Faith.” Mom’s words stabbed at her through the phone. “Don’t you think for a second that they would care for you more than they care for the reindeer. If you father wasn’t a vet—they would have kicked him off the land years ago.”
Faith remembered Abner’s look of true friendship, his extended hand and the caring in his manners. “I don’t believe you.” She cleared her throat, suddenly more strung out and tired than she had been after almost losing a patient. “Mom, I’m going to love Dad. He’s being honest with me, and we’re talking about hard things. But I’m not going to stop loving you. I hope you have a very Merry Christmas.”
“You’ve always been a stubborn child.”
“Stubborn in the best ways—like you.” Faith grinned as she repeated what she always said to her mom when she’d complained of her strong will.
Mom chuckled. “Come visit soon.”
“I will.” They said goodbye. Even though the conversation ended civilly, Faith wasn’t settled. She hated to have to be so firm with her mom about this, but she couldn’t see another way. And telling the truth was freeing. Not that her mom admitted to leaving Dad that first Christmas, and she probably never would. She’d created an alternate reality where she was the hero, and she’d live there until she died.
Faith was only starting to realize the type of woman who’d raised her. But she was happy to find that those same traits weren’t inside of herself. Some of them she’d consciously avoided, like the big outbursts and drama. Others, like telling lies to people she loved, felt foreign—like trying to use her left hand to write.
Her phone rang again. This time she checked before answering. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi. I was just wondering if you were coming over tonight?”
She glanced at the clock and silently cursed. She should have been to the rehab center a half hour ago. “Sorry. I had to go out to the Parkers’ ranch today. I have to change, and then I’ll be over.”
“Everything okay?”
She smiled. “Yeah. It worked out all right.”
“I’m looking forward to hearing the story.”
Her grin grew bigger. Sharing her days with Dad had become something of a routine that she liked a lot. He understood all the jargon and even questioned her diagnosis a time or two—which made her think through things better. She enjoyed their shop talk. “I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
A shower and change of clothes and she was on the road into town. At her practice, she always wore scrubs and tennis shoes, but out here, she was in jeans and flannel. It felt good, like she was more herself on the outside.
The rehab facility had a fake tree out front, all lit up even though it was barely five o’clock. The sun had been down for fifteen minutes already, which made her feel even more behind schedule. To make matters worse, she hadn’t been able to get a hold of Caleb while she’d driven. Usually, when he didn’t answer, it meant he was in the workout arena. She hoped things were going well for him.
He’d said Rudy was up to 23 laps a day. When she’d asked what was normal for a reindeer, he’d shrugged and said they could go for hundreds of miles. The ones in the field didn’t seem too intent on putting miles behind them, though. They mostly stood together and bellowed at random.
Faith made her way to Dad’s room and knocked on the open door as she stepped inside. Dad was in his chair, the small table sat next to him and he had a deck of cards laid out. Dad had joked that she needed to understand his pain, so they were eating in tonight—whatever meal was provided by the facility. He was still bucking for an early release, and she was still digging her heels in that he stay the whole time. They’d come to an uneasy truce not to talk about it anymore.
“Are we playing reindeer poker or rummy?” She draped her coat over the chair and sat down.
Dad smiled. “Rummy. I saw the way you took those Nichollas boys for all their candy.”
She laughed. “Hardly. But I was well on my way when we started dinner.” She picked up the deck and shuffled, dealing their first hand.
Dad leaned over, looking at her. “You seem upset.”
She sighed, noting the tension in her neck and back. “Mom called.”
“Say no more.” He leaned back as if she’d brandished a poisonous snake at him.
Did either