it. Just take it one day at a time. Tess is Wonder Woman. She’ll get through this. You all will.”