Page 10 of Shelter for Shay
But one day, out of the blue, Andy contacted Moose about his mom. She’d overdosed and his dad was nowhere to be found. Andy thought Moose might want to know what was going on and Andy had been right. There might not be any love loss, but Moose wasn’t that cold. He paid his mother’s bills and sent her a note that said if she ever wanted to get clean, they could talk.
He never heard from her. Not even a fucking thank-you. That spoke volumes.
Pipe sipped from his mug. “What do you want to do, mate? Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you owe Margaret a proper goodbye.”
Moose stared past them at the horizon. The air smelled like sun-warmed dirt and faint pine. It was peaceful here. Hecould’ve stayed another month and still not unpack everything in his head. But none of that would matter if he missed the chance to look Margaret in the eye and tell her just how much she’d meant to him all these years. “I’ll book a flight,” he said. “If I can’t get out late tonight, I’ll leave first thing, but I need to speak with my team.”
“I’ll send word to Thor.” Brick rested his hand on Moose’s good shoulder and squeezed. “If there’s anything else you need from us, don’t hesitate to reach out. Otherwise, send pictures of those damn chickens when you get back to Virginia. Tonka thinks you’re making them up.”
“They’re real,” Moose said.
Pipe smirked. “He’s gonna want a bunch of chickens now.”
As they left, Moose turned and stared at the letter waiting on the table.
Shay Whitaker.
He hadn’t known she existed until she’d graduated from high school. It had been strange to all of a sudden hear all about Margaret’s daughter almost five years after he’d moved away. But he supposed it made sense. She’d had to compartmentalize her work considering she was employed at the same school district she lived in, which meant Shay would have been in eighth grade when he graduated.
Not that it mattered.
But over the years, he enjoyed reading about Shay’s adventures. He used to tease Margaret that she should write a book… and title it… Shay’s Adventures. But then two years ago, Danni, Thor’s wife, went missing and Moose stopped writing back. Something he wholeheartedly regretted now.
He picked up the letter, folded it neatly, and opened the door. The letter had cracked open a part of him he wasn’t sure he understood. He felt like he knew Shay and that was a strange thought considering she was a two-dimensional image on anannual Christmas card. He’d always thought she was a beautiful young woman and loved the stories Margaret told him about her. However, he never really thought he’d ever meet the girl smiling at the camera.
He also never thought Margaret would die.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he muttered as he shuffled his feet along the wood floor. He was heading home to say goodbye to a dying friend. That was it. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Except, it was everything.
4
SHAY – LAKE GEORGE, NEW YORK
The house had taken on that strange in-between hush—where time didn’t feel linear anymore. Just a slow, winding drift between medications, sleep, and silence.
Shay sat in the worn armchair beside her mother’s bed, elbows on her knees, fingers laced together. She watched the rise and fall of Margaret’s chest, slight and shallow beneath the floral blanket. The oxygen machine let out its slow hiss with every breath. The heart monitor beeped with every beat of her pulse. It should’ve been soothing by now, but today it made Shay feel like she was running out of time.
Everything had changed in the last forty-eight hours.
Her mother, always so careful, so strong, had begun to slip. The kind of slipping that couldn’t be reversed with medication or new doctors. The kind of slipping you didn’t come back from.
All their reminiscing about the past had turned into planning for the final departure.
Shay reached out and tucked a strand of gray hair away from her mother’s temple. Margaret didn’t stir.
She thought about the letter again—his letter—every line she’d read aloud just two days ago. Her mother’s face lit up withthe same joy she used to have when Shay would waltz in the front door from one of her adventures. And maybe there was a trace of hope. Maybe even peace.
Matthew Rhoades.
Moose.
She hadn’t expected him to respond, much less get on a plane. There’d been no pressure. Just the truth. And yet here she was, nervously rechecking the time and wiping her hands on her jeans like it would make any difference.
For the last two days she sat and listened to her mother tell story after story about Moose. How she’d fought with the teachers at school to give him a fighting chance when they’d all written him off because of his poor attitude, lack of attendance, and bad behavior. She had only one picture of him—his senior picture. It was an awkward picture, but boy was he a handsome kid. Even with the sorrow that filled his eyes.
And all the letters he’d written. She’d reread every single one. Not only did she feel like she knew the man, but his chickens too.
