That's not what I expected.
"Tyler?"
"He hasn't seen it. Not since I started on it." She shifts. "Not since I bought it, actually. He's been gone."
"It still needs work," she adds.
"It always needs work."
"No, I mean, it needswork." She sits up straighter, and I recognize this look. This is Falon in panicked list mode. I've seen it at seven in the morning when she's mapping out fence repairs, and at noon when she's reorganizing the tack room. "The kitchen backsplash isn't finished. The back bedroom still has that patched drywall that I haven't painted. And the guest house bathroom?—"
"Falon."
"—the tile isn't grouted on the left wall, and there's a trim piece missing over the?—"
"Falon." I say it more quietly this time.
She stops.
"Your brother just had surgery," I say. "He's not coming to grade the tile."
She's quiet for a second. Then: "He will."
I don't argue with that, because she might be right.
He’s always been the hardest on her.
"Okay," I say. "Then we'll get to it."
She looks at me.
"We?" She looks hopeful and worried.
"I'm not going anywhere." I kiss her forehead
She holds my eyes for a long second, then turns back to the TV. On screen, someone is extremely excited about the subway tile, and Falon laughs.
Rowdy thumps his tail again, and just like that, Falon had added a new level to the stress we were already under.
Melodie called right as we were falling asleep. It’d been almost eight hours since any of us had heard anything. I’dgotten the phone call right after Melodie, but none of us had heard much.
Falon lunges for the phone and knocks it off the end table. It skitters across the floor, and she chases it like a cat. I catch it, hand it to her. She's already on her feet.
"Mom."
I watch her face.
That's all I can do.
Her shoulders drop. Then her chin drops, and her eyes close, and she presses her free hand flat against her chest.
"Okay," she breathes. "Okay. Yeah. I know. I know, Mom, I will." A pause. "Tell him I said.” She wipes away a tear. “Just tell him he's an idiot, and I love him."
She drops the phone and falls back, lying across the cushions.
"He's out." Her voice breaks on the last word. "Concussion's stable. They had to pin his arm, but they said it's clean and it'll heal just fine."
"Good." I lay down next to her and put my arm under her head. She turns into it, and that's the first time all night she breathes a sigh of relief. Her forehead goes to my shoulder. I feel her exhale move through her whole frame.
