The words taste bitter, even softened.
“He doesn’t love us at all, does he?” she replies with a flat, emotionless shrug.
“Listen to me.” She turns Emma by the shoulders so that they face each other. “He isn’t capable of loving anyone. That was taken from him the moment he was born into that place. The mission to reach Sedona is all that matters to him now, but that has nothing to do with me or you. You are lovable, sweetheart.”
She wishes her mother or grandmother had told her the same when she was Emma’s age. That they had broken down the harsh facts of what lay ahead for her to its most basic elements, so she hadn’t been surprised or confused by Vincent’s coldness. They whispered sweet lies to her instead about how he was agood man, and being a good wife was her duty. Not a single word was said about how difficult her husband would make such a task.
There’s a glimmering shine in Emma’s eyes as she nods. “Will we see Wyatt again? Or is he gone forever, too?”
The question lodges in Addison’s chest like a twitching spasm. “He’ll be back. He will. Wyatt is a man of his word. We just need to be patient.”
Addison only wishes she could fully believe that reassurance. She doesn’t doubt Wyatt’s intentions or his abilities to manifest them, but the world is a harsh place, and it’s so easy for someone to vanish despite every effort. It could swallow him whole, and she’d be powerless to stop it.
She doesn’t think too hard about their conversation before he left. She can’t. She focuses on the practical tasks at hand, like locking all the doors and checking all the windows. Feeding the rest of the animals and settling Emma in bed before she takes up the space beside her to stare at the ceiling. The house is silent and haunting in a way she hadn’t fully noticed until he left.
There’s no heavy tread of his boots on the porch. No low mutter under his breath when she asks him a silly question that he answers anyway despite his put-upon irritation. No quiet, strong presence filling the corners of the rooms that feel so empty without him.
It reminds her of all those moments in between her husband’s abandonment and Wyatt’s appearance when she felt alone enough to wonder if this awful solitude was always destined to be her fate.
It’s only then that the momentary break in the commotion of the day creates a crack for her emotions to slip through. Tears fall in hot streaks down her cheeks as she thinks of the time they shared here in this house and back at the other farm,every reluctant smile he gave her and every moment of safety he offered in a world that did its best to strip away such things.
She presses her palm over her face to keep quiet so she doesn’t wake Emma.
Then she remembers the guilt-ridden furrow in his brows as he confessed to her in the same place they met. How her stomach twisted, and her heart clenched at being on the receiving end of another betrayal. It still stings more than she wishes it did. He has proven his loyalty and then some by sacrificing his plane and perhaps his life for her and Emma. And yet it’s all so fresh that her emotions have a hard time untangling everything from the cluttered pile they’ve woven into.
Forgiveness shouldn’t be this complicated.
She wants to punch him straight in the nose for the lies he told, and at the same time, she wants to wrap him up in her arms to cry a river of relief into the curve of his neck. Both options feel solid right about now.
All she knows for sure is that she isn’t willing to entertain any concept of a future that doesn’t include Wyatt. So she tells herself that he will come back like he said he would. He will find a way because he always manages to pull a miracle out of thin air at the very last second, so why should this be any different?
People like him don’t disappear quietly. She will see him again, she thinks, as she sniffles softly.
When that happens, she can’t decide if she will punch him or kiss him.
Maybe both.
* * *
Addison has watched the horizon every day for two weeks straight. Each time a thread of hope disintegrates, leaving her dangerously close to facing a truth that she’s put offacknowledging. The days blur together as she watches the sky until her neck aches and her eyes burn from the cold wind.
Wyatt isn’t coming back.
It feels wrong to even consider it. He made a promise, and she trusts his intention to keep it, which means only one thing would prevent him from coming home. She refuses to let her mind finish that thought.
All those moments since his confession, when she struggled with her anger and hurt, have long since taken a backseat to the overwhelming urge to see him again. To know that he’s alive and in one piece. To feel his arms around her and see his lopsided, fed-up smile just one more time.
So she spends more time outside than she should, scanning the sky for what could be the last pilot left on the planet and finding nothing but disappointment as the sun sets each time, offering darkness where she longs to see her only light.
The cold settles into her bones. The animals sense the tension and grow skittish. Even the goats who often enjoy the most hilarious acrobatics have stopped doing flips off each other’s backs when she’s nearby.
The land has turned brown and dry to be reborn again come spring. Addison hopes she’s able to pull off a similar feat one day.
She’s hardly considered the practical element of running two farms alone until now. Can’t let herself fully process what that means, but with the weather turning and sporadic, vague gunshots further out that filter in through the distance, signaling there are others still out there who could take this place in a heartbeat, she is forced to face the reality of it.
She can’t protect their land alone. Isn’t sure if she even wants to try. Maybe the worst part is realizing how quickly he became essential in so many aspects of her life.
The only option is to have a bag ready to flee with should the worst happen, and so she forces herself to do just that. Packing supplies for her and Emma, and setting up a worst-case scenario plan if they get invaded by raiders.
