“Elsie lets me watchBiler og Lastebiler.” It’s cute hearing Sonny speak Norwegian, but I have no idea what he means.
“I’m going to need a translator.”
“Cars and trucks. It’s a show. How about one episode, a bath, and then some books?”
Sonny cheers and I melt. How can this beast of a man be so sweet, so tender? I didn’t see this coming, not by a long shot. A prickly part of me urges anger at Grey, but this is what I wanted, even if I walked backward into it with the least communicative and grumpiest man I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something, given my father is the Ice King.
Grey brings his hulking frame upright and winks at me before turning on the television, where we settle in for an animated show about cars and trucks in Norwegian, which would ordinarily give this overthinker plenty of time to preparea cross-examination. I’d grill Grey on keeping secrets like this. I want to be rip-roaring mad. I have every right to be irate.
But I’m not.
Somehow, Sonny softens it all. Smooths Grey’s sharp, gruff edges. Soothes the part of me that thought I’d never get to feel the kind of affection I have these last few hours.
With the little guy nestled between us and Grey’s arm stretched across the back of the couch, his hand gives my shoulder a little squeeze. Our gazes meet, and he winks.
It trips something in me. A reminder that everything is going to be okay if I let it. Sure, this situation is unusual and most would argue that Grey’s actions are unacceptable, but it’s like I’m at a crossroads. I can embrace what’s sure to be a challenge at times but also a joy, or I can go my father’s way and turn my back when things get difficult, and retreat into a cold and lonely world.
I can say yes to marriage and family life, or turn my back.
The part of my chest that felt so empty for so long warms, fills, overflows. This wasn’t how I expected things to look, but I was made for a moment exactly like this, and my answer is yes.
Yes, I’ll be a wife and mother. A thousand times, yes.
25
GREY
Igive up trying to follow the plot ofBiler og Lastebilerand not because I don’t understand the dilemma the cars and trucks that speak Norwegian are trying to solve. The plot doesn’t quite make sense. But neither does this one, the real-life story that I’m living. I zone out, thinking about what just happened.
I admit, I’m an idiot because I didn’t clue in Everly about Sonny. I took the easy way out by not telling her, even if it was difficult to do, even if I was afraid she’d pick up her bags and leave.
The truth is, I’m not the big, honorable guy I portray and that blemish burns almost as bad as temporarily losing my son and permanently losing my brother.
It’s been easier to block out that I have a son and didn’t tell anyone about him; that I didn’t try harder to work things out with my ex and be a dutiful father and husband. My brother wouldn’t even be able to look at me.
The guy he believed I was and the loser I turned out to be have been at war inside of me for months. I can’t reconcile the two. The shame and guilt spar daily.
After a bath and books, we say our prayers, then Everly and I say goodnight to Sonny.
“God natt, Pappa.God natt, Mamma.” His eyes dip and he’s out like a light.
Liquid fills Everly’s eyes as she whispers, “Good night, Sonny.”
Once down the hallway, I ask, “Would you like to go out on the deck? The window for beautiful nights like this up north is small.”
She nods, but her smile tinges with sadness.
The night air is like a warm, light blanket. Tiny waves roll into the lakeshore like a lullaby, and the woodsy scent coupled with Everly’s proximity makes the island feel like a version of home I rarely feel—except when I’m here.
We sit side by side on the oversized bench swing outfitted with all-weather pillows. Everly tucks her feet underneath her while I plant my feet firmly on the wood deck, rocking us slowly.
I sigh and it’s like the earth itself is content at this moment. Me too, but I sense that Everly still has questions and I owe her answers.
After a beat, I inhale deeply, not at all sure how this will go, but I have to try. I have to do better. “My brother Bran loved it here. I wish he could see what I’ve done with the place.”
“You said that in the past tense,” her voice is barely above a hush.
“This was our place, our island. We’d hike, hunt, and camp. We were a lot like two cavemen.” I pause, trying to anticipate how she’ll see this and for a moment, can almost see myself through her eyes—stony silence, hulking figure, lacking in personality. “Maybe that’s where the grunting comes from.”
