worry pouring from me, being washed away by the spring water. I feel reborn, renewed, like I breathe deeply for the first time in a long time.
I’ve been burning the candle at both ends for so long, I think I’ve forgotten that there once was a candle. I just work, work, work, slinging beer or taking pictures. And answering questions from blog readers, finding new subject matter that excites me and them, and doing what I can for everyone else. In this moment, I feel free. I feel like me.
Standing up, I find the soft bottom of the pond and look up to see Bobby watching my every move with focused attention. It warms me even more than the sun on my skin.
“Thank you,” I say simply. It’s not enough, but I don’t know how to thank him for helping me reset, not only from Unc’s anger and injury but from so much more.
“My pleasure, sweetheart.” It sounds like he means it, and as he leads me back to the blanket, lifting me to sit in the sun, I consider that Bobby is a caregiver like I am. He takes care of the farm, his family, and now me. But who takes care of him?
I will.
It’s who I am.
We lie in the sun, letting it dry us. I’m acutely aware of every inch where our skin touches, cradled in Bobby’s arm, his fingertips dancing along my skin in that pattern I saw him playing on the bar before.
“What brought you to Great Falls, Willow?” he asks huskily.
I should give my standard answer—that I needed a change. But Bobby deserves more than that, much more. Some of it’s not my story to tell, but I can share a little and keep promises that have been made.
“Unc.”
He’s silent, waiting for more. I sigh, knowing this will be hard to explain, especially since I don’t understand it all myself. I was just a kid, after all.
“I don’t know how much you know of Hank’s younger days. I’m not really sure how much I know either, to be honest. But apparently, he had a girlfriend once. It was serious, like a proposal kind of serious. He enlisted to give them stability, a future, I guess? But when he came home, his brother had moved in on his girl. They fought like brothers do, arguing and punching and insulting one another. But it didn’t matter, the damage had already been done. My grandfather, Harold, married the girl. She was my grandmother, really sweet. I have memories of her making Christmas cookies with me, playing dolls, and coloring on huge sheets of construction paper she’d hang up on the sliding door to let the morning light shine through.”
I get lost in the memories a bit, some from when I was really young and not nearly enough from when I was older. I still saw Grandma and Grandpa as a teenager, but the moments aren’t as vivid because I was too caught up in other things to appreciate my grandparents while they were here.
Bobby lets me take my time, and eventually, I come back to him. “She got sick, breast cancer when I was thirteen. It was quick and brutal. Mom shielded me from most of it, but Grandpa didn’t handle it well at all. He’d always been . . . a hard man. Strict, stoic, but I think he really loved Grandma and I think she loved him too. Or at least they loved each other, as far as I could tell as a stupid kid.” I shrug, not sure but also not willing to revisit the past to analyze with an adult’s heart.
“I only know this next part from later. I didn’t know it at all back then, but Grandpa knew she was getting close to the end. She got confused a lot, and the meds made her lose time, I guess. But she called him Hank sometimes. I know that had to hurt. They’d had this whole life and family together, but he didn’t tell Unc. They’d been distant but civil all those years. Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, and he’d come by and see Mom and me. I just thought he was my cool uncle, you know?”
I swallow, still not able to believe what my Grandpa had done in his own selfish need. “At the end, in confusion, she cried for Hank. She thought it was a long time ago, thought he was coming home to her and they were going to get married.