Wyatt releases my hand, and I let go of his cheek. "I'm going to talk to Travis."
Some of that fluttery feeling simmers down. "Please make sure he knows how much I love him." A sob sticks in my throat, and I force my next words out around it. "I thought I was making the best choice for him back then. And I've been half alive since."
"I'll talk some sense into him, Jo. I promise." He looks around the room. "You should get out of here. Go for a walk and clear your mind. I hate to think of you sitting in here and being sad."
I nod in agreement. "I'll go start on the list the new marketing person sent me. She wants pictures of the ranch." I watch Wyatt walk out of my bedroom. When he first started his community service here, I'd assumed he was inherently good at fixing things. Never did I imagine he'd be applying his skills to my relationship with my son.
37
Wyatt
Isn'tit some shit that I happen to know exactly how Travis is feeling right now?
Feeling unwanted by a parent?Check.
Feeling there must be a flaw that rendered you unlovable?Check.
I'm making some assumptions here, but I think they're a safe bet. I'm also guessing Travis feels shocked that the two most important women in his life have been lying to him since the day he was born. In that feeling, he is alone. I cannot empathize.
My knuckles hit the solid wood door twice, and I say, "It's Wyatt."
A few seconds later, the door swings open. Travis is already retreating to his bed, but it's as much of an invitation as I should expect to get right now.
"Hey, bud," I start, closing the door behind me. I grab the chair from the desk and pull it over, turning it around and sitting on it backward. "How's it going?"
Travis stares at me. "What happened to you?"
Shit. Right. "Sometimes standing up for someone gets messy."
He nods, micro-movements joined by a contemplative expression. I think he likes the idea of standing up for someone. It doesn't surprise me, given what Jo is attempting to do with this ranch.
Travis adjusts himself on his bed, trying to cross his legs, but they're long and gangly and he gives up. He ends up scooting himself across the bed and leaning his back against the wall. "Did Jo send you in here?"
"Sort of," I admit. "I volunteered to come in here. And she seemed grateful."
"She's my mom."
"Yeah." My mind is blown away by that too, but I have to push that down for now. This kid needs me.
He's quiet, tugging at a loose thread on the bottom hem of his shirt. "I always thought it was weird how old my mom was. So much older than my friends' moms." He huffs out a sound that is equal parts disbelief and disgust. "Turns out she's my grandma." He shakes his head.
"Sometimes, the people who love you do some shitty things." I run my thumbnail across an itch on my chin. "The best I can tell you is that some of those shitty things come from good intentions. Jo was fifteen when you were born. That's the same age you are now."
"That's what I keep thinking about. She must've been so scared. She must've hated me." He rubs the heels of his hands across his eyes, trying to get rid of the moisture.
"She didn't. She loved you."
His lower lip trembles. "Then why did she let my mo—" Travis squeezes his eyes closed, then reopens them. "Why did she let mygrandmatake me?"
"You were right when you said she was scared. She'd also just come from a really bad situation and she had some trauma from that." I don't know how much Travis knows about the church and all the drama that happened there, so I leave that part out. "You have every right to be pissed, Travis. Really. But maybe in time, you'll start to see that Jo made a hard choice in a nearly impossible situation. She broke her own heart when she let your grandma have guardianship. Personal cost meant nothing to her when it came to what was best for you."
Travis looks away. He's a fifteen-year-old boy, how much of this can he be expected to understand? I can tell he's a sensitive kid, but he's still a teenager. Raging hormones, confusion, and selfishness reign supreme. I remember pretty clearly.
A memory slams into me. My dad, during the time when the Bennett family was undercutting the entire Arizona beef industry pricing, and things weren't looking good for the HCC. He sold his collection of antique nickel-plated, pearl-handled Colt revolvers to keep our family afloat. His grandfather willed them to him, and on his deathbed wheezed a final wish for him to keep them in the hands of a Hayden. I never thought of it back then, but he sold his most prized possessions to make sure his family didn't go without.
The memory doesn't erase all the hurt, but it's cause for thought. Sacrifices a parent makes for their child, the ways they'll willingly break their own hearts, like taking on water just to keep their kid dry.
I've felt unwanted and unloved by my dad for most of my life, but how much of it was me internalizing his mistakes? I picked them up and put them on, sheathing myself in the hurt he caused, and used it to feed the angry fire within.
