Page 12 of Mountain Man's Hope

ROBIN

After my visit with Terra, I didn't have the energy left to go by Alice's general store to pick up the things I needed to make the dinner I'd planned.

I was hoping to cheer Mesa up with one of his favorites.

Instead, I went to the lake where I knew I wasn't likely to run into anyone who knows me and then I sat in my car and cried for an hour.

And still, even though I'm home late, Mesa's truck isn't in the driveway and the house is dark.

It's all the sign I need to confirm my fears: he's avoiding me, or rather, he's avoiding the conversation he's planning on having with me.

That hurts even worse, Mesa's not the avoiding type. It's one of the things I loved about him from the first time he told me plainly that I was his. Way back in the beginning, before the fire, before he got hurt...before whatever is going on in his head now that's obviously made him change his mind.

Letting myself in the house, I flick on lights. It doesn't look like he's been home at all since he left early this morning.

A glance at my phone reminds me he hasn't responded to the texts I've sent today either. Or left any messages letting me know he'd be late tonight.

Lost in my thoughts, I go upstairs and look at the things that have made it up the mountain since we've been back from Seattle. Not much, really. Most of my things are in a storage unit down in Slow River, waiting for me to go through them.

I took my name off the lease with my roommate when I found out Mesa wouldn't be coming home for at least six months-- there was no way I was going to be more than a quick drive from him when he went to the rehab center.

After a few quick texts to Mom, I gather the things I have here together, throwing them into my bag. Then I sit on the edge of Mesa's bed-- our bed-- and fight more tears.

I should not make this easy on him.

His own mother would tell me to call him out on the list of ways his behavior is unacceptable. His sisters would tell me to make it hurt.

That's just not me though. Maybe I'll get pissed off later, when it has time to sink in but right now, I still have hope. Maybe there's still a chance that things will work out once we have a chance to talk.

And I know we need to have that talk, but...not right now. I can't handle facing him right now. Having to hear him tell me he's changed his mind about me-- about us-- no matter what his reasoning is, isn't something I have in me right now. My poker face is good, but it's not that good.

With a deep sigh, I get up and grab the first load; a delivery box I found discarded in the back mudroom waiting to be broken down.

The new duvet set that we ordered when got back came in it. That was the first purchase we'd made together for the house when Mesa said we should start making it ours instead of just his.

Now it's full of my toiletries, and a couple of used paperbacks from when I needed something to distract me while I sat by his bed in the hospital.

After I set the box in the back seat of my car, I head back upstairs for the last of my things. Just a couple of gym bags with my shoes and clothes.

Even after I switch off the light in the spare bedroom where I've spent the last few nights, I can't help but linger in Mesa's room. Trying to imprint the manly scent of him into my memory forever. Trying to absorb the best of my memories from the short time we spent together here while I'm still calm and numb. Before reality sets in.

Mesa

My grandmother didn't exactly let go of the subject after Terra had her mic drop moment. I didn't get out of the house with a cookie but I did leave with an earful of advice and enough guilt to carry back in a bucket.

I had no idea Papa D had had such a hard time after Vietnam. I knew he'd been in the war and I knew he had a Purple Heart for his trouble, but it's not something he talks about. The man I grew up with has always had a smile on his face-- and usually a set of bar-be-Que utensils in his hand.

Hearing Abu talk about years of night terrors and flashbacks gives me a new appreciation for the strength of their marriage.

Dad was in the first Gulf War, back in the early nineties, when he was fresh out of high school. It's the reason he didn't know Mom was pregnant with Vale for so long and why there's such a big gap between my older brother and me.

I didn't know he'd broken up with Mom before he deployed-- before they knew she was pregnant. That he'd thought he would save her from the stress and potential heartache of being a soldier's wife when she was barely eighteen.

Us kids grew up hearing a much different version of the family stories, ones that reflect the strength of the marriages we grew up with as models of what real love looks like.

Terra made a lot of good points. She's a smart kid-- who's not a kid anymore. My baby sister is all grown up and it's looking like she's a lot smarter than me.

Just when I'm thinking I owe her an apology, my phone lights up with a new text.

---