“It’s such a shame what happened.”

“They say it left him a bit… unhinged.”

“Well, I can’t really say I’m surprised. I bet it would leave you a bit rattled too.”

“Not to mention the scars. You know he has to remember what happened every time he sees them.”

“That’s why he only comes to town once every couple of months.”

“It’s such a shame, and a waste.”

I put the can of cherry filling in my shopping cart and peek around the corner of the shelf. Three old ladies are at the end of the next aisle over, same position as me—sneaking around the end of their own shelves—whispering behind their hands. With the three of them in the way, I can’t see who they’re talking about. I step out further to try to get a look, but all I see is the backside of a man wearing a black-and-gray plaid shirt rounding the corner several aisles over.

I shake my head, putting the whispers and my curiosity behind me. It’s not my business to know what or who they’re talking about. The last thing I want is to get caught up in rumors.

I walk the aisles, glad to know this small market has all the ingredients I need for my mom’s cherry-apple pie recipe. Coming from a big city and having anything and everything just a few miles away, you’d think we’d have a hard time adjusting, but it’s been just the opposite. The town may be small, but it has all the essentials we need to live.

Simple is why we moved here. Simple is what we need. Simple is hopefully what will make us all happy again.

And the people have been absolutely amazing and very supportive, too.

I glance down at my watch, surprised to see I’ve been gone for a couple hours already. Mrs. Tanner has been great the few times I’ve needed to run errands and the kids didn’t want to come with me, but I refuse to take advantage of her.

I grab a bag each of Starbursts and York Peppermint Patties, the kids’ favorites, at the end of the checkout lane, then start unloading my cart.

“Hey there, Gwen. How’re you today?” the clerk asks while sliding items under the scanner.

I smile at the older man. “I’m doing good, Jeremy, thank you. How’s Mrs. Peggy doing?”

“She’s doing better. Her hip’s still sore from the fall, but she’s almost as good as new.”

“That’s good to hear.” I grab a loaded paper bag and put it my cart. “She needs to be careful going up and down those steps.”

“I’ve told her that. And as much as she hates to admit it, she’s going on eighty. She’s refused a ramp up until now, but I’ve told her she has no choice in the matter anymore. My son, Benny, is coming over next week to help me build one.”

Last week, while I was leaving the school, which happens to be right across the street from the market, I saw Jeremy rushing to his car. The next day, the talk around town was that his mother fell while walking up the steps to her house. She was lucky to only have received a sore hip and a couple bruises.

“How are the kids liking their holiday?” Jeremy asks.

I blow a few strands of hair out of my face. “Loving it, actually. Especially Daniel.” I laugh. “It gives him more time on the video game. I have to really watch his time on the thing or he’d never get off.”

He nods and chuckles. “Bring them to the house next week. Mom’s been asking about them.”

I smile. “I will.”

Jeremy and his mom, Mrs. Peggy, have been wonderful since we’ve moved to Catalina’s Valley, Cat’s Valley to the ones who live here, a little over three months ago. Jeremy was my correspondent when I was looking for a place to rent. Since the teacher I replaced at the school was moving as well, her rented house became available, which happens to be owned by Mrs. Peggy. Over coffee one day, Mrs. Peggy told me Jeremy’s only left her house once to go live on his own. It was twenty years ago when he met and married the love of his life, only for her to die a year later from a sudden aneurysm. She had just given birth to Benny six months prior. He moved back home to grieve and never left.

“That’s going to be $68.17,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts.

I whip my purse up on the belt and dig around inside for my wallet. I slide my phone, a package of tissues, a small bottle of hand sanitizer, and a nail grooming case to the side, but can’t find the darn thing.

I grimace when I remember I left it on the counter at home when I paid my phone bill earlier this morning.

“Damn it,” I mutter. “I’m so sorry, Jeremy. My wallet is still on the counter at home. Can I leave and come right back with it?”

“That’s fine. I’ll just push your cart to the side and—”

“Tack it on to mine,” a deep voice says from behind me.

I look at Jeremy, shocked by the generous offer. He’s not looking at me though, but at the person standing behind me. I turn to thank the stranger, but the words get stuck in my throat as soon as I see him. He’s the man the old ladies were talking about. I know it from the shirt he’s wearing.

He doesn’t look at me as he puts his items on the belt. All I can see is the left side of his face. He has dark brown hair, slightly longer on the top, and his lower face is covered with bristly hair. It’s not long, but definitely longer than just a few days’ worth of growth. He has to be over six feet, and I can tell by the bulges in his forearms that he’s ripped with muscles. I feel so tiny compared to him.

I turn to Jeremy, who looks just as surprised as me, then back to the man.

“I appreciate the offer, but you don’t need to do that, Mr.…” I trail off, hoping he’ll supply his name. When he doesn’t, I continue, undeterred. “I don’t live far from here. It’ll only take me a few minutes.”

“No,” he grunts, still not looking at me. I lift my brows at the short reply.

“Sir—” I try again.

“I don’t have time to wait for him to cancel the order.”

I let out a sigh and nod to Jeremy. Grabbing a small notepad and pen from my purse, I turn back to the stranger.

“What’s your address so I can mail you a check?”

“No need,” he replies.

“Sir, I’d feel more comfortable paying you back. Please.”

I barely hold back my gasp when he drops a big bag of rice on the belt and turns toward me. The entire right side of his face is covered in scars. The beard hasn’t grown back properly because of the scarring on that side. It’s in patches, leaving some of the brutal-looking flesh visible. It starts from his neck and goes up his cheek and stops at his temple, missing his lips and eye. It looks like burn marks. Regardless of the scars, he’s very good-looking. I glance down and see he also has them on his right arm. I don’t know this man or what happened to him, but my heart hurts regardless.

“Not to mention the scars. You know he has to remember what happened every time he sees them.” The words of one of the old ladies come back to me.

Whatever happened was tragic.

His black eyes penetrate me as he scowls. I swallow nervously, not because of his physical features, but due to the agitated vibes coming from him. I get the sense that feeling is one he usually emits.

“They say it left him a bit… unhinged.”

I force my feet to stay in place and my eyes to focus on his and not the devastating scars marring his otherwise handsome face. His scowl deepens until the corners of his eyes crinkle. I decide to just give in. If he’s kind enough to offer, then I’ll accept. But the next time I see him, I’ll pay him back.

“Thank you.” I reach my hand out to him. “I’m Gwendolyn, but people call me Gwen.”

He doesn’t take it, just looks down at it for a second, then turns away and starts putting more items on the belt, dismissing me. When I look at Jeremy, he’s ringing up the stranger’s items. He looks at me for a moment and gives me a sad smile.

“Thank you, Jeremy,” I say, walking to my shopping cart. “Tell your mom I hope her hip gets better.”

“Will do, Gwen. Stay safe heading home.”

I smile, nod, and with one last look at the man, I turn and push my cart between the sliding doors to my SUV, feeling strangely odd after the encounter with the man with the scars. While it was very nice for him to pay for my purchases, even if it was because he was impatient to be done himself, it was still something you don’t see every day. Normal people would have huffed and puffed as the clerk canceled the order.

When he looked at me with his dark gaze, I not only saw irritation, but also a deep-seated agony. Something so stark, I swear I almost felt the pain from it.

I slip my gloves and hat on when a gust of icy wind blows. Flurries flutter back and forth, leaving a light dusting of white on vehicles. This is the second snowfall since we’ve been here. Although we’re used to the snow, I’ve heard that winters here in Colorado can be quite harsh. Much different than Indianapolis.

I come to a stop and lift the hatch on the back of my Range Rover. I’m putting in the last bag when something has me lifting my head and looking to the side. I watch as the scarred man walks his own cart over to an older model blue pickup truck. He stops, deposits the bags in the back, throws a tarp over them, then pushes the cart back to the front of the store. Although I know he has to feel my eyes on him, he doesn’t look my way. I’m stuck in place as he gets inside his truck, pulls out of the space, and takes off down the road.

It's none of my business, of course, but I can’t help the curiosity that plagues me as I watch him turn the corner out of sight.

What happened to him? Is what one of the old ladies said true? Is he unhinged? What memories were they talking about?

I wipe the thoughts away and climb inside my warm truck.

Stop it, Gwen, I scold myself. It’s not your business. You have your own life you have to worry about.

Starting my truck, I pull away from the market and head back to Mrs. Tanner’s house and my two kids.

* * *

“Hey, Mrs. Tanner,” I blurt when the older woman opens the door. “I’m so sorry I took so long. It took longer than I thought it would at the post office.”

She smiles and ushers me inside. “Bah! Don’t you worry, Gwen dear, you know it’s no problem.”

I follow as she walks toward the kitchen. Mrs. Tanner was the first person I met when we moved to town. She’s the secretary at the elementary school where I teach, and took an immediate liking to the kids.

“How were they?” I ask, slipping my keys into my pocket.

“They were right as rain. Just like they always are.”

She pushes open the kitchen door, and my eyes immediately light on the two little redheads sitting at the table. I walk up to Daniel first and bend his head back so I can kiss his forehead.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey, Mom,” he replies, his bright green eyes staring up at me as he smiles, showing two bottom teeth missing.

“That looks good, Daniel. You can hang it on the fridge when we get home.”

“This one is for Mrs. Tanner. She said her kids are too old to color pictures for her fridge anymore, so I figured I could color one for her instead.”

I look up at Mrs. Tanner and see her smiling at Daniel. My eyes drop back to him.

“Well, that’s awfully sweet of you. I bet she’d love that.”

“It’ll bring color back to my fridge.”

I ruffle his hair before moving on to the silent girl in the next seat over.

“Hey, sweetie.” I bend and place a kiss on top of Kelsey’s head. She looks up at me and offers me a small smile with sad eyes, then continues her crossword puzzle. For being only eight years old, she’s extremely good at them.

Whereas Daniel is open and talkative, Kelsey is the complete opposite. Unfortunately, her low-key response is normal for her. She’s very reserved and quiet. For a little over two years, since her father died, she’s only ever spoken twice. Once was when she begged me to bring Will back at his funeral, and the other time was a year ago when I had the flu. She quietly asked me if I was going to die as well. It broke my heart when those words left her lips. Not only because of what she asked, but also because I had prayed so hard for her to get better, for her to feel comfortable enough to talk again, for God to bring my little girl back, and when she finally spoke, her voice was more beautiful than I had remembered. I couldn’t enjoy it though, because I knew she was terrified she was going to lose another parent.

Although she’s only spoken to me those two times, I still hear her every night when she thinks only God is listening. One day, three weeks after Will’s funeral, I was walking by her room when I heard something. I was about to go in and check on her, when her soft words stopped me. Peeking in through the small crack, I saw my little girl kneeling in the middle of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in prayer and her eyes closed. Her whispers, begging God to bring back her daddy, had me choking back a cry and holding on to the doorframe to keep from falling to my knees. Every night since then, I’ve listened to her whispered prayers. It tears me up inside that she doesn’t come to me, and I know her heart only breaks more and more every day that her prayers are unanswered, but I’m glad she at least feels comfortable enough to talk to someone.

She has what therapists call selective mutism. It’s when someone voluntarily stops speaking for whatever reason. In Kelsey’s case, it was the traumatic event of finding her father dead on her bedroom floor after he went upstairs to get her favorite toy. At twenty-eight, he had a heart attack from an unknown blocked coronary artery. It was a freak occurrence that the doctors say only happen in about 5 percent of young men that have heart attacks. For it to happen to Will, someone who’s never had heart problems in the past, and has no family history of heart attacks, the chances were even lower.

When Kelsey found him in her room, he was already dead. She was six at the time. The experience left her traumatized. There’s really nothing the doctors can do for her. She’s been to several therapists, went through multiple sessions without success, and they’ve all told me the only thing I can do is be her mom and care for her. To show her my love and give her emotional support. That it’s up to Kelsey if she wants to be heard again. I just hope one day she will. They’ve also informed me that this may be permanent, but I refuse to believe that. Those prayers give me hope that my girl isn’t totally lost

I love both my children more than anything in the world. I loved my husband too. It’s been a little over two years that he’s been gone, and every day I grieve for him. I grieve because I lost the man I love, I grieve for my children who will never grow to know him more than they already do, and I grieve for my husband, who will never see his children grow up.

We moved to Colorado because I felt we needed a change. Although I was taking them away from the place they were born and where memories of their father were, I still felt they needed a new setting, a new start. Kelsey wasn’t getting better, and my own grief was debilitating. It wasn’t healthy for any of us. Daniel still remembers his father and misses him, but he was so young at the time, he wasn’t as affected by his death as Kelsey and I were and still are. That’s both a blessing and a curse for Daniel. While I’m glad his pain isn’t as harsh as mine and Kelsey’s, it still hurts to know that his memories of Will will more than likely fade away over time, until there’s nothing left except for what I tell him, and pictures.

“Would you like a cup of coffee before you leave, dear?” Mrs. Tanner asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I brush my hands down Kelsey’s hair and smile over at Mrs. Tanner. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve got groceries in the truck. They’ll probably be fine, but I want to get started on Mrs. Myers’ pie that I’m taking out to her tomorrow.”

She pulls something from the fridge and sets it on the stove before turning back to me.

“You best be careful going out tomorrow, Gwen. They say there’s a snowstorm coming in tomorrow afternoon,” she informs me.

I watch as Kelsey puts down an answer on the crossword puzzle. It’s a word I can’t even pronounce, let alone know the meaning. She may not talk, and keeps to herself, but that hasn’t stopped her from being one of the smartest kids I’ve ever encountered. She’s always been that way though, even before Will passed away.

“I’ll be careful. I plan on going over early in the morning. We’ll be back before the storm hits.” I turn to Daniel. “Hey, kiddo, go make sure you have everything in your bag.”

“Okay, Mom.”

He gets up from the table with the picture and carries it over to the fridge, where he hangs it by a rectangular magnet. Stepping back, he admires his work.

“It definitely makes your fridge look more colorful,” he says nonchalantly.

Mrs. Tanner laughs. “That it does, Daniel boy. But you should know, now that you’ve started putting your pictures up there, you’re going to have to color me more. I want my fridge filled with them.”

He looks over at her and grins toothily. “I’ll color you one every time I come over.”

Mrs. Tanner watches as he walks away to gather his things. “That boy is special.”

I smile in return. “He is.” I look over at Kelsey. “They both are.”

I grab the cups the kids were using and take them to the sink to rinse.

“School’s out for the next few weeks. Any plans for the holidays yet?” Mrs. Tanner asks.

I put the cups in the dishwasher, then walk over to gather Daniel’s crayons.

“Nope. I think we’re going to just stay here. Will’s parents are in California with their daughter, Sophia, for Christmas, and, well… both my parents are gone.”

Her smile turns sad as she walks over to me and lays a hand on my arm. “Why don’t you three come here for Christmas dinner? My two kids, Kenneth and Bethany, will be here with both their families for a few days. Sara is Kelsey’s age and Cody is Daniel’s. Might be nice for them to have kids their age to hang out with.”

I look down and flip the lid closed on the crayon box. It’s the holidays that are always the hardest. This will be the third Christmas we’ll have without Will. It was always his favorite holiday, so it was a big deal for our family. The house, inside and out, was always decorated to the max. All the shelves were filled with nativity scenes, all the doorways had lights and garland, the tree was loaded with ornaments. Per Will’s request, and much to the kids’ delight, we always had some type of Christmas snack the whole month of December. Christmas Eve everyone got a pajama set and got to open one Christmas present to tide us over until the next morning. It was our tradition. I’ve tried to stick with that tradition, to bring the holiday to life for the kids, but it’s just not the same without him.

I look back up at Mrs. Tanner and offer a smile. Maybe being with more people will help distract the kids, and they’ll be able to enjoy the holiday like they are meant to.

“Can we do it the day before Christmas Eve? Emma, my best friend, will be in town and we’re supposed to have Christmas with her grandmother.”

“Absolutely. The kids will be here all of Christmas week.”

“Then we’d love to. But I insist on bringing something.”

Her answering smile makes her seem ten years younger. “You bring whatever you want. As long as you and those two precious kids are here, I’ll be happy.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tanner. We’d be honored to spend Christmas with you and your family.”

She reaches up and pats my cheek. “Gwen, dear, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Ruth before you actually start calling me that?”

I laugh. “I don’t know. Probably many more times.”

“Well, since you’ll be spending the holiday with me, I insist that you start.”

I smile and scoop up the coloring book and crayons. “I promise I’ll try to remember.”

I walk around the table to Kelsey, just as Daniel comes back in the room with his book bag slung over his small shoulder.

I squat down beside Kelsey. “Hey, honey. You ready to go? You can help me make Mrs. Myers’ pie if you want when we get home.”

She looks at me, and I want to cry when her lips stay closed. She gives me a small nod, but that’s all. I know she’ll help with the pie. She’s a very good child, always doing what I ask without complaint. Sometimes I wish she would throw a tantrum. At least she would be showing some form of emotion. But then I feel terrible for thinking that way, because no matter how Kelsey acts, she’ll always be perfect in my eyes.

I lean over and kiss her cheek before standing. She immediately gets up, her crossword book in hand, and stands beside me. I reach out and grab her hand. It may be odd for a mother to want to hold their eight-year-old daughter’s hand when they are simply walking to the truck, but I steal as much attention as I can from Kelsey, and that includes holding her hand, kissing her head or cheek, hugging her as often as I can—anything I can get. I’m deprived of her voice, if I can help it, I won’t be deprived of anything else.

I thank Ruth once more as she holds the door open for us, promising to stop by in the next few days to have dinner.