Page 82 of Feels Like Falling
But my father wouldn’t hear of it and now I knew why. To reaffirm the point, they’d bought a house close to campus, my mother demanding weekly dinners. I’d never felt more isolated—if driving me and Montana apart was the end goal then it worked.
“I know, Dolly. And my heart hurts for both of you. Montana’s always wanted what Nan and I had. Married my sweetheart when she turned eighteen. I’d dropped out at sixteen to work the farm, but it wasn’t such a big deal back then. Learned what I needed to right here,”—he waves his hand around—“and married my girl the second I was able. My grandson has always wanted that for himself; wanted it with you.”
“I would have married him,” I say on a watery laugh. “I would have married him the very same day.”
He nods but reaches over and takes my hand, a seriousness etched into the lines of his face as he says, “I have to believe things happen for a reason.” I open my mouth again but he just shakes his head. “When Nan passed, I was ready to go right on after her.”
“You owe me a good ten orfifteenyears, mister,” I choke out and he chuckles softly.
“I know, Dolly. But when you get to be my age, the years of your life you spent by someone’s side far outweigh the ones that you don’t, and I lost a part of me I’ll never get back.”
“I’m so sorry I stayed away. I loved you both so much and I never came home.” The words are choked as I scoot my chair closer to wrap my arm around his and lay my head on his shoulder.
“We knew you loved us and how hard it must have been for you to stay away. She looked forward to your weekly call—loved teachin’ you the things she loved.” His voice is tight, a shuddery breath escaping as he says, “I have to believe there’s a reason the good Lord didn’t see fit to take me too.”
“You’re not allowed to go until our kids are at least in college, maybe after.”
His body shakes with silent laughter, and I lift my tear-filled eyes to see his staring back at me. “I don’t need to live long enough for you kids to have to wipe my ass.”
“We still need you,” I say, swallowing hard. “Istill need you.”
Pressing a kiss to my forehead, he whispers, “I know, Dolly, I’m not goin’ anywhere,” before pulling a container out of his bag and setting it in front of me.
“You got an apology tour in there too?” I joke, my heart both heavier and lighter since he arrived.
Chuckling, he removes the lid and I snatch a cookie and shove it in my mouth before he’s able to grab one for himself. It’ssogood. The butterscotch is decadent and the perfect complement to the light, chewy texture.
Grandad hands me another before taking one and sitting back in his chair with an amused expression.
“Did you know that Montana takes the blame for me gettin’ the tractor stuck?”
“You do it on purpose,” I say without question because there isn’t a piece of equipment that he couldn’t run, fix, or create in all the years I’d known him.
“I do.”
“Why?” It’s exactly the kind of thing I’d do just to see Montana all growly with his hands on his hips trying to hide thatshe did it againsmile.
“Because he lost you, Dolly. He lost his spark, and most days I don’t know where he ends and the cotton fields begin. You made him live, and you brought out that little bit of wild that always simmered under the surface with him. He’s the most like himself when he’s tryin’ to keep me out of trouble—has to call the Thayer kids to come help and he gets to be himself for a while.”
“But he takes the blame for it and…”
Grandad’s bushy, silver eyebrows climb his forehead as I let that sink in. Montana had been taking the blame for me for years. To this day, our high school still thought it was his idea to paint 1, 2, 3, and 5 on pigs and release them on the football field our senior year.
He’d gotten detention for a week and community service after. I did his hours right alongside him even though he never ratted me out. Everyone thought I was just being a good friend.
Boy, if they only knew.
I felt guilty, but he just laughed it off saying I was his favorite kind of trouble and that he lived to see me wild—he still does.
“I owe him an apology.”
“I reckon you both do,” Grandad says as he stands from the chair. “Should I leave those?” he asks, pointing to the half-full container of cookies, and I nod.
“Definitely. I’m gonna be stress eating those while I figure out what to do.”
Grandad chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s nice having you home, Ellison. Wasn’t the same without you.”
“Ugh, stop making me cry,” I grumble as I get up and hug him tight, burying my nose in the collar of his shirt that forever smells like his aftershave.
