Page 177 of Mountain Grump
Never felt the stress of the silence.
Because I had Ethan.
I had someone to share the space with. And even if he wasn’t talking, he was there, exuding energy.
That sadness gets heavier.
I know we aren’tdone. We’re married. But we didn’t really talk about what happens next.
Feeling more than a little depressed and even more tired than I was a minute ago, I walk into the living room and turn on the TV, playing the DVD that’s still in there from before.
Then I go into my bedroom, turn my tablet on, and hit Play on a TV show.
As my house fills with noise, I crawl under the covers and close my eyes.
Chapter 94
Ethan
My house comesinto view before me, and I feel… off.
It’s the same single-story structure it’s always been.
Attached two-car garage. Green shingled roof. Dark wood siding. Two bedrooms. Two bathrooms. An eat-in kitchen. Living room with a worn couch and two recliners. And the same coffee table Sandra scratched her initials into when she was bored one day.
After that accident… when Sandra was only twelve and suddenly my responsibility, she told me she didn’t want to live in the house that reminded her so much of Mom and Dad. And honestly, I didn’t either.
So we sold it. We bought this place. And then we split the rest of the inheritance in half. Hers went into savings for when she got older, and mine went into investments and keeping us alive.
It’s been a good home. A solid one. Surrounded by pines. On a handful of acres. Far enough from town to be peaceful. Close enough for driving Sandra to school. Not far from the Lonely Peak State Park entrance.
But it’s on the opposite side of the park from Tilda.
Twenty-four minutes away from her front door.
Close enough for a visit. Too far for an emergency.
Pressing the button on my visor, I wait for the garage door to open, then I park my personal black pickup next to my official work one.
Climbing out, I hear a rumble of thunder, and I give a thanks to the sky for waiting. My Mountain Fairy was scared enough on that flight home. Bad weather would’ve traumatized her.
Leaving the garage door open, I step into my house.
It’s quiet.
It’s how it always is.
But it feels… stale.
Not bothering with my boots, I start to cross the kitchen, when I see it.
The envelope.
The letter.
I left it on the counter. And it’s still there. Staring back at me.
Guilt makes my steps heavy as I cross to it.
