The Hero I Need

It’s almost worse that she isn’t faking sympathy, that she actually feels shredded over my clusterfuck situation.

“Sure does. All we can do is keep moving forward.” Steering down the small embankment to a creek, I add, “Hold onto your butt. This is gonna be steep.”

She hugs me even tighter and stays silent till well after we cross a second creek and climb up the other bank. “Don’t you wonder about that sometimes? Life. How things work out?”

“Don’t know. Do you?”

I think I’m done with question time today.

“I have to. My mother died of an aneurysm when I was just three. She and my father were eating in a restaurant. She suddenly got a headache, and before the waiter arrived with their check, she was gone. Right there at the table. My dad blamed himself for years.”

A shiver tickles my spine. “Why? Doesn’t sound like he could’ve done anything different.”

“No, he couldn’t have, but he felt like he should have done something. Get her to the hospital faster or maybe demand an ambulance. I don’t know, really. I just know it weighed heavy on him for years. When I was young, I was afraid he’d get remarried again, foolishly. But that’s how kids are. Now, I wish he had. He was so young when it happened and he deserved to be happy.”

Unsure why she’s spilling her guts to me, I just nod, holding my tongue.

“Sorry to make things awkward. That was...a lot. A load I didn’t even know I had,” she says. “Sorry. Must be because of all the talking I’ve done with Sawyer and Avery. Yesterday they had a lot of questions about my mom dying when I was young, and I’ve tried to be honest. You know, explain how everyone’s situation is different, yet there’s always comfort, especially for kids. Life isn’t over if they find people they can relate to.”

I nod again, sharply, having never thought about it in her terms.

The girls don’t remember Brittany, yet I’m sure they’ll have more questions coming the older they get.

“How’d you know your father shouldered so much guilt? Did he tell you?”

“No, not quite.” She lets out a shaky sigh. “My dad wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. Especially me. He was my dad, my protector, my hero. But I just knew the way kids know sometimes.”

I stop the ATV so I can look over my shoulder at her.

“Did Avery and Sawyer say something? Do they think that I’m—”

“No! God, no. I didn’t mean it to sound like that, Grady. Not at all. They were just asking me about my mom. The illness—the one your wife had—was totally different. You took care of her, from what I understand. Remodeled your house and everything. There was nothing more you could’ve done.”

Now she sounds too much like Hank.

I grip the ATV tighter, trying not to grind my teeth.

This isn’t the time for heavy shit.

Also not the place to have this angel clinging to a ticking bomb.

“They haven’t said anything like that,” she whispers in my ear. “And...I’m sorry if it sounded that way. Like I said, I didn’t mean for all of that to come falling out. I’m sorry to have dumped on you. Must be my nerves. The stress with Bruce wearing on me because I...I never do deep talks with anyone.”

We stop for a second and I look back at her. The sincerity etched on her face makes me believe she’s telling the truth.

Hell, hadn’t I just admitted the same thing? Spilling secrets I’ve never told anyone.

“You’re right,” I growl back to her. “It’s the stress of this weird crap getting to us.” I turn around and shift our ride back into gear. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry,” she says, wearing a sad smile I can hear in her voice without seeing it. “Do you think we’re almost there?”

Glad to change the subject, I pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it to her.

“Check and see. I need both hands for the damn prairie dog town coming up. Keep holding on.”

I’m hardly exaggerating. The big-ass rodents out in these rural parts make their mounds in big clusters, what they call a town. Looks like the area ahead of us is covered with mounds and critters chirping warnings to each other.

“Looks like it’s two more miles,” she says, reaching around me to drop the phone back in my breast pocket before grabbing a tight hold on my waist again. “Ever gone prairie dog hunting?”

What North Dakota boy hasn’t?

I’m not sure I want to admit to that, her being Miss Zoologist and all.

She laughs, must sense me tensing up, and punches me playfully in the arm.

“Hey, you’re holding out on me, aren’t you? You don’t have to be scared to admit it, you know. I believe in wildlife management, especially when it’s not an endangered species.”