“By the creek. Too loud?”
“No, just making sure the noise I heard wasn’t you driving and talking.”
Malcolm grinned at a nearby tree. His sister picked on him sometimes for not having a truck new enough for Bluetooth, but he had a little holder for his phone on the dash now, so he could talk hands-free if he had to. “Nah, just needed to talk to my big sis for a minute.”
“Well, you finally saw him again, and you kissed. What’s the next step?”
“Lunch. More talking. The fact that he’s amenable to more talking, and he isn’t shutting me out, is everything, Liss. Maybe I don’t deserve to ever hear him say he forgives me?—”
“Yes, you do, if you tell him the truth.”
“Maybe. I just really want the chance to tell him the truth. The rest after? Up to him.”
“Good. I’ve told you that for years, and so did one of your therapists.”
“I thought you didn’t like Dr. Aldridge?”
“I didn’t. Don’t. But that was good advice. Otherwise, dude was a quack.”
“You aren’t wrong.” When Malcolm had finally realized he couldn’t figure his shit out alone and accepted he needed therapy, he’d gone through several different docs with varying degrees and outlooks until he’d found one he liked. He still had once-monthly telecalls with Dr. Wilcox, unable to terminate the relationship yet and find someone local.
“Look, Monte, I know you want to bare your soul to Iggy and get his forgiveness,” Melissa said, “but please, don’t undermine your own happiness to do it. Don’t take more blame than is yours. You were a victim, too.”
Malcolm kicked a stone that skittered a few feet away before clinking against a larger one. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”
“Good. Text me how lunch goes.”
“Will do. Have fun playing with hair.”
She blew a raspberry into the phone. “Brat. Later.”
He pocketed his phone then tilted his face toward the morning sunshine, which still cast long shadows on its slow creep higher into the sky. Today had been a start toward something positive. Maybe not total forgiveness; God knew, he needed to earn that with more than just words. But it was a start, nonetheless. A start down his own metaphorical yellow brick road, toward a rough and uncertain Emerald City.
“We’re off to see the wizard,” he said to the gently flowing current of Snow Creek.
The creek rippled and churned and traveled onward, on its own endless journey.
Chapter
Four
Iggy had never been inside an ICU in his life, and his stomach was a sloshing ball of anxiety during his trek from the parking garage to the correct floor and wing. He arrived at the start of visiting hours and observed the procedure for entering. No one else was visiting Howie, so he was allowed right in. The two-visitors rule made sense, especially with critical patients.
His hands and belly still quivered with anxiety when he stepped into Uncle Howie’s room, surprised by how bright and open it was. He was even more surprised to find Uncle Howie sitting up in bed, a breakfast tray still on the rolling table, tired but aware. His face brightened into a droopy smile.
“There’s m’boy,” Uncle Howie said. His voice was muffled, not exactly garbled, as if his lips and tongue weren’t quite doing their jobs. Iggy had refreshed his memory on different side effects of botulism and one was a thick-feeling tongue, which could cause slurred speech.
“Hey, it’s my favorite grumpy old man.” Iggy realized too late he should have broughtsomethingwith him besides the bag with his uncle’s clean pajamas and toothbrush. Some sort of get-well gift. The room had two helium balloons and three vases offlowers already, though—both things Uncle Howie thought were wastes of money.
“Tired. Bored. Tired.”
“I bet you’re tired, you big dummy, you poisoned yourself.”
“Not n’purpose.”
“Obviously not. You’re way too attached to that saloon to kill yourself, and poisoning is more of a woman’s choice of doing it, anyway.”
“How d’you know?”
