Page 122 of True North

We get stuck into our lunch, and I’m done before too long. Leanin’ back in the old booth seat, I slide a toothpick from the center container on the table. I bite down on it with my molars, mulling it over like a cow chewing its cud as I let the thoughts of what life could hold for Louisa and me run rampant.

For the umpteenth time since Ma passed, I grapple with the things she told me. What life will mean if I have this incredible woman by my side for the rest of my days. The long, hard days. The cold, dark nights. The moments of pure, unbridled pleasure we bring each other. How many of those we could make.

“What on earth are you thinking about, Harry Rawlins?” Louisa giggles.

My face falls. I must have had a ridiculous look on it. I clear my throat and lean over the booth. “Fencin’.”

Louisa blushes instantly.

“There’s so much of it we need to do. All that lost time to make up for,” I say, each syllable a low, raspy noise.

Her lips part, eyes burning into mine.

I chuckle, plucking the toothpick from my teeth. I dump it to my empty plate. “That is, if we can make this work.”

I’m not talkin’ about us anymore. Or maybe I am. Still.

There is still a part of me waitin’ for her to realize where she is. Who she’s with. That tiny part of me expects her to hightail it outta this map-dot town as fast as she can. I’m yet to remove the last sliver of doubt.

God knows I want to.

I need to.

I’m just not there yet.

“Oh shoot!” Louisa jumps up, rounding the small booth table. “I’m late.” She grabs her bag, dotting a peck to my temple. “I’ll see you at home, okay?”

“Sure thing, darlin’.”

I smile as she leaves, but when the diner door swooshes shut, it falls.

First the mortgage payment, then my stupid damaged heart attaching a financial outcome to the love of my damn life leavin’. I push to my feet and pay the bill, leaving Cynthia a good tip.

The trip home is too quiet.

Just the old truck and me. It’s too familiar. A reminder of what my life was not so long ago.

Before Lou blew back into town.

I make the ranch and pull into the driveway, parkin’ by the house. The soft glow of the kitchen lights Louisa leaves on tugs a smile to my lips. As if she is privy to how this mind of mine works, and this is her way of showing me she’ll be back. Killing the engine, I make my way inside.

The warmth of our home lures me to a calmness I haven’t felt in months. Not since before Ma passed. And my thoughts wander to her.

Before I realize, I’m standing in the doorway to her bedroom. Lights off, it’s as if she’s just out with Evelyn, and I’m due to head to town and pick her up.

It’s when I flick the light switch and the room bursts with brightness that I see every detail that reminds me she ain’t coming back. The brush and mirror on the dresser. Her nightgown folded and tucked under the pillow on her side of the bed. Her floppy hat, sitting on the old wooden chair that used to be in my room. The one I made in shop back in high school, all those years ago.

I step inside.

The neat space smells like her perfume, the cheap floral scent she always wore. Her ivory hair clip sits in a small, clear glass bowl. The tarnished mirror, edges decorated with some old-world ornate trim, leans against the wall. I catch a glimpse of my reflection before I spot two letters leaning against the right-hand side of it.

I lift the ivory stationery from its spot. Sliding them through my hands, I study Ma’s elegant handwriting. The first envelope is addressed to me. The second, to Lou.

“Huh.” I step back and sink onto the edge of the bed.

I open mine. Hands shaking, I stare at the paragraphs before reading a word.

What could she possibly say I hadn’t already heard?

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