merely been deferred.
Hours later, long after her parents had driven away and Kai had loaded the supper dishes into the washer, she sagged onto a kitchen chair and let out a long sigh. Her plans to return to Brooklyn once her father had come home from the hospital had been shattered by the news of his admission to the special therapy program in Columbus. She’d put her career on hold for the past month looking after Thomas, and now she was faced with an additional four to six weeks, depending on Harry’s progress. The fight between her frustration over this unexpected turn and her sense of family duty—something she’d been shirking in her pursuit of career—had made for restless nights the past week.
Thomas was upstairs, getting ready for bed. She’d had a talk with him, mainly about his grandparents’ trip and how important the rehab would be. “We hope Grandpa will be his old self again, Thomas,” she’d said. “Keep your fingers crossed.” He’d stared solemnly at her before crossing his fingers. Then he’d surprised her with a good-night hug.
She was exhausted, not so much from the minimal housework she’d done after her parents left, but from the strain of dealing with her nephew.
At the same time, the last few weeks had brought her closer to Thomas. In the past, when she’d come home for occasional family gatherings, he’d been the cute little boy she’d presented with gifts. Her visits had never been long enough to get to know Thomas as a person. She regretted not taking more opportunities to deepen her relationship with her nephew, and especially with David and his wife. Those chances were gone, but at least she could try to make up for it by being with Thomas now.
He’d be going back to school tomorrow, allowing her time to tackle her own work, which she’d been postponing for days. Her first weeks back on the farm had been spent driving back and forth to the hospital in Lima, and getting both Thomas and Amigo used to her and to each other. She’d sent off her photos of the innovative architecture of Kuwait City to the magazine that commissioned them and managed to go through her email, feeling some angst at having to turn down two promising contracts. The downside of freelancing was that declining too many jobs could lead to a lack of offers. Word inevitably got around that you were off the radar. Eventually, the opportunities dried up.
She’d spent time every day maintaining contacts, keeping up-to-date with various job possibilities she’d read about online or heard about from Alice and Scott, college friends who shared studio space with her in Brooklyn. They ran an online magazine about urban design and style trends and sometimes collaborated with Kai on special projects.
When she’d first arrived home, she’d sent an email to Corporal McDougall informing him that she’d been unable to deliver the dog but that he or Captain Rossi would be welcome to arrange a pickup.
So far that day hadn’t come, though she’d received a reply shortly after. He said he’d sort things out when he was back stateside and thanked her for her trouble. Since then, nothing. Now she realized the handover of the dog to McDougall or someone else wasn’t likely going to happen. Perhaps that was a good thing. Lately, the highlight of her day was the grin on Thomas’s face when Amigo jumped on him as he stepped off the school bus. She was loath to see that grin—a small bit of happiness in his day—vanish.
Kai reached for her iPad to check her messages once more before looking in on Thomas, whose light should be out by now.
As soon as she opened her inbox and read the latest message from Alice, she knew the evening wasn’t going to be as relaxing as she’d expected.
Hey, Kai. Hope things are okay there in Lima. Just want to give you a heads-up. Had a phone call from that soldier you were telling me about—McDougall?—to say he’s just come home on leave. He’s planning a visit to the guy you were supposed to deliver the dog to but said he wanted to talk to the guy first before filling you in on the latest. Maybe he’ll take the mutt off your hands. Let me know the latest—things are fine here. Scott’s off on assignment again.
Bye for now,
Al
Kai read the line again. Maybe he’ll take that mutt off your hands.
Not if I can help it, was her first thought. The upside of her parents’ stay in Columbus meant she had time to convince them that the dog was a good thing for Thomas. She mulled it over for a long moment, composing her message to Corporal McDougall, and then began to type.
* * *
HE COULD STILL CANCEL. Unpacking the SUV would only be a minor inconvenience. He saw his mother hovering inside the front door, hand at the base of her throat as if she were forestalling an imminent collapse of her airway. But he knew that although this road trip no longer had a purpose, he had to do it anyway. Had to get moving and out of the house. Assert his independence. Stop feeling sorry for himself. Be a man again, as his father would have said.
Decision made, he waved again to his mother and gingerly climbed into his newly leased SUV, avoiding bumping the steering wheel shaft with his left knee. By the time he was on the highway, the initial disappointment he’d felt reading McDougall’s email had changed to resentment. He had no idea what kind of person this Kai Westfield was, nor did he care, but what sense of entitlement allowed her to claim property that wasn’t hers to claim? Who was she to foil all the hard work and trouble his squad had gone to, simply because she felt Amigo had “settled in,” as McDougall had reported? He’d chewed over the contents of that message several times by the time he reached the state line. “Settled in” be damned. Luca pointed the SUV west and headed for Lima, Ohio.
* * *
MARGARET WALKED OUT of Harry’s room in the rehab center, her cell phone tucked into the crook of her neck while she dried her hands on a paper towel.
“We’re just about to go down for dinner, Kai. Let me call you back.”
“But I told Tony I’d let him know about the seed drill rental. He’s got a list of people, and the sooner I get on that list, the sooner I can organize the planting. After I get the fields turned over, of course.”
Margaret heard the frustration in her daughter’s voice but distance muted it, minimizing the problem. Compared to Harry’s ongoing recovery, the farm was trivial. What did it matter whether the fields got turned over or even planted? Harry had been talking retirement for the past three years right up to David’s death, when everything in their lives—even the farm—had come to a standstill.
“You decide then, dear, if you really want to go ahead with this.”
“Well, I’ve already posted some flyers in town for help. I guess I just wanted confirmation from you that Dad would be okay with it. What would he want?”
Margaret closed her eyes, fending off the urge to scream. “Who can say, Kai? Your father barely speaks.” Much less acknowledges my presence, Margaret wanted to add. When he wasn’t going through his exercise regimen, Harry seemed content to sit and stare into space. Most of the time Margaret felt a part of the general landscape of the hospital, no more meaningful than one of the generic framed prints scattered on the walls. She sometimes wondered why she bothered visiting every day, but quickly dismissed thoughts that only served to heighten her own frustration. Besides, she felt that were she to return to the farm, Harry might never rally.
“But—”
“Look, Kai. You’ve helped with enough spring plantings to know what to do. If you choose to go through with it this year, follow the usual routine. Heavens, go see Bryant next door if you need any advice.”
“Dad
