Erin

Just looking at the cottonwood tree in front of my mother’s former house brings tears to my eyes. I wipe my fingertips across my cheeks as I put a Morrison Farms truck into park.

I’ve never come back here. It’s been more than twenty years. I had to get the address from my aunt and uncle’s old filing cabinet.

They told me when she moved away. I was ten. After that, I asked them not to give me the cards she sent for my birthday. It was too painful.

The drafty old farmhouse hasn’t changed much. It’s still run-down, the white paint peeling and the rotted front porch sagging. I don’t have many clear memories of this place since I was so young when I lived here.

The tree, though, I remember. My mom would send me out here to play when she was sleeping off a night of partying. With no kids nearby, I’d sit beneath the cottonwood and build things with fallen sticks. It shaded me in the summer but provided no respite from the cold in the winter.

The cold was so intense. Not just out here in the winter, without a coat, but in the basement. I learned not to complain, though. Complaining about anything made my mother mad.

I was a pliant child, but my aunt and uncle sent me to therapy to overcome it. To teach me that it was okay to say I was cold or hungry or lonely.

Even so, I never lost my innate sense that I should keep my discomfort to myself.

“Stay quiet, Erin, or you’ll ruin everything.”

Her words haunt me, because she ruined me. Because of her, I’m only part of a person. I’m terrified of basements and hunger and ruining a child the same way she ruined me.

I remember the words of my former therapist.

“What if you flip the script, though? Let other people’s words run through your mind instead of only hers?”

I usually do this with my aunt and uncle’s reassurances that they love me unconditionally, and that I’m their daughter in every way that matters. But the first words that run through my mind aren’t theirs this time.

“I know who you are, Erin. I love who you are.”

It never seemed possible that a man could love me once he knew my darkest truths. I’ve had relationships, but once they started to veer into vulnerable territory, I bolted. I figured it was better to leave with my dignity than admit that stairways leading down give me chills.

When Derek opened up about his mom, it was the first time I felt like anyone really understood. Even with all his successes and records, he still feels the hurt of his mother’s abandonment. The shame.

That’s the root of it, really. I’ve always felt ashamed not just of what’s happened to me, but of who I am because of it. But Derek saw me at my worst. There’s no hiding anything from him.

And somehow, he thinks I’m fearless? I don’t know where he gets that. I’ve stayed away from so many people and experiences because I’m too afraid.

My phone beeps from the passenger seat, and I grab it, hoping it’s Derek. It’s been two very long days since our conversation. It’s not his number on my screen, though.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Erin Morrison?”

“Yes, it is.”

“This is Lexi Morrow. I’m an organ donation coordinator at Denver Memorial.”

“Oh, hi.”

“I just wanted to thank you for being tested to see if you’re a match for Matias. Unfortunately, you’re not.”

My shoulders sink with disappointment.

“Damn. I really wanted to be a match,” I say softly.

“I have good news, though. One of his uncles is a match.”

“Really? He’s getting a kidney?”

The tears return, but this time, they’re joyful.

“Hopefully. If he’s well enough next week, the doctors will want to go ahead with the surgery.”

“That’s great news. The best.”

“Would you like me to keep you updated about the surgery date? Matias has authorized you to get updates on him.”

“Yes, please let me know. I want to be there.”

“Okay, I’ll be in touch.”

After the call, I look at the farmhouse again. I want to let go of the hold this house has over me. And even more so, the hold the memories of my mom have over me. They’re faint, but always there.

In some ways, life was easier in the bunker. There weren’t many choices to be made down there. And I never had to worry about losing Derek.

Out here, though, everything is a choice again. I have to decide to face my demons, instead of being forcibly immersed in them. I have to decide whether to expose myself to potential heartbreak. Whether to trust.

I start the truck and turn around to head for Camp Caroline, my destination for the next couple days. When I need to clear my head, that is where I go.

It takes a little over an hour to get to the simple wood sign marking the turn onto the gravel road for the camp. Dust flies up behind the truck as I drive the half mile to the bend in the road that takes me beneath a canopy of trees that have shed their leaves for the season.

The building is simple, just a large, one-room log cabin with a loft overhead. Uncle Cal helped us build it over a summer, and I learned everything I know about building over those four months. I’m not expert level at anything, but I’m good enough to be a solid help.

My cousins sheepishly told me they haven’t been here at all since my disappearance. They said they didn’t have the heart to come to the place I begged them to start with me, when they thought I was dead.

The neglect of the cabin shows when I walk inside. There’s a layer of dust on everything, and the cabin has a stagnant smell from being closed up for so long.

Still, it’s so good to see it. I pause in the middle of the large room and look around, taking it in like I’m seeing it for the first time. When I was in the bunker, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see this place again.

I guess maybe something good has come from the sadness of my early childhood. It’s this place. When kids come here and can’t even look me in the eye, I don’t ask why. I don’t judge. I know the shame of wondering how anyone else could ever love and accept you when your own parent doesn’t.

Outer bruises have healed by the time campers come here, but the inner ones can haunt forever. Their smiles and laughter are a balm that soothes my own invisible wounds.

I sweep the floors and wipe everything down. It’s drafty in here, because we had to choose between a fireplace and the loft, and the loft won.

I’m shaking the dust off blankets, the front door open, when I hear the ring of my phone. I run inside and set the blanket down, my heart leaping when I see Derek’s number on the screen.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

“I’m at Camp Caroline, just cleaning.”

“I wish I could help you.”

His words make me smile as I sit down in a well-worn armchair. “Yeah? I don’t picture you cleaning much.”

“I clean. You think I bring a maid with me when I camp?”

“Maybe.”

“I miss you. I feel like a sniveling bitch admitting it at this point, since you clearly don’t miss me.”

“Oh, I don’t? Thanks for the insight into my mind. What do I want for dinner tonight?”

“You want to meet me at the best steakhouse in Denver.”

He’s right. But things are complicated.

“I wish I could,” I say.

“Well, that’s a start.”

“I do miss you, Derek.”

“But?”

“You already know the answer. I miss you, but I think we have to be realistic about where this can go.”

“A lot of guys on my team have wives and girlfriends. They make it work.”

“Do they come to games?”

“Some do.” God, I missed his deep, husky voice. “Some don’t. One of my teammates is married to a doctor. She only comes to home games, and sometimes, she can’t even make those.”

“Home games are in New York?”

“Babe, I don’t give a shit if you come to my games. I don’t even care if you watch them on TV. You’re overthinking all of this. Can we start with just dinner?”

I want to say yes. I want to fall into his arms again, but I’m so scared. “Maybe.”

“You gonna make me beg?”

“I would enjoy that.”

“You know as soon as you lay eyes on me, you’ll be mine again, don’t you?”

My stomach flips with nervous excitement. “Possibly.”

“Did you hear Matias is getting a transplant?”

“Yes. I can’t believe how quickly it all came together. I’m so happy for him.”

There’s a smile in Derek’s voice. “He deserves it.”

“Wait…did you have something to do with it?”

“Not much,” he says dismissively. “Money can cut through red tape faster, that’s all.”

“And you’re putting up his family too.”

He sounds genuinely dismayed that I know. “It’s nothing, babe. Honestly.”

“Thank you.”

“So…” He clears his throat. “I’m not missing his surgery, and I know you’ll be there too. Can I book a room in Denver for us?”

“Oh, Derek.” I laugh. “The reporters will have a field day with that.”

“Let ’em. I don’t care if the whole world knows, do you?”

A strong breeze whistles outside, and I feel a shiver. “Not really.”

“Sounds like a yes to me.”

“Okay, it is.”

His low hum of satisfaction banishes the chill, and suddenly I’m warm again.

“I have to go to New York tomorrow,” he says. “Legal stuff.”

“About Kenna? What the hell is wrong with her, anyway? I can’t believe the stories I’ve been seeing.”

Derek sighs heavily. “Yeah, my agent said she backtracked in the latest interview, after Bryce told a reporter it was all in her head.”

“Bryce? Someone interviewed Bryce?”

“Yep. From jail.”

“Wow.” I rub my free hand over my thigh, trying to warm it against the fabric of my jeans. “Hey, I have to get back to work before I turn into an icicle. Can I call you later?”

“Are you working outside?”

“No, I’m inside.”

Derek’s tone is gruff. “Turn on the heat, crazy girl.”

“Oh, there’s no heat here.”

“No heat? Erin, it’s winter. Can you start a fire?”

“No fireplace.”

He groans. “Send me the address of this place. I’ll send a contractor out.”

“Derek, I don’t want your money.”

“You just want my body?”

I laugh awkwardly at that. “Maybe, if you play your cards right.”

His low hum again makes me warm inside. “I can find out where it is, so make this easier and send me the address, okay?”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Too fucking bad. I’ll have an HVAC system put in, and you can leave it turned off on principle, how about that?”

“Derek.”

“Erin.”

I sigh heavily. “All right. You can get an estimate, and we’ll look at the numbers.”

“The nice thing about being me is that I don’t have to look at numbers. It’s done, okay? And let the contractor know anything else you need there, too.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say, ‘Thanks, Derek. I’ll see you for dinner at that steakhouse tonight.’”

I smile and glance at my watch. “Thank you. It means a lot to me. But there’s no way I can finish here and get a shower and make it to Denver before it’s really late. And the entourage would be following me.”

“Yeah, okay. But if Matias doesn’t get his transplant next week, we’re meeting up anyway.”

“Probably.”

His single note of laughter makes me break out in a huge grin. “We’ll see how coy you are next week, babe.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yes, you will.”