Especially not after reading the letter he wrote to me about my mom. It wasn’t easy to get through, and included multiple pages of deep regret and memories. It doesn’t make it all goaway, but it gave me the small bit of closure I’d been searching for my entire life.
The new irises he had delivered for Mesa’s garden didn’t hurt, either. I called him after they arrived, and decided right then that I was going to listen to him for as long as he was willing to talk.
Even if it was at a distance.
His court-ordered stay in rehab lasted three months instead of two weeks this time. As far as I can tell, he’s worked diligently to clean up his act and never go back.
We may never be the close father-son duo that I dreamed of as a kid, and some mistakes can never be erased, but he’s still my dad—part of my family. There’s no sense in denying that I care for him and that I’m happy he’s putting in a considerable effort.
“Mesa doing alright?” he asks.
I nod, turning off the lights in my room and heading down the hall. “She’s good. I’ll let her know about your new chip. She’ll be glad to hear about it.”
Monty clears his throat. “I sent some gifts for y’all?—”
“Got ‘em under the tree. You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”
“Oh, I know. I wanted to. Maybe next year, the three of us can do something for Christmas. Spend a little time together.”
I smile, hearing him include Mesa without hesitation.
Picturing myself during the holidays a year from now is easy. I’ll be on the couch, Mesa’s feet will be in fuzzy socks draped over my lap, and she’ll have a cup of hot chocolate in her hand.
Envisioning the future with her in it is automatic for me. Waiting for the other shoe to drop or worrying about what might happen down the road hasn’t even crossed my mind.
“We’d like that,” I say.
“Me too. Well, I’ll let you go. Just wanted to check in. Merry Christmas, Tripp.”
“Alright. Talk to you soon.” I almost hang up, but decide to end things differently after seeing my girl walk through the front door of the bunkhouse and smile in my direction. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”
I swear I could hear his smile before the line clicks. Mesa is headed right for me, so I toss my phone, and it lands with a soft thud on top of her bag at my feet.
Halfway through the living room, she stops in her tracks. Instead of running up to me with the hug I was hoping for, she’s staring toward the kitchen with an open mouth and terror in her eyes. I turn with a puzzled look.
“The fuck is this?” Heston asks, looking down at a fancy cream-colored envelope.
“It’s nothing,” Gage mumbles, swiftly plucking it from his fingertips.
There’s a stack of unopened mail on the counter next to the fridge, and for a brief moment, Heston shrugs and ruffles through the rest of the pile. I see it the moment he changes his mind. He lifts his head with furrowed brows and spins on his heel.
With three long strides, he’s blocking the entire door to the patio with his massive frame, just before Gage has a chance to yank it open. My eyes narrow on the envelope behind Gage’s back, but he’s too far away for me to read any of the gold cursive lettering.
“Hand it over.” Heston’s jaw muscles tick as he clamps down on his molars.
Gage’s shoulders remain tall and straight, like he’d rather fight than let Heston see whatever that envelope contains.
I was fine sitting back and letting them fight over a stupid piece of mail until Mesa stepped up behind Gage.
As soon as I move toward them, she snatches the envelope from his grip. I’ve no sooner seen a flash of red hair darting out of the kitchen before I’m running after her.
In slippery socks, she didn’t make it far.
“For once, I wish you were slow,” she whines as I cut her off and scoop her up.
My eyes widen as a rock-solid hand lands on my shoulder in the next second. Gage had no chance at holding Heston back, apparently. Once his stupidly big arm invades Mesa’s line of sight, she knows she doesn’t have a prayer in keeping the envelope away from him, either.
Gage blows out a heavy breath and steps up beside me as I lower Mesa to her feet. Heston turns his back on us and looks down at the envelope in silence.
