Holiday Homecoming (5 page)

“That's what Mia says, and I agreed. Look at my
mom. She married Dad right out of high school. They had a happy marriage until the day he was struck by that truck. It was hard enough facing each day without him there, for all of us, but we struggled financially, too. In a small town with no training whatsoever, Mom cleaned houses and worked at the cannery outside Bozeman. Yet no matter how we all worked, it was never enough to make ends meet. It was hard for her. Mia and me—”

He paused, raked his hand through his dark hair and turned to stare out the window. His throat worked. “We did everything we could to make it easier for her, but it was a hard road to walk.”

He fell silent, gazing off into the fields where tender shoots of winter wheat hid beneath the numbing comfort of snow. Like the anguish that Ryan clearly worked so hard to hide. Kristin's heart twisted so hard it hurt to breathe, and she trained her attention where it belonged—on the road and not on a man's silent pain.

She remembered a strong-willed boy who was a little too loud, a tad too reckless. He'd been in the background of her growing-up years, not someone she hung out with. Sure, she'd known he'd lost his dad and that his mom worked a lot. But she'd been a girl herself, and then a teenager too caught up in friends and school and her own family's loss to have given more than a passing thought to a boy who was nothing but trouble.

That boy's pain was in the man, a tangible presence that ached like a festered wound. One that had tried to heal over the years, but could not.

She knew what that was like. Some wounds could
never close. Some hurts always ached. Some tragedies changed a person forever.

She drove in stinging silence until her parents' house rose up on the road before them, graced by the soft morning's glow. The ache inside her eased. The familiar sight of the big wraparound porch, the wide old-fashioned windows, the lights from the kitchen where Mom was already hard at work caused emotion to ball in her throat. She was
home
.

Ryan broke the silence. “It's just like I remember it.”

“It's always the same. A safe place to come to.” But not an easy place. The tangle of opposing emotions left her feeling conflicted—as always. Mom and Dad's sadness, their strained marriage, Allison's loss that was never spoken of.
Never.

And the good things, too: the laughter of her sisters over dinner, playing Monopoly after the dishes were done to the sounds of the football game from the living room. Gramma's loving presence. Nephews and nieces to hold close.

She hesitated. A busy day awaited her in the house that loomed over them, casting them in partial shadow. “Will you be all right?”

“Sure.” He nodded, but his smile was shallow and didn't light his eyes. He looked faraway, as if his thoughts were troubled and elsewhere. He looked tired as he swiped his palm over his face. “Thanks for driving, Kristin. You didn't have to let me sleep.”

“I figured Samantha's savior deserved some rest. If you hear how she's doing, will you let me know?”

“Sure. I should reimburse you for the gas.”

“Oh, no. Consider it my contribution. It's the least I can do. If you hadn't come along, then I'd be in Boise right now.”

“Look, there's your mom.” Ryan saw the woman who'd aged since the last time he saw her long ago. He didn't know why that surprised him, it was completely logical. Time passed and it changed everyone. But to see the woman who used to be so young-looking with gray accenting her golden hair and her face lined from hardship—he felt it down deep.

Everyone had hardship. Life had trials, and it wasn't the bad things that happened but the way a person rose to the challenge that mattered. He had lost a father. Alice McKaslin had lost a daughter. The worry clear on her face turned to relief when she recognized Kristin behind the wheel of the SUV.

“Kristin! There you are! Oh, we were so worried!” Alice, still in her quilted housecoat and matching quilted slippers flew down the snow-covered steps.

“Didn't you get my message?” Kristin asked, hopping into the cold, closing the door behind her as she cut behind the vehicle and out of sight.

In the side-view mirror, Ryan could see Kristin step into her mother's outstretched arms. The love unmistakable on Kristin's face, shining in her eyes, made her glow.

Family. Yeah, it was important, but he wasn't looking forward to the price of it. He loved his mom. He'd do anything for her. But he couldn't look anywhere without seeing the past. Even the fields where he'd
worked long and brutal days in hundred-degree heat bringing in hay for Mr. McKaslin brought memories flooding back. He dreaded the drive back to town, where he would see more of the past, more of the boy he'd been. More of the turmoil and pain he'd worked so hard to leave behind.

While mother and daughter were still holding on to each other and exchanging greetings, he climbed out and grabbed her computer case and bag.

“Why, Ryan Sanders, is that you?” Alice McKaslin noticed him trying to slink past.

He'd wanted to avoid the gooey mess of female emotions if he could, but no such luck. So he faced the teary-eyed females with a man's courage. “It's me. It's good to see you, Mrs. McKaslin. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Why, happy Thanksgiving to you! Your mom has been talking of nothing else for weeks. She's baked every last one of your favorite treats, I hope you know.”

“I figured she would.” He froze, knowing what was next, but he couldn't do anything to stop it. Mrs. McKaslin released her daughter and came at him next, her arms outstretched, to give him a hug. “What on earth are you two doing together?”

“It's a long story. I'm sure you can get Kristin to tell you. I've got to get home. Mom's probably worried about me. I was supposed to come in last night.”

“Come here and let me hug you, young man.”

“Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you. I haven't shaved. Showered. Been deloused.”

“Oh, you can still make me laugh.” Refusing to back
down, Alice came at him and wrapped him into a kindly hug and, being a self-reliant man, he endured it—okay, it was nice. Alice was like a dear aunt to him when he'd been growing up. He brushed her cheek with a brief kiss as he moved out of her embrace.

“You're more handsome up close than in those pictures your mom shows me. You don't see her enough, young man.”

Standing behind her mother, Kristin winked at him. “Go easy on him. He's a busy, important doctor and the only reason I'm here and not snowed in at Boise is because he's a good guy.”

“You're not so bad yourself, Miss McKaslin.” The way both women were looking at him, as if he'd hung the moon and lit the stars, made him itchy.

He was uncomfortable with looks like that. With anyone getting too close. He'd gotten used to being alone. That was why Francine had returned his ring last September. He didn't need her at all, she'd said.

It was time to go. He let Alice lead the way to the front door, ignoring Kristin when she gestured for her bags. He was a lot of things, but he tried to use his manners when he had them. And what Kristin had done for him, in letting him sleep, he appreciated more than she could ever know. She looked as exhausted as he'd felt before getting some shut-eye, and he didn't mind at all carrying her bags into the house and depositing them at the top of the stairs.

“You didn't have to do that.” She looked at him as if she appreciated the gesture. “But thank you.”

“No problem.” The delicious aroma scenting the
house—apple and pumpkin pies, frying bacon and the roasting warmth of a baking turkey made his stomach growl loudly. He blushed. “Sorry about that.”

“Would you like to stay? Breakfast is in the works. Eggs and bacon and pancakes and sausage. Real homemade hash browns.”

“I can't tell you how good that sounds, but Mom would box my ears. I'd best get home. She's waiting for me, and I'm late. I'm probably in trouble. Wow, I haven't said that since I was eighteen.”

“Some things never change.” Kristin breezed down the stairs, aware of her embarrassing grade-school pictures marching along the wall at her elbow. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice.

He didn't say anything as he headed for the door. “Take care of yourself, Miss McKaslin.”

“You too, Dr. Sanders.”

She didn't know why, but she hated seeing him slip through the door and stride down the steps. Even in the slick conditions, he walked with an athlete's assurance. With the power of a man who had confidence and integrity. Inside she sighed a little, remembering how he'd probably saved a young woman's life.

“Kristin, honey, close the door, would you?”

“What?” She shook her head, realizing she was letting in all the cold air. Shivering, she shut the door but watched through the window as Ryan climbed into the rented vehicle, belted in and drove away, leaving her behind. Adding another ache to the others she was collecting inside her heart.

R
yan took one look at his childhood home and wanted to keep driving right past the unplowed driveway.
I'm not ready for this.

He was in his thirties. If he wasn't ready now, when would he be? He'd nearly been away from Montana more years than he'd lived here. How could it be that time looped back upon itself so that as he spun the wheel to the right, slipping and sliding on the fresh snow, he saw the past more clearly than the world in front of him?

The small wooden, open-faced shed that sided the road looked every bit the same. His dad had built it to keep him out of the weather while he waited for the bus as a nervous first grader, with his superhero lunchbox in hand.

The hill, grown over with sturdy young trees now, that Dad had cleared and they'd used as a sled run during the long winters. The sounds of younger Mia's delighted screams as she slid down the slope on an inner
tube, the low rumble of Dad's laughter and Mom's gentle chiming voice as she brought out a thermos of hot chocolate to keep them warm as they played.

The past haunted him with every turn of the wheels as he slowed to a stop along a private road where a small ranch house with brand-new siding and vinyl windows waited quietly. It wasn't the same house he remembered. Mom had made improvements over the years. She'd had a front porch built. She always admired the McKaslins' and could never afford the lumber for him to build her one when he was growing up.

Snow carpeted it now and clung like vanilla icing to the rails and steps. The large front window was shadowed, but a generous gray plume of smoke rose from the stovepipe. Homey. He grabbed his overnight bag and loped through the snowfall, snapped open the gate that was new and didn't squeak, and went around to the back door.

A glad brightness shone from the new bay windows—he'd sent Mom the money for the kitchen remodel as last year's Christmas present, and now he could see directly into the small kitchen and eating area. There was Mom, dressed in her usual worn jeans and a sweatshirt, her thick hair caught up in dainty clips, a crisp white apron at her waist as she stirred something at the stove.

Once again, the past and the present merged. Like every day of his childhood, she'd made breakfast at the stove while she hummed her favorite inspirational songs and sipped a cup of coffee laced with hazelnut
coffee creamer. Only the two years following Dad's death, she hadn't sung once. Not once. Not even in church.

Slowly, over time, the music had returned to her life. But there had never been another man in this house. Until now.

Knowing the door was unlocked, as it had been all his life, he turned the handle so he could see the look on Mom's face as she turned. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened; tears gleamed in the same instant she dropped the spatula on the counter, the eggs forgotten.

“Ryan!” As if he'd just rescued the world from certain disaster, she ran to him. “You're home! You're here. I can't believe it! Oh, it's so
good
to see you!”

Happiness lit his heart as he dropped his bag, opened wide his arms and hugged his mom to his chest. She was a little thing, wrapping her arms around him, smelling of coffee and shampoo and the lilac lotion she'd always used. Her laughter bubbled through him as she stepped back and studied him with a mother's keen, knowing gaze.

“You're going to be the death of me, young man. I was worried out of my mind, what with this weather and your flight diverted. Yes, I checked with the airport. You could have
called
and let me know you were
alive
.”

Okay, so no matter how old a man was, his mom was always his mom. “I know. I should have called and I meant to, but stuff happened. Are you gonna ground me?”

“I have half a mind to do it, too!” But her eyes were
laughing and crying at the same time. “Oh, son, you look awful. You're not getting enough sleep. You're working too hard.”

“I've just got a lot of stuff going on right now—”

“You stop sending me money, right now. You're not taking care of yourself. Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no. Nothing was exactly open, since we drove up through the middle of nowhere.”

“We?”

Boy, did Mom jump on that quick, or what? And how was he going to minimize the fallout? He'd tell her the truth, he wasn't the kind of man to lie to his mother, and then she'd get all excited because he'd spent time with a woman. And not just with any woman, but with her best friend's daughter. Wasn't that just what she'd been hoping for all these years? For him to marry one of the nice McKaslin girls?

Yeah, right. He wasn't the marrying kind. He'd always suspected it, but Francine had been all the proof he needed. The last thing he wanted was to settle down. Not that Mom was going to understand that. Not in the slightest.

Look at the way she was practically vibrating with hope. He knew his mom, and she was secretly praying right now, as she retrieved her spatula and rescued the eggs from the frying pan, that he was going to say he'd driven up from Boise with a woman. A special woman.

And the second he admitted it was Kristin, she'd leap ahead and draw her own conclusions and there was nothing he could do to stop her. It would snowball into
this big thing, when the truth was simple. He'd offered her a ride. She'd accepted. That was it. End of story.

“A stranded traveler I picked up at the airport, that's all.” He shrugged out of his coat and dropped it on his suitcase. “And before you start getting all crazy, it was one of the McKaslin girls. She was alone and it wasn't safe for her to spend the night in a strange city.”

“Oh, I should hope not!” Mom lit up, shining as if she was about to spontaneously emit her own energy field. “Kristin McKaslin. My, my. You know, she's got some fancy job on the coast. Alice was just saying—”

As if on cue, the phone rang. Mom lifted the eggs from the pan with her spatula. He was gentleman enough to hold out the platter for her and carry it to the table as she raced for the phone.

“Oh, Alice! Yes, Ryan told me. Isn't that something? On the same flight from Seattle?”

Yep, some things never changed. Mom was an eternal optimist, and he was an affirmed bachelor. How could he be anything else? There were only three chairs at the table, in the nook that had been widened to accommodate the same wooden table Mom had bought after her wedding long ago. It had been refinished and looked as good as new sitting on the braided rug on the polished hardwood floor. Although the room had changed, life went on.

But the little boy who'd lost what mattered most—his father—and the grown man who watched people die every day in the emergency room in the hospital he was affiliated with had taught him one thing. Nothing in life
was guaranteed. The only certain thing was God's grace, that was all, and getting close to people was a fool's quest. It was bound to end. People died, and their love went with them, and that was it.

While his mom chatted with her lifelong best friend, he rescued the bacon and sausage links from the oven and set four slices of bread to toasting. Just as he did when he was a kid. He settled into his chair at the table, facing the windows that looked out over the meadows and forested hills to the giant jagged mountains that were shrouded with clouds.

He couldn't say why his heart felt as if it was shattering all over again, and the pain was blinding. He blinked hard as he gulped down orange juice, the past like a ghost standing behind him, and the future as hard to see through as the clouds at the horizon, bringing more snow.

 

Over the sounds of Dad and the brothers-in-law settling into the football game, Kristin scooped the newest addition to the family out of the playpen and into her arms. Four-month-old Caitlin with her curls of gold gave a final outcry before settling against Kristin's shoulder with a whimper of relief.

“You just wanted to be held, huh?”

As if in agreement, the infant relaxed in Kristin's arms. So precious. She brushed a hand over Caitlin's soft, soft hair. So fine and downy it was like touching the most heavenly cloud. With the drowsy baby falling back to sleep, Kristin rocked her gently from side to
side, beneath the new collection of framed pictures Mom had started on the wall.

Photos of the six grandchildren filled the space between the living room and kitchen, from newborn to christening to every stage along the way. The newest picture of Kirby's son, Michael, dressed up like a fighter pilot for the church's Harvest festival. Karen's two girls, Allie in a ballerina's costume and one-year-old Anna in a bunny suit. Michelle's Emily taking her first steps captured forever with Dad holding out his strong, capable hands for her to toddle to.

It was what was missing that made her eyes burn. If Allison had lived, she would have married, and her children would be on this wall, too. Sadness gathered inside her until she had to turn away.

If Allison had lived, then Kristin's life would have been different, too. Mom and Dad wouldn't have fallen away from one another in their grief. The family would have remained whole. And Kristin would have been different, too.

She closed her eyes and turned away, willing down the memory of taking a calculus test one moment and the next having her safe world torn to shreds as the principal interrupted to pull her out of class. Her dad was waiting in the office to tell her of her sister's death.

“Oh, did you see the latest addition?” Mom appeared around the corner, her full apron smudged with flour from the rolls she'd been making. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she gestured toward a golden framed photograph. “Caitlin's christening. It was a shame you missed it.”

Kristin knew her mom didn't understand. Over half of the company's business rode on their clients' successes at the trade shows. Her boss had refused her request for a day off flat out. “I'm here now. Do you need more help in the kitchen?”

“Don't change the subject, young lady.” Mom gave her sternest look, but it faded away as she studied the pictures. “I expect your little one to be on this wall one day. I understand you like having a career, it must be exciting to live in a big city, but your roots are here, Kristin. Your family is here.”

It was an old argument. One that hurt. What did she say to her mother? That marriage and family hadn't made her mother happy? She couldn't say the words. Couldn't stand the distance between her parents and knew there was no way for her to fix it. That it couldn't be fixed.

“Gramma's asking for you, Mom.” Kendra came to the rescue, breezing in to sweep her baby daughter from Kristin's arms. “Oh, she likes her auntie Kristin.”

“The feeling's mutual.” Kristin stroked Caitlin's soft cheek, careful not to wake the drowsing infant. “She's pretty great.”

“Cam and I think so, too.” Kendra beamed with the quiet glow of happiness, and Kristin wondered about that as she watched her mom and sister retreat to the warm kitchen, where the women in the family gathered.

This was her favorite part of the holidays. In the flurry of activity in preparing the meal, for one moment, the family felt whole. Undiminished. Michelle laugh
ing as she teased Karen about her latest shoe faux pas, Kirby whipping the potatoes and stopping midway through to search through the kitchen for more butter. Karen teasing Michelle back when a carrot coin rolled off the center island and onto her shoe. Kendra, with babe on her hip, digging the condiments out of the back of the fridge. Gramma bemoaning the lumps in her gravy that didn't exist, interspersed with the disorganized discussion of the latest family news.

Dad ambled into the women's domain in his only good red-and-black flannel shirt and brown jeans. Quiet as always, he searched through the drawers for the carving knife.

“It's right there on the counter.” Mom's tight words broke the magic, and the cheer faded.

Dad picked up the knife and went to work slicing the waiting turkey, and Gramma tried to heal the awkward silence by complimenting Mom on the perfect turkey.

Kristin took the covered wrap off the fruit salad and sunk a serving spoon into the sweet froth of whipped cream, sliced apples and bananas and carried it and the serving dish of jellied cranberries to the table. She wondered how Ryan was faring. Better, she hoped.

Images of him whisked through her mind. Was his first Thanksgiving at home since he'd graduated as happy as it should be? Surely this hardworking man with values and integrity, who had undoubtedly saved the accident victim's life, deserved one good day. At the very least.

She set the bottles and bowl on the table. Why was
she thinking about Ryan? She liked him. She wished him well. But it wasn't as if she'd see him again. Why would she? Their paths would never cross again.

She couldn't say why that made her so sad, but it did. It felt like another loss that didn't fade but lingered as she returned to the kitchen, where the strain between her mom and dad was as unmistakable as the floor at her feet.

 

He was suffocating as sure as if his lungs had collapsed. Ryan took a long pull of the cherry soda Mom had dug out of the back of the refrigerator, from behind her bowls of salad and cranberry jelly and the covered plates of homemade fudge. The bubbly sweetness chased down his throat but didn't help him breathe any better.

Snow was starting to tumble from a peaceful sky, falling in a hush. With the pop of the woodstove and squeak and bang of the open door and Mom's cheerful hum as she checked on the turkey in the oven, he couldn't hear the quiet reverence that came. But it was there just the same. The world quieted, as if just to hear the fragile tap, tap, tap of snowflakes on the earth.

Heaven must be like this, Dad had said once, on their early Sunday-morning forays into the wilderness. Ryan nudged aside the ruffled edge of the frilly curtains to gaze out at the tree line.

If he looked hard enough there was the past, alive within him, as he remembered the cold creeping through the layers of wool Mom had wrapped him up
in. Snow crept over the top of his high boots to wet his pant legs tucked inside, and melted as it slid down to his ankle.