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“Hey, Grant, I wanted to tell you I talked with your mother—when I called to ask about a letter to Santa. She was awfully sweet about you. Asked me a million questions. How is he? Does he ever mention me? Did I think you’d be open to a phone call? And she said she has boxes of stuff she’s saved over the years if you’re at all interested. Said she’s been saving every article about the band for the last ten years just in case you ever wanted them.”

That was a gut punch. “She did?”

“I could tell she’s hurting.” Ivy put her hand on my arm. “Not a reason to call her, of course. I understand you’ve got some deep hurt too and I know it’s justified or you wouldn’t be holding on to it. Still, I thought you’d like to know you’re very much on her mind.”

“Thanks, Ivy. Appreciate it.”

“She asked me not to say anything but, I don’t know, it just felt like I should,” Ivy said.

“Yeah, sure. It’s good to know.” Was it?

“Time goes by fast,” Ivy said. “Just something to think about.”

I nodded and then said goodnight, practically running out the door before she could say anything else that would rock my world.

14

LUCI

I’d slipped by Grant and Ivy talking as I left the lodge. They’d looked as if they were talking about something private, and I didn’t want to interrupt. By the time I got to my cabin, my cheeks were frozen. I started a fire while I waited for Grant.

I didn’t have to wait long. I’d only been there five minutes when his knock came. I rushed to open the door, knowing he would be afraid to be seen going into my cabin.

“Hey. Get in here,” I said, tugging on his sleeve.

Once he was safely inside, I shut and locked the door. He shrugged out of his jacket and tore his cap from his head, releasing his slightly unruly locks. I was growing quite fond of running my hands through them. However, I could see he was shaken over the Santa letters.

“You okay?” I asked, leading him over to sit by the fire.

“I don’t know.”

“You were surprised your mother had kept your letter.”

“Yep. And Ivy just told me she talked to her on the phone and my mom asked how I was and if she should call me.”

“Oh. That’s big.”

“I know.”

“How did you leave it with her? The last time you were home?”

“Like I said before, my father was mad I dared give him a cruise as a gift. We said some things we’ll never be able to take back. Mom just stayed in the background like she always did. Never defended me. Never stepped in to help me when he was basically⁠—”

“Abusing you?”

“I mean, we can’t call it that, can we?” Grant asked.

“If one of my patients told me his father made him exercise until he threw up as punishment for not achieving something, whether it’s grades or that stupid obstacle course, then I would most certainly call it abuse. Like it or not, your mother’s complicit in that.”

“She’s as afraid of him as I was,” Grant said. “In her defense.”

“Be that as it may, she didn’t step up when her baby boy needed her to. My mother might not think she did enough but I can tell you this—if anyone had tried to hurt us in any way, there would have been hell to pay.”

“He never hit me.”

“You understand what he did was terrible, right?” I asked. “He may not have laid a hand on you but he hurt you physically and emotionally. For your entire childhood.”

He was quiet a second. “You want to hear the worst one? He used to drive me out onto the property and leave me there blindfolded. I had to find my way home without taking it off.”