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“No. We’ve had this time with you. We’ve been able to watch you come back over these weeks. You’ve let us see how hard you try. I never wanted you to join the NRP.”
“But…” Shock struck and spread. “You never said. Ever. You always supported me there.”
“Supporting my daughter in what she wants doesn’t mean it’s what I wanted for her. My girl wearing a gun on her hip every day? No, not at all what I wanted, and I can’t count the number of times I had to stop myself from trying to push you in another direction. But if I had, I knew I could push you away. I’d never risk that.”
“It’s been hard on you.” Shifting, she studied her mother’s profile. “I didn’t know, I never thought.”
“Sometimes—and I wouldn’t have wanted you to know. But having these weeks, watching you try, seeing how hard you’ll work to get back? It’s changed my mind. It’s not just what you wanted to do, but what you were meant to do. So now, I want it for you, too.”
She shot Sloan a smile. “So you’ve been very useful. And by Christmas? You’ll be that much closer.”
“I should bitch out loud more often.”
“Are you up to it if I get off in town, catch that ride later? You can drive yourself home.”
“I will be. Mom.” She had to stop and take a breath as emotion swamped her. “God, you always know just the right thing.”
“Not always. But this way, we can both feel useful.”
Twenty minutes later, Sloan sat behind the wheel. Maybe it was silly, she admitted, but the act of driving a car, even for a few miles, made her feel better.
One more step, she thought as she turned up the radio and navigated the roads. Everything looked bright and sparkling, the sheer, cold blue of the sky, the deep green pines with the carpet of snow at their feet. The white-smothered peaks shining in the mirror of the lake.
When she caught sight of a hawk, she pulled over just to watch it circle against that pristine sky.
She’d mark today as a turning point, she told herself as she drove on. She’d consider it the end of the beginning.
When she got home, she pulled into the garage. Instead of going through its mudroom entrance, she went back outside. After a four-hour round trip, she could—and should—walk.
This time she didn’t push for steps, but studied the hills, the way they rose up, the way they swam in the lake. She watched the birds, listened to their calls. She spotted deer tracks in the snow.
And realized when she stopped, she’d passed her last mark.
Backtracking, she counted.
Fourteen steps more.
After pumping a fist, she walked home.
Tired, she thought, taking stock. But not exhausted, not really shaky.
Inside, she lit a fire, then started to sit down, update her spreadsheet. Then remembered her low marks on weight gain, so went to the kitchen instead.
She made herself a grilled cheese sandwich, then took it to the living room and ate while she updated. Then gave herself a mental pat on the back when she managed to eat it all.
She washed the pan, then accepted she needed to sit awhile. Maybe even take a nap.
She sat, picked up her crocheting because she’d discovered it not only gave her something to do but lulled her.
She’d managed a few stitches on her newest project when someone knocked on the door.
Assuming delivery, she nearly ignored it, then made herself get up and answer.
“Cap!”
She found herself enveloped in a hug by a man who smelled like the forest.
“Let me have a look at you.”