So, the bad and the ugly—it wasn’t a good meeting. I mean, I get it. I’m disappointed in so many ways that Mark left without a word then simply showed up out of the blue.
But Randy was pissed, and George was rude, and Ben—
God, no matter what I said, there was no way to counter the toxic bullshit that flew.
This time I don’t blame Mark for leaving. I’m broken up all over again that what could have been a stepping-stone toward healing became a total breaking point for our family.
This time, I’m going to do exactly what Marion reminded me of. I’m not responsible for my brothers. They have to make their own choices. I’ll still intervene if they ever step over a line, and I’ll always help if they ask.
But my focus is now on my own family. On Marion, Blake, Matt, and Daniel (and any others that show up in the future.) If I can somehow be a father and husband who makes a difference to those who are mine to shape, then I will count my job as complete.
And I will always, always leave the door open for Mark to return.
Because while the choices he’s making right now aren’t the ones I’d make, I don’t know the entire story. I can’t imagine his heartbreak or his struggles.
I feel the weight of my own struggles, and I know they’re made that much easier to bear because Marion is by my side. Love her with everything in me, even more than I did when we started this ride.
Since I know you’re reading this—love you, darling.
[halfway down the page, a different set of handwriting.]
Love you too. So, so much. And our family will grow strong into the future, because these boys have the most caring and thoughtful daddy they could hope for.
And I have a thoughtful, caring, sexy husband who makes me smile, and gets me riled up in all the right ways.
Don’t be too late coming to bed tonight.
~Marion
(But I’m NOT going through three more pregnancies. Just saying.)
Part II
Tell me, what is the present hour?
‘A green and flowery spray
Where a young bird sits gathering its power
To mount and fly away.’
Past, Present, Future
Emily Brontë
9
It had taken a couple of months to put thought into action, but by the first week of March, Mark had sold his house, loaded up the remaining things he wanted to keep into his rig, and headed north.
Hours later, he pulled into the yard outside Rocky Mountain House and stared at the house that had once been where he lived. It had been a lot of years since he and John had shared the place, and for a moment, memories swapped in so hard and fast, he had to clutch the wheel to keep himself steady.
I miss you, bro. So damn much.
The confession came every single day, because that’s what it meant to have lost a twin. Add in the way that he’d lost John—
Mark took a deep breath then straightened. That was the past, and now it was time to move into the future. Which meant dealing with the present moment.
John had been the one to push him forward. Which was strange in a way, because his twin was the last one any of them considered a risk-taker or go-getter. But the truth was John had been solidly at Mark’s back all their growing up years. Not the one to step in front, but damn eager to follow behind as closely as possible into whatever sort of trouble they could find.
And trouble they found. John always insisted he was only there to try and keep his brother safe. Most people bought his innocent act, except their parents.
The memory of being disciplined for good ideas gone bad turned the churning in Mark’s gut into a memory that made him smile.
He’d had a reason to leave, but there’d been a lot of good times here on the Coleman land. Maybe while he was stepping forward, those were the bits he needed to focus on. Kind of like Trevor’s letter had said—putting together the good memories along with the bad, but focusing on the positive.
The other part of why he was back was to build new memories.
He pushed open his rig door and got out, wondering what Trevor would say when he realized Mark had finally responded to his oft-repeated invitation.
He stopped on the front porch, admiring the clean, welcoming area, with its fresh coat of paint and a pretty little flag hanging under the protected eaves. He put his knuckles to the door after there was no response to the doorbell.
Testing the doorknob, he found it turned easily. He was grinning pretty hard as he cracked the door opened and shouted, “Hello. Anybody home?”
Complete silence.
He closed the door firmly and headed back to his rig. Seemed he was going to have to do a little tracking to find his nephew. And while he could’ve gone over to Mike’s or one of his other brothers’ places, somehow it seemed right to deal with Trevor first.
The kid deserved it, if only for how obnoxiously tenacious he’d been over the past years with those damn letters.
Mark pulled out his phone and, for the first time ever, used the number Trevor had given him so many years ago.
“Uncle Mark?”
Yep. That was definitely a Coleman on the other end of the line. “I could swear I was talking to Randy. Yeah, this is Mark. I assume you’re Trevor.”
“Hell, yeah. It’s good to hear from you.” There was a momentary pause, other voices in the background. “Or at least, I hope it’s good to hear from you. Everything okay? You need something?”
That was a fairly open-ended question. “Took you up on your offer. Decided to come to Rocky, and thought I should stop in and say hello.”
“Great news. You know when you might be in town?”
Mark glanced around, noting the changes and improvements to the barn and fences since he dropped Becky off a couple years earlier. The whole place was in excellent shape—not that he expected anything different from one of Randy’s kids. “Truth be told, I’m standing in your yard right now.”
Trevor chuckled. “Well, you don’t do things by halves. Guess you figured out I’m not there right now. Want to come into town? I took Becky out to the café. We’re about to have lunch. We’d love to have you join us.”
Which was probably a better idea than storming into their personal space right off the bat. Should’ve thought of it sooner. “I can be there in about fifteen minutes,” Mark told him. “Go ahead and order without me.”
He was experienced enough that it only took five minutes to unload his one-ton truck from the trailer, which meant, barely ten minutes later, he was walking through the doors into the same café he used to visit back in the day.
It hadn’t changed much. The booths had been updated a little, but the long counter still stretched in an L shape around the kitchen. Coffee pots lined the counter, and the scent of bacon grease hung heavy on the air.
This was where they’d gone for burgers and fries during school hours and invaded in the evening while out on dates and spending time with friends.
“Uncle Mark.” The tall, dark-haired man marching toward him with his hand outstretched could’ve stepped out of the pages of Mark’s memory.
“Damn. It’s like looking at your father thirty years ago.” Mark shook the young man’s hand firmly. He glanced beyond to the familiar face of the sweet, strong woman he’d first found standing alone at the side of the highway in pitch-black darkness. “Becky.”