Page 249 of Lost Then Found
I love you on the good days and the bad ones, and all the in-between ones where nothing big happens
I love you for who you are when no one’s paying attention.
I love the way you are with Hudson. Firm and soft at the same time. I love that you show up for him, for your people, for your life—even on the days when no one shows up for you.
I love you so much it’s not even about wanting something back. It’s just there. Like gravity. Like breath. Like I’ve loved you in every season of my life, even the ones that haven’t happened yet.
And most of all, it says:I’m still yours after all this time. I think I always was.
There’s a fire pit out back because Hudson told me once, almost as a joke, that he wished we had somewhere to make s’mores. So I built it. Flat stones, dug deep enough that the wind won’t kill the flame. Enough room around it for lawn chairs and long sticks and second helpings.
There’s already plenty of land out here, but I leveled a patch near the fence so he’d have a clean spot to throw the baseball around. Somewhere that felt like his. Not the ranch’s. Not mine. Just a place where it’s easy to forget who’s watching and he can ask if I’ve got time to practice with him. I always will.
Off the kitchen, I built a deck—big enough for a table, a couple of chairs, a grill, nothing fancy. I pictured her there, legs stretched across my lap, one hand wrapped around a can of Diet Coke, the other gesturing through a story about her day. How the soup didn’t turn out right, how Mabel left early again without finishing the pies, how Hudson’s teacher emailed her a reminder about the bake sale she always forgets to sign up for. The thingsshe always thinks no one wants to hear, but I do.
There’s a lump forming in my throat before I even realize it’s coming.
It’s not lost on me—what I’m standing in front of. It’s a life. Hopefullyourlife.
If I’m lucky enough. I sure as fuck hope I am.
I hear the low rumble of an ATV coming up the trail behind me—tires crunching over the dirt, engine cutting just a few yards back. I don’t turn right away.
Then I hear her voice, full of surprise and something close to awe.
“Oh my god. Boone Jameson Wilding.”
I turn toward the voice just as the ATV shuts off. Mom swings a leg over and climbs out, boots hitting the gravel with a soft crunch. She’s got a dish towel tossed over one shoulder, her hair pinned back neat, sunglasses pushed up onto her head.
She steps forward a few feet, arms crossing over her chest, eyebrows lifted high. That grin on her face is big and slow and a little stunned—like she can’t quite believe what she’s looking at.
“This…thiscan’tbe Old Faithful,” she says, voice catching somewhere between awe and disbelief.
“It is,” I tell her. “Mostly.”
She takes another few steps, close enough now to run her hand along the post I sanded down and sealed last week. She trails her fingers over the grain, her brows drawn as she looks up toward the second-story windows.
“What are you doing out this way so early?” I ask, watching her take it all in.
“I stopped by Loretta’s to borrow her mixer,” she says, eyes still on the house. “Mine started smoking when I was halfway through mixing the pancake batter. Figured I’d swing out, see if I could grab it while Hudson’s still sleeping.”
She quiets for a moment, the silence hanging there without needing to be filled.
Then she looks up at me. “I wish your dad could’ve seen this.”
My throat tightens, hard and fast. I press the rim of the thermos againstmy bottom lip, not drinking, just holding onto something.
She nods. “He would’ve been proud, Boone. Real proud.”
I blink once, then again. “Yeah,” I say. “I think so too.”
“I still can’t believe it,” Mom says, glancing at the house again. “You really did it. There’s a whole lot of love in this place.” She nudges my arm with the side of her elbow. “And don’t try to act like there’s not.”
I smile without meaning to. “Did what I could.”
“Lark’s gonna love it.”
“You think?”
