of his sister.
Wyatt sat back, the photo album still open on his lap, but his eyes looking off into space. "Yeah. I used to wonder if God had it in for us. We had a lot of rough patches. But I've been able to see His hand in our lives. How He's taken care of us. Reuben is coming back to the ranch in a couple of months, and once that happens, who knows? Together we might be able to talk Finn into returning. Maybe even Carly." He smiled at the thought and she, once again, envied him his siblings and the closeness they seemed to share. Then he turned to her. "I've given you my family history, what about you? You said you know your way around the ranch, that you learned that from your foster parents. I'm sensing there's a story there too."
Adele sat back, her shoulder brushing his. She knew she should move away, but she wasn't ready to break the connection that had grown between them. It felt good to be sitting close to him.
Especially as she returned to her own past.
"How did you end up in a foster home? Do you want to talk about it?" he pressed, but his voice was gentle. His sensitivity warmed the empty and lonely part of her soul that missed having someone care about her.
"I don't mind, but it's hard," she admitted, folding her arms over her chest, as if to protect herself.
"You mentioned a father. What about your mother?"
"My mother died shortly after I was born, and I think my father never got over that. The first couple years of my life I spent in a foster home, or so I've been told. I don’t remember anything about that. My dad came back for me when I was about two and a half and brought me home again."
"Where was home?"
"In the Fairview area. Up north."
"Where your foster parents lived," Wyatt said.
Adele nodded, her thoughts sifting back.
"Did your father own a ranch?" he asked, his voice quiet. Encouraging.
"A farm,” she corrected with a wry look. “Not big, but enough to support us. I think he tried at first to keep things going after my mother died. But I'm sure he was dealing with some type of depression. I can say that now, as an adult looking back. But as a child, it was incredibly difficult to deal with."
Adele looked down, trying to find the right words to explain her life without falling into self-pity. "I think my dad was kinda like your dad. He never got over losing my mom. But unfortunately, he chose a different way to handle it." She paused, trying to find the right tone to explain. The right words. Then decided to go with straightforward and true. "He drank a lot."
"How old were you when that started?"
"He always drank some, but it got worse when I was about ten. That's when he started staying away longer. Spending more money."
"So young," he said, his voice quiet.
"I had to grow up quick. But I had a neighbor who watched out for me even though my father said she was just being snoopy. She was in a wheelchair or, she said, she would have taken me herself. She called Social Services. I was fortunate. I got put into the Stefanski home, the one I was in before. I was there for three months that time." She stopped, not sure what else he wanted to hear. She was suddenly aware that she was telling him more than she had told her few closest friends.
"That time. I'm sensing there were more?"
"Many more. Each time I would go back, my father would promise things would get better and they didn't. When he lost his part-time job at the sawmill, things became terrible." She was embarrassed to hear the small hitch in her voice and she hoped Wyatt missed it. She didn't enjoy feeling sorry for herself. Thanks to Bonnie and Earl she had learned to be grateful in all the circumstances of her life.
"Did your father ever hurt you?"
She let her thoughts sift back to the few times he would come back to the house blind drunk. How he would be sobbing, crying. Then he would see Adele and his eyes would narrow. As if she caused all his troubles.
"He tried a few times. But he was so drunk he could hardly stand straight. It didn't take much to avoid him."
Again, she aimed for the jokey tone that often deflected further