Page 157 of My Merry Mistake
I bite the inside of my lip and shove the letter back in my pocket. “I don’t like that you’re volunteering here, but I assume my mother said it was fine.”
“She did,” Eileen says. “And in one of the more recent letters, I asked foryourpermission to be here. To help if I can.”
“I didn’t read it,” I say coldly.
Her face falls. “I know.”
“This doesn’t make up for?—”
“I know.” Her eyes are wet with unshed tears.
A small, faraway piece of me is moved. My compassion is fighting with my conviction.
“Forgiveness isn’t for her. It’s for you.”
I don’tfeellike forgiving her. I don’twantto let her off the hook. I don’t like that she put me in this position, and I hate that it feels like I’m betraying my brother. But still, I draw in a shaky breath and blow it out slowly. “I . . .”
I look at her. Her eyes are full of hope, and I sense something inside me shift. I’m not cruel. I don’t want to become bitter or give my past the power to keep me from moving forward.
I hold the letter up at her once more, in my fisted hand. “I forgive you.” I choke the words out. They don’t feel honest, so I shove the paper in my pocket, put my hands on my hips, look her straight in the face, and say them again. “I forgive you.”
“I—”
I hold up a finger at her, stopping her from saying anything else. “That’s all I have to say.”
I turn around, walk out into the street, get in my car, and shut the door. I can feel my heart in my chest, and I blow out a nervous breath. I don’t feel like some huge weight has been lifted. I don’t feel like I just fixed everything. I feel as conflicted as ever.
This is something I’m going to have to do over and over again until those things happen.
Little by little.
One step at a time.
Chapter Forty-One
Finn
Copper Ridge crests into view as I drive up over the rolling hill near my childhood home.
As I pull up I see several pickup trucks and SUVs parked outside. I don’t have to walk inside to know that most of my family is in that house. After all, itisChristmas Eve.
I stare at the cars, parked this way and that, and I think it’s foreshadowing of the craziness that awaits me inside that house. Come as you are, leave your stuff outside, and welcome to the family—thank you very much.
It’s a nice thought after the ones I’ve been fighting with for the past hour.
I get out of the car and walk toward the house, struck by the smell of cinnamon the second I open the door. It’s late morning, almost lunchtime, but the overcast skies make the house glow with light from the fireplace, mingling with the white lights of the Christmas tree in the living room. Pop and my brothers, Quent and Boone, are sitting in the leather armchairs, drinking coffee and most likely talking ranch business, but when they see me, they all stop.
It’s the first time I’ve seen my brothers since I’ve been home.
Immediately, we’re all kids again.
They jump up, hollering my welcome. Quent rears his hand back to clap mine, which I do, making that satisfyingpop, and Boone wraps his arms around my midsection and tries to lift me off the floor.
Unfortunately for him, I’ve got two inches and twenty pounds on him now, and I sit on him.
“Might want to rethink your tactics, little guy.” I feel him squirm beneath me.
“Get off me, you tub a’ lard!” He tries pushing me, but I don’t budge. He jabs me in my side, and I finally release my grip on him.
