Jill Hart already had both her own, as well as Sarah’s, tote bags packed up and balanced on either shoulder. She stood and whispered something to Ruth regarding the phone conversation.
“Of course.” Ruth covered Jill’s hand and squeezed. “Go. Your projects will wait. Take care of that precious grandbaby of yours.”
Sarah followed her mom out of the yarn shoppe, over the sludgy pavement, and into the car, thankful for her lead. Laney had been sick before, and children typically bounced back quickly from these sorts of things. It was cold and flu season, after all. But there was a piece within Sarah that felt so guilty that she hadn’t been there when Laney rose from her slumber, fevered and unwell. Of course, Sarah trusted her father to care for Laney, but sometimes a mother’s touch was the true healing.
“She’s going to be fine.” Jill looked across the vehicle at Sarah as they buckled up in unison. “Your dad was a firefighter, you know. Chief. He’s dealt with a lot worse than a temperature.”
“I know.” Sarah’s seatbelt felt too tight. Constricting. She drew in a big breath and tugged on the strap, but it didn’t budge. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“Then whatareyou worried about?”
“That Laney will one day realize I can’t do it all on my own.” She scolded her quivering bottom lip by pressing her teeth into it. “That I can’t even raise my own daughter without help.”
Jill’s foot pressed the brake pedal when a snowplow pulled onto the road ahead of them. “Why would that ever be an issue? You’re not superwoman, Sarah, nor are you expected to be.”
Sarah looked out the passenger window at the droplets of water running in rivulets down the glass like the tears she worked so hard to contain. “When Darren left us, I tried toconvince myself we were better off without him. That we could do everything on our own. That we didn’t need him.”
The sedan rocked at the four-way stop, and Jill took the moment to pause and really look at her daughter. “First off, youarebetter off without Darren. The hurt that man caused you—the abandonment and betrayal—that’s not something anyone should ever have to endure. And secondly, none of us can do everything on our own. Admitting you need a little help every now and then is not a fault, Sarah. It’s a strength.”
Why couldn’t Sarah see it that way? Why did she feel like every time she leaned on someone for support, it was the same as admitting she couldn’t stand on her own two feet?
“When you and Holden were little, do you know how often Grandma Grace was at the house?”
Sarah shook her head.
“On the night’s that your father was at the station, Grandma would stay over and sleep on that old, plaid fold-out couch we used to have back then. There was no way I could’ve gotten through those early years without her help. She was a godsend.”
Sarah didn’t remember it. She had been just a little girl when her grandmother had passed. But she’d heard so many beautiful stories about the sweet woman and her deep love for her family. In a way, Sarah could still feel that love, even if she couldn’t attach it to a specific memory or moment.
“It was a blessing that my mom lived close and could help out at the drop of a hat. And now it’s a blessing that I’m fortunate enough to get to pass that legacy down.” Jill followed behind the plow, in no real hurry despite Sarah’s promise to her father that they’d be home soon. “Laney has so many people that love her, Sarah. So many people that would do anything for that little girl.” She looked pointedly at her daughter before finally redirecting her attention to the road. “And we’d do anything for you, too.”
Sarah let those words sink in. Try as she might, she couldn’t help but feel like anything other than a burden. It would take some time before she could fully accept the truth that her parents reallydidwant to take care of her and her daughter. That things like fevers and work schedules, and unexpected hiccups and tantrums weren’t inconveniences, but opportunities to live out the legacy of love that tied the generations of Harts together.
By the time they’d made it back to the cabin, snowfall was steady, the light scattering of white turning into a full blanket covering the ground.
Sarah exited the car quickly and bounded inside with her soiled boots still on, eager to get to her daughter. “Laney?”
“In here!” Zeke whisper-yelled from an upstairs bedroom.
Taking the steps two at a time, Sarah rushed into Laney’s room, pushing the door open so quickly it hit the doorstop on the wall. There, in the rocking chair placed in the corner, was her father, cradling a snuggled-up Laney with cheeks as ruddy as one of Trinity’s red roses. She had a small, wet washcloth draped across her forehead, and another cool rag on the back of her neck.
“Oh, sweet girl.” Sarah’s eyes watered the moment she took in the sight. “How is she?”
“She’s just resting,” Zeke assured. He gently pushed the rocker with his feet flat on the ground for leverage. “I got her to eat one of those frozen fruit pops, and she drank almost a full sippy cup of water. Last I checked, her temp was one-oh-one point five.”
Sarah tried to breathe easy. That wasn’t too high, and her father had tended to her perfectly. “I’m glad to hear she was able to drink something.”
“I’ll try to get her to finish the rest of it when she wakes up again,” Zeke said, nudging his chin toward a bright yellow cup with a lid on the dresser next to them.
“I can take her,” Sarah said as she moved closer.
Zeke shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got this. She’s sound asleep, and I don’t want to wake her.”
Jill looked at her mother for some sort of confirmation.
“Your father has spent many a night soothing a sick baby in that very rocking chair.”
That, Sarah did remember. One night, in particular, she’d gotten sick in her bed, ruining her favorite pair of footsie pajamas. Her mother had been away at a church women’s retreat, leaving Zeke as the only caretaker. Sarah remembered being draped across his solid chest like a rag doll, all of her energy sapped. Her father had always been a big bear of a man, and with that came a sense of protection that only a loving father could provide. He’d held her hair back, rubbed circles between her shoulder blades, and hummed her favorite lullabies. His care was more soothing and efficient than any medicine ever could have been.
