"That's what family does," Kevin said. "We show up when it matters."
"I've known you for one day."
"Doesn't matter. You're Neil's. That makes you ours."
The kindness in his voice made my throat tight. This was exactly the problem. These people barely knew me, and they were ready to disrupt their lives, take on my burdens.
"I appreciate that. More than I can say. But I need to handle this myself. I need to stop being everyone's problem."
"You're not a problem," Tonya said. "But you’re running scared."
I wanted to deny it, but the words stuck in my throat.
"Where's Neil?" I asked instead.
"In the truck." Kevin stood. "Kim, before you go, you should know Neil doesn't let people in. Not easily. He let you in. That doesn't happen. And if you leave now, it's going to confirm every fear he's ever had about himself."
"That's not fair to put on me."
"I'm not putting anything on you. I'm telling you what's true." He headed for the door, Tonya following. "We'll be at home if you need anything. Either of you."
After they left, I stood in the empty cabin and tried to ignore the voice in my head that said I was making a terrible mistake.
THE DRIVE DOWN THEmountain was brutal. The roads had been damaged worse than I'd realized, mud and washouts making the journey treacherous. Neil navigated it all with theease of someone who knew every turn, every dangerous spot. But he didn't speak.
I tried once. "Neil, I'm not—"
"Don't." His voice was rough. "Whatever you're about to say, just don't."
So, I sat in silence and watched the mountain disappear behind us.
The bus station in town was small, just a covered bench and a schedule board. The next bus to the train station left in forty minutes.
Neil helped me down from the truck. Then he stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at everything except me.
"Thank you," I said. "For driving me. For everything."
"Stop thanking me."
"I don't know what else to say."
"Then don't say anything." Finally he looked at me, and the pain in his eyes made my chest ache. "You're doing what you think you need to do. I get it."
"Do you? Because you haven't said more than ten words since this morning."
"What do you want me to say, Kim? That I understand why three days isn't enough? That I'm fine with you going back to a job that's been killing you for six years?" He shook his head. "I'm not going to make this easier for you by pretending it doesn't hurt."
"It hurts me too."
"Then stay." The words came out raw. "Stay here. Let Jess handle the legal stuff. Let the Vermont Historical Society take the lead. Build something new instead of going back to something that never valued you."
"I can't just—"
"Can't what? Take a risk? Trust that three days can mean something real? Believe that you're worth more than footnotes in someone else's research?"
Each question landed like an indictment because he was right. About all of it.
"We barely know each other," I said, but even I could hear how weak it sounded.
