Page 94 of Revival

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Sutton leans out the doorframe and twists his head left to right. “Everything okay?”

“Up for some company?”

He shoves the door wide and backs up. “Absolutely. Come on in.”

This is only about the third time I’ve been in Sutton’s home. During my first return to Fairview Valley, I tried my best not to impose. A couple of tea parties with my niece, Nellie, got me over here, but the visits were far between. I didn’t want anyone to feel like they had to take care of me.

The place looks much the same as it did over a month ago, which is to say, it’s still a mess. I step over cluttered shoes in the foyer. The space opens up into a small galley kitchen on the left and the living room to the right. An office and a playroom exist down the hall. Stairs directly ahead lead to the bedroom suites in the finished basement.

The house itself is clean-ish, but it’s cluttered. Dishes are piled on the counter waiting for the dishwasher to stop running so they can be placed inside. Unopened mail litters the table, leaving only two spots uncovered. They’re occupied by homemade laminated placemats. One that saysDaddy,and the other saysNellie,colored in pink and purple crayons.

Dog hair from Sutton’s German shepherd, Merit, collects in the corners. The loud, lovable canine sits patiently in her dog bed, ready to greet the new visitor. I lean over to run my fingers through her fur as I follow Sutton into the living room.

“Don’t mind the mess.” He dumps the pile of laundry on the couch on top of the overfilled basket. Tiny purple socks tumble to the floor. “It’s my only day off this week.”

“Do you need a hand?” I frown at the toys scattered across his floor.

He waves me off. “Nah. We got it.”

“You ever think about hiring someone to help?”

My oldest brother fixes me with a glare. “I can manage.”

I take in the picture frames lining his mantel. Each one has a small gray blanket of dust. The sentiment overrides the need for a quick clean. Most are of his daughter. A black-and-brown frame holds a somewhat recent picture of our mom at what must have been her birthday. Sutton and Silas stand on each side with a hand on her shoulder. The three of them smile at the camera together, mouths slightly parted as if they were laughing.

My gut tightens at the streaks of gray and the deepening wrinkles surrounding Mom’s eyes. She’s lived a hard life. Something I made worse by disappearing only a couple years after my father left her.

I scan over one of the three of us as teenagers, arms looped around each other’s shoulders. This was only a few weeks before I left town.

“Who’s this?” I look over my shoulder and point at one of a woman at the very front.

“That’s Nellie’s mom.”

I should have known. Her hair has the same shade and waves, and they share a smile. “That’s nice of you to keep this here.”

“She passed when Nellie was a year old,” Sutton says quietly. Reverently. In that tone people use to speak of the dead.

Shame and guilt war within me for the dominant emotion. Both suck equally. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t expect you to. Couldn’t have exactly called you with the news.”

No, he couldn’t because I left without a way to get in touch.

“If I could take it all back—”

“You can’t.” Sutton shrugs. “That’s life, Spencer. You’re here now, and we’re happy about that.”

That seems to be true.

Although I can think of one person in this town who doesn’t share that sentiment.

“I’m happy about it too.”

His phone rings. He fishes his cell from his pocket. “Hang on a sec. I have to take this.”

He turns his back, listening with a fewyepsanduh-huhsthrown in. I give him some privacy and shower Merit with some attention.

“I hate to do this, but I have to run to the station. Any chance you can grab Nell for me and take her to Mom’s? Her class ends in fifteen minutes, but this can’t wait.”

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