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Parker
“Daddy!” Evie screams, and I immediately drop the axe from my hands. I run to the front of the house and find my six-year-old daughter standing on the lawn, looking down the driveway. My five-year-old son, Jackson stands besides her, pointing excitedly at the truck parking carefully near the grass.
“Are you okay?” I ask Evie, though I already know the answer now that I see she is. Evie runs toward me, and I catch her, lifting her up into my arms. Jackson slams into my legs below her.
“Auntie Penelope’s here!” Evie exclaims. I wave at my sister as she steps out of her truck and she waves back excitedly.
“I can see that,” I say, releasing a sigh of relief. “Don’t scare me like that, kid.”
“Sorry, Daddy,” Evie replies, before wiggling to be let down. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she sets off at a dead sprint for her aunt. Like me, my sister has dark hair and green eyes. Unlike me though, Penelope smiles almost constantly, like she’s always happy to be wherever she is.
“Wipe that look off your face, Parker,” Penelope teases the second she gets close enough for me to hear. Each of her hands is claimed by one of my children, holding tight like she’d run back to her truck if they let go. “You love when I visit.”
“Sure,” I say, her scowl not going unnoticed as she passes by, Evie and Jackson dragging her toward the house. She sticks her tongue out at me, and I act wounded by it before following them inside.
“Got anything to eat around here?” Penelope asks, lifting her arms enough that Evie and Jackson have to let go of her hands. Watching Penelope rummage through the pantry, I consider how I really do love it when she visits. I’ve been living in the mountains for over four years. I only drive into town when we need to stock up. A little bit of human contact goes a long way, and I enjoy seeing my only sister as often as she can manage to come up and visit.
“You’ve only got potatoes and winter squash in here,” Penelope complains, breaking me out of my own thoughts. I come up behind her where she stands in front of my open cabinets.
“Yeah, I’m due for a trip into town, I think,” I tell her, though it’s obvious. Penelope rolls her eyes at me.
“You think so?” Penelope quips. Jackson jumps off the kitchen chair. I’m tempted to scold him for standing on it, but he’s always been a little monkey and climbing anything he can.
“Wait!” he says, jogging to the fridge. I watch him curiously as he digs around and uncovers two fresh apples. “I was saving these, but you can have them.”
“Why don’t we share them?” Penelope suggests, and Jackson agrees enthusiastically, running to get a plate while Evie gets the kids’ plastic apple slicer. While they are busy, Penelope turns back to me.
“You know why I’m here,” Penelope warns. I shrug, sitting down at the table. When I first decided to move, I found the house years ago in a state of total disrepair, and it just felt like home. I bought it, then repaired and rebuilt the structure from almost scratch. It was built from dark wood and has several windows to help maximize the natural light and minimize electricity usage. The cabin is only one floor, with the kitchen and living room existing in one giant room, barely separated by a little dividing half-wall. Off to one side is a hallway that has the bathroom, my bedroom, Evie’s room, Jackson’s room, their playroom and library, and the guest room—which Penelope uses when she stays overnight. The ceilings are relatively high, and the whole place feels warm and homey. I love everything about it.
“I’d like to think you came to visit me and your niece and nephew,” I taunt. She sighs and sits down next to me, taking my hand in hers.
“I always do,” Penelope says. “Really, I do. But I still worry about you.”
“Penelope, come on, not this again.” I groan, wrapping a hand around my neck and squeezing at the tension.
“Yes, this again.” Penelope gives me a pointed look. “Parker, you’ve been up here almost five years. Evie’s old enough to be in school. You should move back to the city, or at least consider it. This thing you’re doing—just living up here alone—it can’t be good for you and the kids. No social interaction aside from each other and the solitude is turning you into an introverted mountain man.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, as I do every time we have this conversation. I glance out the window at the trees and the hill over the lake. I always thought the sunrise looks the most beautiful at the top of that hill in my little piece of these Montana Mountains. Living up here, outside of Whitefish, is the best thing I can think of for my children and myself. Evie and Jackson climb into their chairs at the kitchen table. Evie gingerly works the children’s apple slicer while I observe her, in case she needs help.
“Parker,” Penelope says softly, squeezing my hand again. “I think you should move back with me. I don’t know why you won’t.”
Yes, you do, I think to myself. Four years ago—or to be specific, four years, seven months, two weeks, and five days—I became a widower. My wife, Rebecca, the mother of my two children, was murdered thirty miles away in Kalispell during a mugging gone wrong. In one moment, I became a widower, a single father of two, and single-mindedly focused on protecting my children from anything in the world that could harm them. Living in the mountains is my way of keeping my family safe. If I could, I’d insist Penelope moves in with us, too. The city has so much theft and violence, so many terrible things that could happen at any moment, for no reason at all. I have two children to think about. I can’t take risks like that—not anymore.
“I just can’t,” I tell her. “You know I have my reasons. Plus, I think of Becca everywhere there, which makes it even harder on me. It’s not good for us there. Plus, we’re fine up here, aren’t we?”
“Sure are,” Evie agrees. Jackson nods, his mouth full of apple slices.
“They don’t know any different,” Penelope whispers to me under her breath.
“They don’t need to,” I tell her. “They’re safe. That’s all I need.” I lean back against the chair, accepting the piece of apple that Jackson hands me. “Thanks, kid.”
“Y’welcome, Daddy,” Jackson says, biting another slice in half. Evie presents the three of us with her fully sliced second apple proudly.
“Thanks to you, too,” I say, and Evie beams at me. Penelope is still looking at me like she fully intends to keep talking about this, so I quickly think about a new topic.
“Hey,” I say, and the kids look up at me. “Remember when we were talking about how you wanted to start doing schoolwork?”
“Yeah!” Evie exclaims; Jackson echoes her sentiment. “Why? Do you have an idea?”
“I decided to start homeschooling you,” I tell them. Jackson looks baffled, but
Evie jumps up.
“Daddy!” Evie says. “You’re going to teach us math?”
I put a hand over my chest as if she’s wounded me. “What? You think I don’t know math? Some daughter you are,” I tease.
