Instead, I coax her back outside with a glass of water and a handful of pretzels to soak up some of the alcohol she just downed, and I dig into the rest of the boxes.
The worst damage was, of course, to the things most precious to her.
“What do you want me to do with these?” I ask, indicating a pile of clothes and uniforms that obviously belonged to her late husband. There’s not a lick of damage to any of that stuff.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s time to just let it all go. Give it away or…” The wave of sadness that presses down on her is visible from here. “I guess I could ask Jack if there’s anywhere I shouldsend Dallas’s things. His dress uniforms? Maybe someone else can use them.”
“Today’s not the day to decide. Those were important enough to move down here. Hang on to them, maybe let Jake decide if he wants them,” I say. When I’ve got everything neatly folded, I set the stacks high on a shelf at the back of the garage. “We’ll go get some plastic totes in a bit. Grab some dinner.” I break the empty boxes down, load the pile for donations into my truck, and give the floor of the garage a quick sweep.
A couple of plastic totes, a sturdy freestanding shelf, and everything will be organized and tidy, allowing Chloe to safely pull her vehicle into the garage.
“You don’t have to do all that. You’ve done so much for me already.” She stands gingerly and fumbles with the camp chair, folding it to store away. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything, Miles.”
Chloe walks stiffly toward me, and I take the chair from her, tucking it against the wall.
“Do you want to come with me?” I ask. I reach my hand out to steady her if she needs it but hold myself back.
She’s moving slow, and I’m sure her knee is tender, but I don’t really want to leave her. Not even for a short time. I’d rather have her tucked into my truck beside me with the wind ruffling through her hair.
“Do you mind? I’m not exactly quick on my feet, you know.” There it is. Just a hint of her sweet smile. “But I think maybe I’d like to get out of here for a bit. Is that okay?”
“I’d love it.” I steer Chloe toward my truck noting that she did at least change out of the leggings I shredded earlier and duck into the house to grab her shoes and purse. My breath catches as I step back out because as many times as I imagined pinup Chloe, dolled up and posed on Maggie’s hood, seeing her tuckedinto the passenger seat—hair wild and not a stitch of makeup, ready to run a couple errands with me—is somehow even better.
As I drive, I itch to reach for her hand.
As we walk through the store, it hurts me to see her pain.
As the sun sets, painting the sky behind her in brilliant colors, my heart feels at peace for the first time in a very long time.
ELEVEN
Chloe
Bronson’s ears perk, and he unfolds himself from the couch where he’s been sleeping soundly for the past two episodes of my Netflix binge. He slowly approaches the front window, as if he’s tracking a bird. It was important to Dallas that his dog be trained for when they had the chance to go hunting.
He stands perfectly still as he looks outside, ears up, tail straight. A barely perceptible tremor running through his body indicates he is prepared to go. All that’s needed is the command.
“Bronson,” I say sharply as he starts to tremble harder. “Leave it.” I push up from the couch and walk to the window to see what has him pointing.
My mom’s car is parked across the end of my driveway, blocking Miles’s pretty green truck in place. Jake jumps out of the back of the car, trying to look cool but failing miserably. He almost reminds me of Bronson, the barely contained excitement pushing its way to the surface.
The dog wags his stumpy little tail and seems to relax ever so slightly. It only lasts a moment though because the minute Milessteps out of his truck to greet Jake, Bronson loses his mind, whining and dancing his way to the front door and then back to the window. Obviously, I’m not moving fast enough for his liking.
“Bronson, sit,” I say firmly.
It’s all he can do to obey.
“Stay.” I use the hand signal that Dallas taught him to follow as faithfully as he does spoken commands. Keeping my hand to him, palm out, I open the front door and step out onto the front porch.
Bronson whimpers behind me, shaking all over.
“Quiet.” Without a thought, I reinforce the command with my pointer finger to my lips, and Bronson is immediately and completely silent.
“Hey. You’re back early,” I say to my parents as they walk up the drive, nervously darting my gaze to Miles.
Mom rolls her eyes and says, “Your dad was driving us all crazy. Your brother just about kicked us out first thing this morning.” She rests her hands on her hips and gives my dad the side-eye.
“The hell he did. Brent was on his way out the door, ready to come down here himself to check and see if Chloe’s friend handled her shower issue,” my dad huffs. “Who’s this?” Dad gives a chin lift toward Miles as he straightens to his full height.
