Page 64 of The Surprise
I think about it—I owe him that much at least. After Dad died, I was so sad that I didn’t really pay much attention to how sad Mom was. She seemed almost normal, really.
She woke up and showered. Some mornings she even went for a run. She made us breakfast. She packed lunches. She directed us to do dishes, to clean, and do our school stuff. She took us to activities and lessons. She worked all the time. She did paperwork. She called people and lined things up. She signed forms, and she led family prayer, and she hugged us when we cried. She did the girls’ hair, and she tucked Gabe in, and she did it all with a forced, tired smile.
Mom never fell apart.
It’s not what she does.
But thinking back, it felt a little like she was quietly dying inside, a little more each day. Like she had become the perfect, automaton mother who never let us down, but really she was slowly disappearing bit by bit. I realize that in all that time, there was no one there to make sureshewas okay.
No one to pack her a lunch.
No one to tuck her in.
No one to hug her when her heart hurt.
Steve changed that, and lately, Mom has lit up again.
I loved seeing it, and I hated that it wasn’t Dad doing it for her. But that’s my issue. That’s not Steve’s, and I’m not a big enough monster that I don’t want my mom to be alive and happy. Even if it’s gross to think about, I guess I even want her to be tucked in or whatever.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?” I hold out my gloved hand.
“How am I your enemy?”
“The important thing is that we both want my family to stay here.”
“I only use about half my acreage,” Steve says. “You couldn’t run the numbers you had at Jed’s place, but you could have a small herd here, and it wouldn’t cost you a dime.”
“Except for buying the herd, you mean.”
“Well, yes.”
“What do I get out of supporting your leveraged buy-out?”
“My what?” Steve laughs as he gets what I’m asking. “Do you mean my proposal?”
I shrug. “Potato, potahto.”
“You’re a really weird kid,” he says. “I think I might love you more for it.”
“Gosh, I hope so,” I say. “Anyone can get a normal kid. It’s the odd ones who are really valuable.”
“I’m beginning to learn that,” Steve says. “And I had an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“I thought you might be more amenable to my, what did you call it? My leveraged buy-out of your mother—” Steve cringes.
“If you knew my aunt Helen, you’d get it.”
“Helen. Your mom’s sister.”
“The one and only,” I say. “But spit it out, Steve. What’s your idea? You didn’t happen to buy Birch Creek in cash, did you?”
Judging by the confusion on his face, he didn’t. Rats. “No, but I did think it might be time for me to buy a new truck.”
Not exactly the same level, but okay.
“And then I wouldn’t need that one.” He points at his perfectly good pickup truck.
