She dips her chin uncertainly. “Okay…show me your house.”
I take her hand and lead her through the open floor plan.
“See these?” I point to where the old narrow windows used to choke the light in the living room. “Iripped out the walls and put in floor-to-ceiling glass. Wanted the view to be part of the house, not something shut out.”
“You also removed that ugly chair your father liked so much,” she says as she walks up to the windows and looks out at the Elk Mountains now shrouded in darkness.
“Dad died before Jeanine had the baby.”
She turns and tilts her head. “How did he pass?”
“Heart attack. He was riding his horse.”
“I’m sorry, Cade.” She puts a comforting hand on my arm.
“Me too. Because if he were alive now, I’d have….” I run a hand through my hair. “I think he knew, Dove. He knew what Landon did, which is why he made it go away.”
She exhales. “Show me more of the house.”
We go down the hall. “I rebuilt all the bedrooms. Knocked out the tiny windows, put in bigger ones so there’s light and air. Evie’s room gets the morning sun—she says it makes her feel like she’s waking up in a fairy tale.”
I nudge her toward a cracked door where my little girl’s nightlight glows. “That’s her kingdom in there. Dolls and stuffed animals everywhere.”
Sarah peeks in and smiles faintly, her eyes softening. Her lips part, and for a moment, I see the girl she used to be—the one who loved me without hesitation.
“I wish Evie were ours,” she says.
The ache that rips through me nearly drops me. I step closer, close enough to see her lashes tremble.
“She is,” I whisper. “If you want her, she is.”
Sarah’s eyes shine, tears threatening, and she shakes her head hard. “I’m not ready for that. Not even close.”
I nod, though it damn near splits me in half. “Then I’ll wait. However long it takes.”
She runs her hand along the doorframe like she’s testing the truth in the wood.
“Whose room is that?” she asks, lifting her chin toward the door across from Evie’s.
“Tillie’s. She stays over plenty, so I made it hers. Has her quilt, her books, a king-size bed, so she doesn’t feel like a guest.”
I take her to the end of the hall and push open the master door. The room opens wide and bright, anchored by a bed big enough for a family, with clean, simple linens. The mountain view is framed like a painting.
Sarah stands at the threshold, frozen, breath shallow. “It’s…it’s….”
I wanted to build a room where no ghosts lived, and yet I’d made something for her without even realizing it.
“Yeah. I know. It’s what we always wanted.”
We used to dream of building a cabin with a large bedroom featuring tall windows, waking up to the mountains.
When she finally steps inside, she traces her fingers over the dresser, the fresh wood, the space I rebuilt to erase all that came before.
She walks around the room and then the bathroom—simple, modern, a shower cabin, a bathtub, a glass wall. Private and still making you feel like you’re out in nature.
“Scaring the poor wildlife while you bathe?” she jokes.
I feel immense relief that she’s no longer stiff as a board. There’s an ease to her. A comfort that she can touch my things. I like it.
