AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I wait … I ponder … for a full thirty seconds before running outside in my socked feet and no jacket. As Henry backs out of my driveway, I bang on the passenger window.
He stops.
Martha won’t even look at me.
I open her door and slap the pile of letters and photos onto her lap. “Youread them.Youlook at all the photos. I don’t need them. I already know. I know Hermann was a good man who loved Afina. I know he built this house for her. And I know he moved on to love another woman and have a family with her. I know that generations of Bechtels have lived here. But now, it’s my time. It’s my time to live in this house … that he built formygreat grandmother. This house is ready to tell a different story.”
I slam the door shut and run into the house, freezing, and shaking right to my bones.
HENRY
“Hey,” I say the next morning, emerging from the bathroom, showered and dressed, hair wet and in need of a trim, along with my scruffy face.
Mom gives me a sad smile. Last night she refused to take the bedroom. From the looks of the bags under her eyes, I don’t think she did much sleeping last night. The photos and letters are scattered all over the sofa beside her.
She looks … defeated.
I did this.
“Merry Christmas,” she says with very little merriment to her greeting. “It’s a beautiful love story.”
I run my hands through my messy hair and take a seat in my recliner, resting my elbows on my knees. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I let things get so out of hand. I just wanted to save Emily. I just wanted to—”
“Don’t.” She shakes her head. “Don’t do this, Henry. I’m not angry. I’m grateful for everything you did. And I’m sad.” She pulls in a shaky breath. “I’m sad that I didn’t see it. What kind of mother doesn’t see that her child is struggling? I was so focused on Emily that I just …”
“I’m fine.” I nod several times. “I’m fine. This trailer is all I need. We both know it’s unlikely I’ll ever need more than this.”
She grunts a little laugh and shakes her head. “You had me fooled. Both of you. I thought I felt the chemistry between you. I thought Iheardit.” She rolls her eyes at herself. “I thought I saw something in the way you looked at her and the way she looked at you.” She nods toward the scattered letters. “When I read these letters, I could hear Serena’s voice. And I could imagine it was the two of you falling in love. The kind that takes you by surprise. Something undeniable. Do you know what I mean?”
I take a minute.
Mom laughs again before I can answer her. “Of course you don’t. But I wish you did, Henry. I wish you could experience that indescribable feeling of love. That connection that just … happens when you least expect it.”
Okay, Dad … I hear you.
I stand, slowly gathering the letters and photos.
When I set them on the counter and grab my jacket, Mom gives me a narrow-eyed gaze. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to see if there are grandkids in your future.”
It takes her a few seconds. Then she gets teary-eyed and presses her hand to her chest. “It was real,” she whispers.
I pull on a beanie and grab the pile of letters and photos. Then I wink at her. “Frighteningly real.”
On my way to the Afina house, I wonder how this works. I’d seen my dad do it on countless occasions.
Groveling.
What are the chances I nail it the first time?
I knock several times on the wreath-less door. Then it hits me.
It’s not just Christmas. It’s the anniversary of her husband’s death. What am I thinking?
I turn to head back to the van. Then I turn and take several steps back toward the house. And again, I retreat toward the van. “Fuck!” I kick a pile of snow and nearly fall on my ass. In the process of keeping my balance, the letters and photos scatter all over the ground. “You’re an idiot, Henry,” I scold myself, dropping to my hands and knees to pick everything up. “Two weeks,” I continue talking to myself. “You fell in love in two fucking weeks? How ridiculous. It’s not love. It’s just that your dick was caught off guard.” I continue to gather the letters and photos, just … mumbling away at myself. “But your dick isn’t in your chest, and that’s where you feel her. What’s that supposed to mean? Have you thought about that?” My third-person conversation reaches an all-time low.
“It means you love me, Henry Bechtel.”
