“From pain,” she says. “From knowing too much, too soon.”
She pauses, collecting herself, then continues, “Priscilla tried. She really did. She tried to shield Waylon from it. But you can’t shield a child from something they witnessed.”
My chest tightens.
“He was there,” Grandma says. “The day it happened. He saw it all. His sister … she died in his arms.”
“Oh, Grandma,” I whisper. “That’s awful.”
“It was,” Grandma says, voice steady but eyes shining. “No little boy should have to carry that kind of trauma.”
“What happened?” Charli asks.
“I don’t know all the specifics. Just that it was a car accident out at one of the ski resorts. Waylon and Crissy were outside, playing in the snow, and a vehicle lost control and hit her. And the saddest part—” She swallows. “The saddest part was that Holland was angry with him.”
“Angry?” Matty echoes. “Why?”
“Because grief makes people cruel,” Grandma says soberly. “And blind. Holland was drowning in it. Full of his own guilt because he hadn’t been there when it happened. He didn’t know how to process it, so he thrust it onto Waylon’s tiny shoulders instead.”
Aunt Irene nods. “He said things he didn’t mean.”
“Grief has a way of doing that,” Grandma continues. “You’re so caught up in your own pain that you can’t see the pain others are enduring. You simply can’t recognize it.”
The oil pops softly at the stove, a reminder that there are hungry people to feed.
“And Holland refused help,” Grandma says as she turns back to the stove. “Wouldn’t talk to anyone. Cowboys always think they’re so strong. Think they don’t need support.”
Matty exhales. “Daddy was kind of that way after Mom passed.”
Grandma’s tone softens. “Yes. He withdrew. Drowned in his grief for a while. But he had support Holland didn’t. He had me. And your grandfather. And four strong young daughters who pulled him back from the edge.”
I nod slowly. “But Holland had Waylon.”
“Yes,” Grandma says quietly. “But poor Waylon blamed himself too. He couldn’t pull his father out of anything. He was seated right beside him in it. And he was just a little boy.”
Matty shakes her head. “I can’t imagine witnessing any of my sisters dying. Much less holding them while they took their last breaths.”
My heart aches in a way that surprises me. I think back to high school—to Waylon Ludlow with his big personality and easy grin, more myth than man. The way he kept everyone just a little at arm’s length. I always thought it was arrogance. Superiority.
Now I’m not so sure.
Maybe it was armor.
I shake the thought away because empathy can be dangerous. It can get a girl in trouble, like it did that night, if she’s not careful.
The door opens as the first piece of chicken hits the pan with a sizzle. Caison steps in, hat in hand, eyes immediately finding Matty like a compass needle.
“You okay?” he asks her softly.
She nods. “Fine.”
He looks unconvinced but lets it go. His gaze slides to me, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth.
“So,” he says, “I hear you had a run-in with Way. And a water hose.”
I groan, “Word travels fast.”
“My fault,” he says. “If he scared you, I’m sorry. I was worried about Matty and kind of forgot he was waiting in my truck. By the time I came back out, he’d taken off.”
