Page 25 of And Forever
“What about Mama?” Charlotte pipes up, leaning over tochomp at Winona’s offering. The rodeo continues in front of us, but it feels distant as I focus on my family.
“Folks, up next we have some of the fastest cowgirls in the world.”
The announcement of the barrel racing competition pulls all of us back to the action in the ring. A small pickup truck drives up and back the length, dragging a grater behind it to smooth the dirt kicked up by the ropers. Then, a four-by-four truck with three covered barrels drives through the gate, a crew pulling them free of the tailgate and sets them up in the newly smoothed-over dirt. Winona hops off Charlotte’s lap, clapping and whooping, sending multiple orange crackers flying from the container. Through our laughter, Charlotte and I manage to wrangle the toddler and the wayward snacks into something more appropriate for the occasion.
“Mama, you and Roo can ride.” Winona nods with conviction, pointing as the first cowgirl turns around the first barrel in a blur of sunshine yellow and chestnut brown. I look over her head to see Charlotte’s face pinch with the barest flash of longing before she tucks it into the crook of Winona’s neck.
“No, Squish,” she tries to whisper. “Mama and Roo don’t race anymore.”
“Why?”
It’s the most innocent question, filled with the purest curiosity in the world, but hearing Winona innocently ask makes guilt drop like a stone in the pit of my stomach. It sits heavily, nestled in the anxiety residing there, making my chest feel a little tighter than it was moments before. I can’t look at Charlotte, and I don’t know how to lend my support, so I busy myself with tucking the near-empty container back into our bag.
“Because I found something I loved more than that,” Charlotte offers to our daughter, sealing the words with a loud, smooching kiss to her cheek. “Look at that horse go!”
And just like that, she diverts the attention from her past to our daughter’s present by pointing at the new rider strugglingwith the last turn before taking off for the finish line. Charlotte’s eyes are on me, and I can’t pretend there’s anything else in the bag for me to deal with. I lift my gaze from the bag by our feet and slide next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist, holding her tightly. Her quiet understanding helps me keep calm for the next several events.
I’m returning from the bathroom with Winona when the announcer notifies the crowd that the remaining bucking events are next. In an instant, all the air is sucked from my lungs and my hands go clammy. I drop onto the bench seat, keeping Winona between my legs as she dances to the filler music played over the speakers.
“Hey, you okay?” Charlotte’s fingers are pale from how hard she grips my forearm, but I barely feel the pressure by the time I focus on her face. “Fuck, Wild, you’re white as a sheet. Let’s get out of here.”
“No, no,” I protest, even as the first bead of sweat rolls down my spine. “You and Winnie still need to see Tim. I’m just going to get a bottle of water and meet you at the truck.”
“Tim will understand, I?—”
“Please, Charlie,” I interrupt her. “I’m all right, I just can’t stay any longer, okay?”
Charlotte’s brow pinches together with concern and her dislike of my assurance. But she doesn’t fight me, trusting me to make the call, even when I flinch at the chute door slamming into the side of the arena. Her lips part, maybe to protest one more time, but I silence her by tipping her hat back enough to press a kiss to her forehead. My smile feels brittle when I lean down to kiss Winona’s cheek and tell her I’ll see her after.
“Bye, Wildy,” Winona chirps. “Kiss Meehaw!”
I give a little tug at the end of one braid before lifting Meehaw from her light grip and giving the stuffed cat a kiss. Then, with the swelling cheers of the crowd pounding in my head, I drop down the stairs of the bleachers and duck out of the stands.
Charlotte hovers at the bedroom door. “Come on then, baby.” I reach a hand out to her from my spot on the edge of the bed. “Let’s talk about it.”
From the moment the girls arrived at the truck after visiting Tim, there has been an undercurrent to our evening. Making dinner, playing fairies, and bathtime with Winona didn’t diminish the unspoken questions in Charlotte’s eyes. Her laughter and story time couldn’t hide the way her lips curled down in the corner, a frown of concern lingering through our last night in Idaho.
She pads softly on the plush area rug that occupies the majority of the room to climb up next to me on the simple, oak-frame king-sized bed. Folding her legs into a crisscrossed position, she hands me the monitor. I set it on my nightstand before turning to face her, determined to make it through this conversation with every truth I have left to share. Charlotte is quiet, but I can feel her body practically vibrate with tension. I slide a hand up her knee, resting it there lightly, grounding myself.
“I thought I could handle it,” I begin, drawing in a deep breath before letting it out and shrugging my shoulders. “And, honestly, I’m damn proud of myself for lasting as long as I did.”
Charlotte’s smaller hand covers mine, warm and solid, and she squeezes it in encouragement. She gives me a small smile, showing she’s proud of me, too.
“I’ve already put a call into Adam to schedule something when we get back to Arrowroot. I’ll need to talk out some of the finer details with him, but I want you to know that I’m okay, all right?” I dip my head to catch her eyes, praying that she can see the sincerity there. “I felt confident that being with you and Winona would be enough to help control my anxiety—be reassuring enough to keep the grief from becoming too much. And in so many ways it did. I’ve learned I still have limits, and I was reminded of my biggest lesson in therapy: grief is not linear. Ithas highs and lows, and there can be times that it settles harder and faster over me than I expect.”
“I’m so sorry,” Charlotte whispers, but I don’t know what she’s apologizing for. I scoot closer, opening my legs to surround her body with my own.
“I don’t want you to apologize.” I hitch a finger under her chin, holding her. “I am always going to miss him. I’m always going to be angry that he’s gone. But I’ve spent years learning how to allow Travis’lifebe what defines my memories of him, not his death.”
“It was so unfair.” Charlotte’s face crumples under her garbled cry. I bring her closer, cradling her head against my shoulder, giving her this moment. “After he was gone, I didn’t know how to help you. But I wanted to.”
“My healing had to be my own.” I run my fingers through her hair and allow my heart to crack open a little for the echo of a familiar ache to share the space with hers. “The pain of Travis’ accident ran deeper in me than I knew. Even if Ihadlet you in, there were parts you couldn’t ease.” I lean back, wiping tears from her cheeks as she lets out a snotty sniffle. The sound is just disgusting enough to bring a necessary levity, and I give her a chaste kiss on the temple before continuing, “There were things about it that tied back to my parents and upbringing, and the decisions I was making before you came into my life. I had been applying so many Band-Aids to the bullet wounds of being abandoned and abused, I was completely incapable of seeing that my friendship with Travis was the first step in stitching myself back together. When he died, it ripped all of them back open.”
“But I—” Charlotte opens and closes her mouth, searching for the words.
“No, baby,” I tell her gently. “You couldn’t have.”
Understanding passes between us. My issues were so much bigger than the unexpected death of my best friend, and no amount of Charlotte’s love was going to help. She holds me alittle tighter, and silently, I know she recognizes that, despite the pain and the years apart, this was the journey we needed to take to be together. We’ve come back to each other as better versions of ourselves.
