Dalton’s words weren’t magic, and she didn’t feel instantly better about everything, but the weight of guilt she carried was slowly lifting, allowing her to breathe in the snowy air more deeply.
Opening her eyes once more, she looked back at the farmhouse. Warm light glowed in the windows, and she thought about how that comforting space was home to Dalton too, at least for now.
How long would I have carried those feelings if he hadn’t made me talk about it?
She hoped that time would have healed her wounds enough that she could have opened up to her parents, to someone, about the pain she carried.
But no one made her feel the way Dalton did. He didn’t comfort her with platitudes. He asked questions, and her answers somehow let her see her own mind.
For a man who had no family to speak of, and whosaid he’d had few friendships, Dalton had a wisdom about the human heart. Or at least about Ella’s heart.
Tears began to stream down her cheeks without her knowing why. All she knew was that she had to get to Dalton, had to find him, to tell him that he was right, that what they had was special, too special to let anything get in its way.
The snow was falling fast and deep now. Her hair and coat were covered in thick, heavy flakes by the time she came up the porch steps.
She opened the front door quietly and slipped off her boots and coat before tiptoeing back to the kitchen. It was late enough now that Dove would be sleeping, and maybe Mom and Dad too.
Hopefully, Dalton was still awake. She had no idea what she wanted to say to him. Maybe she only wanted to wrap her arms around him at last, and rest her head against his chest to hear the steady beating of his heart.
But she heard voices coming from the kitchen just as she reached the end of the hallway.
“No, no, you didn’t wake me, son,” her dad was saying softly. “I just came down for a drink of water.”
“Sit, and I’ll fix it for you,” Dalton said, his deep voice low and gentle.
“No, no,” Dad said. “I’ve got it, Andy.”
Andy?
Ella smiled to herself. Her father, half asleep, had said the wrong name. There was only one other young man he’d ever been as fond of as Dalton, and as far as she was concerned the slip-up was a high compliment.
Dalton is a part of this family. If that’s not proof, I don’t know what is.
She listened for a moment to see if Dalton would correct him. But there was no reply, only the rush of water coming from the tap, and a moment later the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
Smiling to herself, she slipped into the kitchen, only to find it empty. The footsteps she’d heard hadn’t just been her father’s. Dalton had headed up too.
She debated trying to catch him before he got in bed, but something about knocking on his bedroom door felt wrong.
I can wait until morning,she told herself.
But she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to sleep, at least not right away, not with so many feelings and revelations bubbling up in her chest.
So she headed back down the hall to the living room and curled up with a book that she probably wouldn’t even read. Outside the window, she could see the snow driving down at the edge of the porch lights, but with a quilt on her lap, she felt nice and cozy.
I’ll talk to him tomorrow,she told herself.Everything is going to be wonderful from here on out.
19
DALTON
Dalton stood in the middle of his room—no, Andy’s room—his blood turning to ice in his veins.
He knew what he had to do. He’d done it a thousand times before. Whether it was a garbage bag or a duffel bag, or no bag at all, he’d taken what broken pieces of his life he could carry and fled or been driven out again and again and again.
He was an adult now, with marketable skills, and a promising future. But somehow this time hurt the most.
It doesn’t matter,he told himself.They’re perfect as they are. You’ll only mess things up.
