Page 95 of Coming Home

Mouth slack, she swung back to him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Please.” His unwavering gaze turned steely.

While most of Nat’s friends had fathers with stern “Dad” voices that made them cower when doing something wrong, Nat’s dad lacked that particular verbal trick. A raised voice or shouts seldom breached his lips. She’d only ever had one stern-adjacent talking to from Dad. Even his cheers during their sporting events as kids were mild-mannered. A loud sigh or disappointed look was as rough as he’d ever been with them as kids. That had proven more effective than yelling with all three Owens siblings.

“Heidi, why did you frown?” he pushed, his gaze fixed on his wife.

“This is stupid.” She tossed her hands up. “It was just a frown. I don’t know why you’re both making a federal case out of this.”

“Because we’ve spent too long not talking about your frowns.”

An instant protest choked Nat. Part of her wanted to dive over the table and tackle him to stop his words. They should wait as he’d counseled… Be patient. The other part of her sat in stunned awe.

“We’ve spent too long not speaking about things and that neglect has impacted our children.”

“It has not,” she snapped, her eyes narrowed. “Our children are fine.”

“But we’re not.” Nat’s confession came out as a whimper.

Mom’s gray eyes, so similar to Nat’s, glistened with disbelief or hurt. Nat wasn’t sure, but she knew her words had struck as if she’d slapped her mother with her hand rather than the unwanted truth.

“Our children aren’t okay. You’re not okay. I’m not okay,” Dad croaked. “The day we lost Evan, we started losing this family. We take the family photos with smiles. We have all theappropriate family dinners and events. We do all the things that make us look like a happy family, but we’re not. We’re broken.”

Mom’s hand shook as she gripped the papers. Her expression turned stormy, forecasting the coming tears.

“I don’t want to lose my other two children because we don’t talk about things.” With a crack in his voice, tears rolled down his cheeks. “I don’t want to lose you. I love you so much. You are my heart, and for the last ten years, my heart has been breaking every day. We will never be what we were before we lost Evan, but if we don’t talk about it…if we don’t grieve…we’ll never be a family again.”

Mom shook her head. “Chris, no. I can’t. I can’t. It hurts too much. I can’t.”

Nat reached out, taking Mom’s free hand. “Mom, you can. I know you can because I did, and everyone says I’m like you. That means you’re like me…You’re brave.”

The tears slipped down Mom’s face as she looked at Nat.

“Dad, Clayton, and I have been talking about Evan. We want to help you…help us…move forward.”

“Help me do what? Forget him? I can’t forget him…there is a hole in my chest where he should be.” She slammed her palm against her heart.

“Not forget. We’ll never forget. But to forgive. To forgive yourself,” Dad said, swallowing hard. “Just like I must forgive myself. The only reason he came home that weekend was to attend that father/son golf tournament with me the next day. He’d told us he was swamped with his residency program, but we pushed him to come home anyway. If we hadn’t, he’d be alive.”

“No.” Nat shook her head in unwilling disbelief, vision shimmering with tears.

“I know,” he said, his gaze meeting hers. “I know it’s not our fault, just like it isn’t yours, my dear girl.”

Over the last two weeks, Nat had shared the knotted-up feelings of guilt, resentment, anger, and regret that had marred her grieving heart. Sharing the unspoken with Clayton and Dad was like rubbing alcohol on an emotional wound. It hurt like hell, but the ache started to dull with the sterilizing impact of talking.

Mom’s gaze shifted to her. “What? What is your father saying?”

That painful lump attempted to choke the words away, but she pushed it down. “I was supposed to go on a run with Evan that night but didn’t because we got in a fight. If I had gone running with him, we’d have been at the park. He wouldn’t have been on that road…not meeting with that truck.”

Mom shook her head. “It’s not your fault…. it’s not your fault.”

“I know…well, I’m trying to know.”

“Heidi,ourchildren are hurting because we don’t talk about things. For ten years, grief, pain, and guilt have imprisoned our daughter, our other son, and us.” His glistening eyes warmed.

Mom swallowed thickly, no words coming. Her face was ashen.

“I’ve started seeing a counselor. It’s helping. It hurts. I’m not going to pretend that there aren’t lots of tears and times I don’t want to do it. It’s like any wound; it’s going to hurt even while healing,” Nat said, squeezing her mom’s hand.

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