Chapter One
Eloise
The moment the car turns into my father’s driveway, the sinking sensation in my stomach takes on a new low. It’s been five years since I’ve seen or spoken to him, and now I’m returning home to say goodbye. This isn’t how I saw our reunion going. In my mind, I’ve seen our reunion happen in many ways, and I’ve obsessed over and over about it. I didn’t even care how we reconciled in the end—just not like this. Not here.
Not on his deathbed.
He’s dying, and my stepmother’s message to me stated. Come home, Eloise. If you want to say goodbye… come home.
The tires crunch under the gravel driveway, then come to a stop in front of his home. I squeeze my eyes shut, bring my hand up to the door handle, and take a steadying breath. I can do this.
“Thank you,” I say to the driver, open my eyes, and step from the car.
The breeze sweeps in, sending my hair every which way. The moment my feet settle on the gravel drive, I stare ahead to absorb the impact of being home again. It’s as gorgeous out here as I remember. The snow-capped mountains set the perfect stage behind his ranch, which is blanketed by the blues of the late afternoon sky. Dad’s rustic home has three separate structures. A two-story log cabin with stone masonry is off to the left. There's a small homestead cabin that also has layers of beautiful stonework off to the right. The vast ranch house takes center stage with a large stone and glass entrance. The windows allow a wide-open view straight through the house of the mountains in the distance.
My father has owned this land in Montana forever, bringing my mother out here when they first married. My parents had a whirlwind of a romance—Hollywood starlet meets rugged cowboy—which sounds magical to me. It makes me smile, but their romance wasn’t a happily-ever-after one. My father left my mother for a younger woman. I was seventeen and heartbroken when my parents divorced, and my mother moved us to LA.
The hatred I had for my father grew after that, and now, five years later, I’m returning home. Not to repair the relationship between us like I’d hoped one day, but to say goodbye.
Our time has run out.
“You can do this,” I remind myself with another steadying breath.
The spring breeze picks up, pushing my copper strands every which way again, but the feel of the mountain air brings a comfort I’ve missed. The air is fresher here, cleaner here—compared to the city I now call home.
My stepmother walks outside and onto the large front porch, her spring dress fluttering in the wind. “Come inside, Eloise.” She waves with a hand for me to follow her.
I’m not sure I’m ready to face what lies ahead, but with a hesitant step onto the porch, I move to follow her inside. The moment I cross the threshold, a wave of nostalgia hits me. My eyes wander up and over the grandeur of the structure. These stone walls and high vaulted ceilings kept me company as a child.
My head snaps back down when Mallory speaks. “We can take your bags upstairs, and I’ll show you where you can sleep while you’re staying with us,” she says, her voice soft. Despite this being my childhood home, it’s not really my home anymore. She tucks a wayward blond strand behind her ear, and the movement relaxes me. I’m not the only one who feels out of place.
Mallory and I haven’t spoken but a few words to each other since I was seventeen, so my mother’s opinions of her are prominent. My father married a woman fifteen years younger than him when he left my mother, and she’s resented Mallory ever since. That resentment has been conditioned into me.
Mallory’s only thirty-five, and she’s confronting the death of her husband. I’ve felt nothing toward this woman before today, but a deep sadness forms for her at this moment. Being wrapped up in the memories of my childhood and the anticipation of the upcoming reunion with my father has me letting go of the harsh resentment I once carried with ease for so many years.
“Thank you,” I say, and work to keep my voice from relaying any annoyance as we walk upstairs and toward the guest bedroom because I set three rules for myself during the flight here.
Rule one - Don’t let my mother’s bitterness follow me here.
Rule two - Give my father the opportunity to apologize.
Rule three - Live in this moment. It’s all the time we have left.
“I appreciate you calling me and letting me know about Dad,” I tell Mallory again to ease any final tension between us. I will follow rule one.
My mother and father made their decisions when I was younger—their decision—not mine and not Mallory’s. I’ll give my father time to explain why he hasn’t reached out to me—rule two and take what little time we have left to mend the bridges we burned five years ago—rule three.
“You’re always welcome here. I just have something to admit first,” she tells me. When I glance Mallory’s way, her head is down. She’s biting her lip, and her eyes are watering.
“What’s wrong?” I walk over and rest my arm across her shoulders.
“He doesn’t know I contacted you.”
My arm drops away like she’s burned my skin. I thought my father wanted her to reach out to me—that he wanted to see me. He isn’t even aware that I’m here. There’s a tingling sensation forming under my arms, and my palms begin to sweat.
Mallory turns and braces her hands on the top of my arms, “He wants to see you, Eloise, I promise. I’m losing him, and he misses you so much. I wanted to give him this last thing before he leaves me.”
She’s full-on crying now, her face is red, and she moves to sit on the edge of my guest bed. Glancing at the ceiling, I pray for the strength to tackle this situation in front of me so I can comfort my stepmother. I wipe the palms of my hands on my jeans and walk toward her.
“I’m here to help you through this.” The promise leaves my mouth with little thought because from one woman to another, despite the history we have, I’ll be there for her as the world rips away the man she loves.
We sit, for I don’t know how long, while she cries, and I soothe her to the best of my abilities.
“You need to go see your father. I’ll make us some dinner.” She wipes her eyes and stands, straightening her blue spring dress and adjusting her long blond hair that tumbles around her shoulders. Mallory is gorgeous and has this sweetness about her that lures people to comfort her. I remember her being nice when I was younger, but the memory is tinged in red with my mother’s hatred.
I have despised this woman for so many years—she broke my family apart, right? While in her presence, though, it’s hard to hate her the same way Mom does. Mallory draws you in. You want to know her and her story. She stole my father’s heart that way. I wonder what their love story is—what made my father leave his wife and daughter for this woman.
“Where is he?” I ask, then rise to follow Mallory from the room.
“He’s in our bedroom. He isn’t able to get around as much these days, and the pain often keeps him bedridden.” She wipes her eyes again, and we pause by the room next to the guest room.
This was my parents’ room years ago. Mallory opens the door and steps in before me. The room is dim but looks the same as it did when I was a kid, although the color on the walls is lighter, and they’ve updated it to what I’m sure is Mallory’s taste versus my mother’s. Yet, it still maintains the rustic cabin feel that always welcomed me as a child.