Page 9 of Small Town Hero
“She’s all those things and more,” Ian agreed, while his heart shattered into pieces, like an upended jigsaw puzzle, and tumbled down and down, into some inner abyss.
“Things happened—we wanted different things, we were headed in different directions. It’s grown-up stuff, and it’s hard to explain.
We both love you deeply—that’s what’s important. ”
“But you text her all the time, and she texts you,” Vivian insisted, lying down now and pulling her covers up to her chin. Mabel did the same.
Still fretful, Dub gave a soft whimper, and Ian reached out to ruffle the dog’s ears.
“Those texts are mostly about the two of you,” Ian said. “The phone calls, too.”
“Okay,” chorused his beloved daughters.
“What about Tony?” he heard himself ask. He hadn’t planned to bring up Catherine’s new husband; the words just slipped out, so he went on. “Do you like him?”
Just then, a silvery splash of moonlight spilled in through the window above the beds, briefly illuminating the children’s faces.
“He’s all right,” Mabel conceded.
“He’s always kissing Mom,” Vivian elaborated. “Even when we’re right there.”
Ian chuckled, relieved. “That’s normal, kiddos. He and your mom are in love, after all. And they’re married.”
Neither twin offered a confirmation—or a denial.
They’d had a long day, and soon they’d be asleep.
For now, any further discussion would have to wait.
Ian tucked them in, kissed their foreheads, and reminded them to say their prayers.
Dub slumped down on the rug with a huff of a sigh, and Ian left the room, leaving the door open just far enough to let the dog pass through if he wanted.
In the clean but outdated kitchen, Ian brewed a cup of coffee and gazed out of the window over the sink.
Memories washed over him, in gentle but poignant waves.
His grandmother, Dora, kneading bread dough and listening to music on an old-fashioned portable radio.
His grandfather, Jeb, stomping snow off his feet on the back step before lugging in yet another armload of wood for the stove in the living room.
His childhood self, playing on the floor—a middle-schooler, struggling with homework—a teenager, sorting through a variety of dreams for his future.
Those people, this house, this land—he was part of the place, and it was part of him. In fact, he drew much of his strength from just being there, under those spectacular skies.
Sipping his coffee, Ian took his phone from the countertop, where it had been charging, and sat down at the table.
It was late in Arizona, even later in Miami.
Ian scrolled earlier exchanges with Catherine anyway, then tapped in a brief text message.
We need to talk.
She didn’t respond until the following morning, when he and the girls were gathered around the kitchen table, filling up on bacon, eggs and fried potatoes.
Ian’s phone chimed and he looked down at it, saw that there was a text from Catherine, and tapped in.
That sounds serious , she’d written. What’s going on out there?
Being modern kids, Vivian and Mabel barely noticed that Ian was focused on his phone; they were both trying to sneak bits of bacon to Dub, who was under the table, and chattering away about an upcoming trip to town.
There was no sign of last night’s upset. Not yet, anyway.
First of all, don’t panic , Ian replied. The girls are fine; there’s nothing to worry about. But this is too complicated for texting, so I’m hoping we can arrange a time to actually talk. A Zoom call, maybe, when Vivian and Mabel are watching Frozen for the hundredth time?
Catherine responded quickly. How about now , Ian? Something must be up, and I need to know what it is.
Sorry , he tapped in. The kids are right here, and I don’t want them listening in.
Ian!
Catherine, calm down. I told you there was nothing to worry about.
The phone rang in his hand.
Ian sighed, shoved back his chair, muttered an excuse to the twins, and left the room, shutting himself away in his home office.
He greeted his ex-wife in a terse undertone. “ Damn it, Catherine. This isn’t the time—”
“Oh, yes, it is,” Catherine shot back. “Talk to me, Ian. I’m freaking out here!”
“Listen,” Ian began, his voice even now, and barely above a whisper. “You need to get a grip. Like I said, we can discuss this later.”
“Ian.” Catherine paused, sucked in angry breath. “If you want to talk, it must be about the girls. I’m their mother and I want you to tell me what’s wrong— now .”
Ian sank into his desk chair and shut his eyes, barely managing to suppress a heavy sigh. Catherine was in mother-hen mode; she wouldn’t be put off.
And as frustrating as that was, he couldn’t really blame her.
“You’re not going to like this,” he warned, listening for footsteps in the hallway outside his office. He didn’t want the twins overhearing what he had to say.
“I’d already guessed that much,” Catherine snapped. “Talk.”
Ian drew a deep breath, released it slowly and answered. “It’s about the twins, Cath. I need to know that everything is okay when they’re with you and Tony.”
“ What on earth have they told you?”
“You’re going to have to ask them about that.”
“Then why in hell did you text me in the first place?” Catherine’s demand was justified. The conversation was going nowhere good; maybe he should have given the matter a little more thought before stirring the pot like this.
On the other hand, it wouldn’t be right to keep this particular worry to himself. Catherine was a fantastic mother, and he’d never kept things from her, at least not when those things concerned the twins.
“Will you chill a little?” he asked.
“I’m calling the girls right now !” Catherine sputtered.
Then she ended the call.
Damn , Ian thought. Could he have handled the exchange any worse?
After that, Ian went back to the kitchen, leaned against the counter with his arms folded, and waited. Vivian and Mabel, still at the table, were dressed to go riding, but they were playing games on their phones.
Vivian’s rang, and she paused the game to see who was calling.
“It’s Mom,” she said, then, “Hello?”
“Put the phone on speaker, Vivian, so you and your sister can both hear what I have to say,” Catherine instructed, and her voice was loud enough that Ian heard her clearly. She sounded controlled. Stiff.
Vivian obeyed, and Mabel moved her chair closer to her sister’s.
“Your dad seems to think there’s a problem,” Catherine said. She wasn’t exactly ranting, but she was clearly troubled. “Would you girls like to tell me what it is?”
The girls looked at each other, then Ian.
Vivian did not hesitate to reply. “It’s not actually a problem,” she said, and she might have been a no-nonsense woman, rather than a child, she was that forthright. “Mabel and me—we’d like to stay here with Dad. Go to school in Copper Ridge and everything.”
Catherine must have been stunned to silence, because she said nothing in response.
“Mom?” Mabel prompted, leaning in so close to Vivian’s phone that she might as well have crawled onto the tabletop. “Did you faint or something?”
“No—no,” Catherine answered, at some length. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I thought everything was going pretty well—you like Tony, right? And his kids, too?”
“Tony’s nice,” Vivian replied, in the same matter-of-fact tone she’d used before. She was certainly her mother’s daughter. “But he’s not Dad.”
“I see,” Catherine said, though it was obvious, at least to Ian, that she didn’t see at all. She was confounded, stunned, and Ian felt sorry for her.
“We love you a lot, Mom,” Mabel interjected.
“I love you and your sister,” Catherine answered.
“But this is something we need to talk about in person—you and Mabel, your dad, and me.” A pause followed, during which Ian felt oddly tense, and inwardly he braced himself.
Then, finally, the other shoe dropped. “I’m coming out there—as soon as I’ve booked my flight and arranged for some time off, I’ll be on my way. ”
Ian closed his eyes.
Chances were good that he was about to lose the daughters of his heart.
If he knew Catherine, she would listen to everything the girls had to say about staying with him, then help them pack for the trip back home to Miami.
In fact, he might not see them again for years, if ever.
They would miss him for a while, but they’d grow and change as time went by, and he wouldn’t be “Dad” anymore.
In Catherine’s view, that title probably belonged to Tony now.
For his daughters’ sake, Ian reflected, still leaning against the kitchen counter, he was going to have to let go.