Chapter 3
WESTON
Touching back down in Colorado is a relief. Seeing the rolling fields and sloping mountains from the plane window makes me feel like I’m back at home. Once, the lights in Times Square would greet me like a warm hug, and I’d feel safe. Now, the seclusion of the mountains is the only place I’m certain that I belong.
Eric falls asleep on the drive home from the airport, and I have some time to contemplate the trip we just made. Is it fair to keep dragging Eric to the city, digging up a past he can’t even remember? I hadn’t expected him to notice how much those trips hurt me. He’s growing up so fast, mature beyond his days. Cheryl would be so proud.
We barely see another car on the road as we head back towards the mountains. The nearest town is a tourist trap at the end of summer, but we only get serious hikers around here. It’s peaceful. It feels right. I try to let it distract me, but all I can think of is how much Cheryl would have loved the view I have ahead of me right now.
It’s always hardest around her anniversary. For most of the year, she’s like a dull ache in my bones, so constant that it’s easy to forget for a while. But every August, that ache becomes a throb. As we enter September, it becomes a stab in the gut, and the knife keeps twisting further and deeper during that first week. When her anniversary passes, I revert to recovery. They say it gets easier to manage pain, but each year that passes, it feels like it takes longer for me to heal up again.
I glance at Eric, slumped in his seat and snoring gently. The years with him seem to pass so quickly. It’s like I blink and I miss a week at a time. Each year that passes, he gets closer to growing up. I want to stop time so that he’ll never leave. Never goes to a university, have a girlfriend, a life of his own. That way, he can stay with me forever. Because, some days, it feels like he’s the only thing worth being in this world for.
***
Eric and I are greeted by Madeline standing at our front door when we arrive home at the ranch. She’s got her apron on and her graying hair scraped back in a bun - she must have just finished cleaning for the day. Eric hops out of the car and runs to her, throwing his arms around her. Madeline chuckles, picking Eric up and setting him on her hip as though he’s still the toddler she once knew. She winces and I know her back is hurting her, but she doesn’t complain, twirling Eric around in a circle while he giggles breathlessly. When she stops to set him down, he stumbles dizzily, grinning dopily at himself. Madeline’s hands return to her hips as she catches her breath, smiling. After a few moments, she ushers me closer to greet me with a hug.
Madeline has been a great help ever since we moved to Colorado. She was a friend of my mother’s when they were younger, and Mom asked her to keep an eye on me when we moved out here. She’s like a second mother, despite her being paid help around the house. She cooks and cleans, but she does so much more than that too. She holds us together.
She envelops me in her arms. She knows what the trips to New York mean to me. When I first met her, I fell apart and told her. It was shortly after Cheryl died, and I had been holding it together for Eric’s sake. To this day, she’s the only person I’ve discussed Cheryl’s death with. Despite being friendly with my neighbors and the parents at Eric’s school now, I would never trust them with such sensitive information about my life. I trust Madeline with everything.
“You okay?”
I nod, though I know it’s a lie. I also know Madeline is going to sit me down and make me talk. She glances over at Eric, who has wasted no time in grabbing his abandoned scooter and is now navigating it around the driveway.
“Eric, honey, why don’t you go and play inside until dinner?”
He moans for a minute, but he would never really say no to Madeline. As much as he loves her, he’s a little scared of her. Not because she’s overly strict, but because he’s always been desperate to please her. The second he runs inside, Madeline’s hand on my shoulder pushes me in the same direction. I don’t protest. I always want to please Madeline too.
Inside, she steers me to the kitchen. I look around, taking in all the appliances and wooden cabinets. I never had an eye for decoration - I always left that to Cheryl. Our old house was stunning, like something out of a catalog. Cheryl would insist on re-decorating every few years, preferring to keep the house fresh and in style. It gave us something to do with all of our money, too.
Now, with Madeline mostly in charge of place, we have a simple home, perfect for the Rocky Mountains. It’s a little old-fashioned; furnished with oak tables donned with red-checkered cloths; wood window seats with cotton pillows; white net curtains that don’t keep out the sun during the summer. It’s got a woman’s touch in a house of men. But it’s not something I care much about, nowadays. I could have a mansion if I wanted. I could put my money into a million different things and still have some sitting around. But simplicity is fine with me for now. I don’t feel the need for fancy amenities. They don’t make me happy the way they used to.
There’s a pot of tea already boiled on the hob. Another Madeline touch - she refuses to touch a kettle. She’s the kind of woman that thinks tea solves everything, so she pours me a mug. It’s been brewed for too long and there’s not enough milk, but I drink it anyway as I sit down at the dinner table. It’s my way of convincing her that I’m fine, even if I’m not.
Madeline takes a seat opposite me. “Well?”
I sigh, my hand wrapped around my mug. “You know how it is. We went to the grave. Bought some flowers for her. I took Eric to eat at some places. We came home.”
“You don’t fool me one bit, Weston. Something happened this time. What was it?”
The darn woman sees right through me. She always has done. She’s got a mother’s intuition, even without any kids of her own. I chew my lip.
“Eric...he asked me about why New York makes me so sad. I guess it just reminded me how old he is now. How he’s going to start to question why things are...the way they are.”
Madeline nods knowingly. “I did wonder if this year would be the year. What did you say to him?”
“I did my best to explain what it felt like. But I just have this need to protect him from how it really feels. If he could remember the day it happened, or understand why it’s so awful, then imagine how messed up he would be? He’s better not knowing.”
“I know it feels like that now...and maybe that’s true for another couple of years. But someday you’ll have to come clean.”
“I know,” I reply impatiently. She’s telling me things I already know. Madeline’s great, but really, sometimes she needs to stay out of our business. She seems to realize she’s said too much and pats my arm.
“We don’t need to talk about this now. But I’m here if you need me, alright?”
I nod, but I know I won’t be bringing this up with her again any time soon. It’s all done and dusted for another year, at least. Maybe next year I’ll feel like talking.
Or not.
Madeline takes off her apron and hangs it on the peg by the door. “Well, if you don’t need anything else, I’ll head home now. I want to catch my evening shows.”
I know she’s using it as an excuse to get out of my hair. She can always sense when I want to be alone. She touches my cheek fondly as she walks past.
“The stew is on the hob. Should be ready in ten minutes. Take care.”
I nod to her, knowing that if I open my mouth to speak, I might break down. After she leaves, I stand up and fix myself a drink. Whiskey on the rocks always does the trick. It’s about as far from wine as drinks can get, and that’s what my wife used to drink. Red, like blood. I drain my glass and pour another. I’m breathing hard as I clutch my glass. The first night after New York is always the hardest. It does get better. But that knife just keeps twisting in my stomach. Right now, I can’t imagine anything being quite right again.