Page 119 of Close Match

A smile touches my lips as my dad and Char catch me up on everything happening at the farm as we drive the thirty minutes to get there.

* * *

A fire cracklesin the room, sending a log rolling in the massive stone structure. “I tried my best not to take what she wrote personally,” I get out.

“Be hard not to,” Char sympathizes.

“But between everyone challenging my decision about Monty and then reading that, I began to doubt myself. If my mother would say things like that about me, what did Monty write?” I wonder aloud. I turn my head to take a sip of the spiced apple cider Char made when we got home.

“I couldn’t do it alone this time. I knew if I read his letter, and it’s bad, I needed to be around people who understood everything. I needed to be home.” My father’s fingers tighten around the hand he’s holding.

“Every time you say you wanted to come home, it makes my heart flip in my chest,” he admits.

Leaning my head against his shoulder, I tell him, “I didn’t realize the farm had become home until you said it in the car.”

He pulls back a little and puts a gentle kiss on top of my hair. “And let me say for the record, this is the last time you ask if you can come. We’ll get you keys this weekend.”

Char, who’s sitting curled under a blanket across from us with her head resting on her fist, agrees. “First thing tomorrow.”

A comfortable silence wraps around us before Dad breaks it. “You know we’ve heard from him, Linnie. And we’ve seen him too.”

“I want to ask, but I think I should read his letter first,” I tell him truthfully.

“That’s fair.” But I can’t resist asking one thing. “Was he glad to see you?”

“That, my darling girl, is an understatement.” Something I wasn’t aware was coiled inside me relaxes. Pushing to his feet, my father holds out his hand. “Come on, it’s late.”

I push the blanket to the side. “Do you know how long it took me to get adjusted to New York hours after I left? I was practically asleep in the middle of the second act ofQueen of the Starswhen we first debuted.”

Chuckles come from all around me. “And now?” Char asks, running a hand over my hair.

“Now, I go home and fall flat on my face. Maybe I’m just getting old,” I grumble.

“Or you’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress,” she counters. Leaning in, she kisses me on the cheek. “Blueberry-lemon crumble muffins for breakfast?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Then I’m off to bed. Night, you two.” Char leans up and accepts a kiss from my father that makes me yearn for the days before his bone marrow transplant. The days when my blinders were still partially on.

“I’ll be up soon,” he calls out. She waves.

I watch as the process begins to extinguish the fire. First, there’s prodding at the wood and embers with the fire poker. Then switching for a shove, ash is scooped from the bottom of the fireplace and tossed on top. Soon, the fire’s out. “We’ll let that sit before I put on the baking soda,” he declares, brushing his hands off on his pants.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before he says abruptly, “I heard a country song the other day that I thought reminded me of all of this. But then when I looked up the lyrics later, it didn’t.”

My heart pounding, I ask, “Why not?”

“Because you have never not once said Monty had to become a better man. You’ve said he was ill, that he needed help. But from the beginning, it’s been you reminding the rest of us he’s the best man there is.” My father pulls me back down to the couch. “Before you ever came into my life, Monty did everything to make this easier on us. When you got hurt, I lost sight of that.”

I reach out and take his hand. Is this the way my stepfather felt, this bleak sadness at being unable to help my mother? “He’s getting the help now.”

“Because you pushed for the right thing.”

“I’m not the one who will have to fight every day to live life, Dad. That’s on Monty,” I remind him gently. “So who knows if the song you heard will be true after all or not.”

He goes to open his mouth but instead closes it. “We’ll see. Come on. Let me finish making sure this fire’s out, and then we’ll head up.”

“Okay, Dad,” I agree, ready to put myself to bed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”