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“Hi Matt. I’m trying to work this puzzle.”
Matt chuckled knowingly. “Not really your speed, is it?” He would know—puzzles weren’t exactly Matt’s cup of joe either. They preferred power tools, big impact, and projects that stayed done—not broken down and replaced into a box.
“Your mom says I’ll be good at it. And that it’s about time I learn to sit still for more than two minutes at a time.”
Laughing again, Matt pulled a chair up to the opposite side of the table. “She’s one to talk.”
Meeting his son’s amused gaze, Kevin chuckled along with him. Exactly. Helen was a honeybee sort—always flitting around doing the next thing, happily buzzing along as she went. “What are you up to?”
Motioning toward the mug he’d placed in front of Kevin, Matt then sat back. “I’ve been banished to the basement as well.”
“Banished?”
“Seems I am useless with the trees once they are out of the ground. Something about no eye for color schemes and being too much in a rush.” He shrugged, as if he had no idea what that meant. “So Lauren and Kenzie and Mom kicked me out of the greenhouse while they work on decorating them, and sent me with the consolation of hot cider to see that you’re resting.”
“I’m tired of all the resting.”
“I can imagine.” Matt lifted his mug to his mouth.
“What are the little girls up to?”
“Jacob and Jackson offered to take all the kids to the Storm for dipped cones before Jackson and Kenz head back down the mountain. As soon as Mom and Lauren wrap things up, we’ll pack up and head over the pass toward home as well.”
Kevin shook his head in wonder. “Jacob and Jackson. Who would have thought?”
“Divine intervention.” Amusement lit Matt’s eyes.
Kevin palmed the warm mug Matt had delivered and sipped the steaming liquid. Undertones of orange, cranberry, and cinnamon mingled with the apple of Helen’s homemade cider. He paused for a moment to savor the drink.
Man, his wife could do amazing things in the kitchen. He could live without her tea though—and he was ever so glad to have had that out there now.
For several comfortable moments, quiet settled between the pair. Both put their attention to the puzzle, searching out matches from the one thousand pieces scattered over the table.
Seemed a crazy thing to do to Kevin, cutting a perfectly good image into a bunch of weird-shaped pieces, mixing them all up, only to spend hours putting it back together again.
But there he was, puzzling. And reflecting on divine intervention.
Kevin stopped searching for matches and looked at his oldest son. He’d been three when Kevin had wrecked his truck—perhaps old enough to remember it, and everything else. Had Kevin ever asked him?
He hadn’t. Perhaps fear had held him back. Or simply the desire to move forward and embrace the new life he’d been given. But that day he wanted to know.
“Do you remember me being in the hospital when you were little?”
Matt’s attention lifted from the table, and he blinked as a searching expression pressed on his brows. “I knew you were, I think.” He shrugged. “It’s blurry at best. I remember Uncle Dave staying with Jacob and me quite a bit for a time, but maybe that was when Connor was born.”
“Those events happened the same year.”
“Oh.” Matt held a questioning look and waited.
“You knew I wrecked my truck though, right?”
“There’s a vague memory of that, yes. Though I think maybe it’s more from you telling me about it later—when I was a teenager or something. You said you’d been drinking and rolled your truck. I remember that. You told all of us boys, as a warning.”
Kevin nodded, his study back on the puzzle. He had done that much at least, because he wanted his sons to know that drunk driving was a really, really bad idea. That wasn’t what he wanted to know right then though.
He cleared his throat and made himself look at Matt again. “Do you remember me before?” A slow burn crept into his face. “Do you remember me as a drunk?”
Gentle compassion filled Matt’s dark eyes, and he shook his head. “I remember the man sitting in a chair every morning, Bible open on one knee. I remember being in footy pajamas—the same kind my girls wear now—and being lifted onto your lap. I remember sitting there listening to you read to me and hoping I’d grow up to be like you.”
