He handed one to Walter, then sat beside his mother and Matthew, helping Dorothy hold her bowl with shaking hands. The four of them sat together three generations, finally reunited eating soup while the storm raged outside. Matthew chattered endlessly, asked questions about Illinois, about what his dad was like as a kid, about whether they had any pets. Dorothy answered each question with patience and love, her face glowing despite her exhaustion. Walter watched his son with his son saw the gentleness in Thomas's hands.
As he helped his mother eat the protective way, he kept checking on her, making sure she was comfortable. Somewhere beneath the anger and hurt, Thomas was still the caring boy Walter had raised. He just needed a reason to remember. As the afternoon faded toward evening, Dorothy's eyes began to close. The medication and exhaustion were catching up with her.
Thomas stood, "Let me help you to the guest room. " He lifted his mother with surprising ease, carrying her the way he'd carried her hours earlier when she'd nearly collapsed. Walter followed them upstairs, his own body barely functioning. Every muscle screamed, his frostbitten toes throbbed, but his heart felt lighter than it had in 7 years. The guest room was small but warm. A bed with a quilted comforter, a dresser, a window that looked out over the snow-covered backyard.
Thomas laid Dorothy on the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Get some rest, Mom. Stay, Dorothy whispered. Just for a minute. Thomas sat on the edge of the bed.
Walter settled into a chair in the corner, content to watch. Tell me about your garage, Dorothy said. The one you wanted to buy. Did you get it? Thomas smiled.
Yeah. Took me 3 years to save up the down payment, but I got it. Callahan's Auto Repair. It's small, but it's mine. I'm so proud of you.
You don't have to say that. I do because it's true. Dorothy's hand found his. You built something from nothing. You did it, Yoro.
And you were right. We were wrong to doubt you. You were trying to protect me. We were trying to contro. There's a difference, Ros.
Dorothy's eyes were drifting closed. Your father and I, we made a lot of mistakes, but Tommy loving you was never one of them. Thomas's voice broke. I love you, too, Mom. I never stopped.
I know. Oh, I always knew. Within minutes, Dorothy was asleep. Thomas sat watching her, his hand still holding hers. Walter stood and moved to his son's side.
"She's going to die here, isn't she? " Thomas whispered. Walter's throat tightened. "Probably. " "Yeah, good. I don't want her dying alone in some hospital room. " "I want her here with family where she belongs. " "Thank you for giving us this. " Thomas looked at his father for the first time without walls between them. Did you really almost die getting here more than once?
Why? Why risk so much? Walter thought about how to answer that, about all the complicated emotions that had driven them on this insane journey. But in the end, the answer was simple. Because some regrets you can live with, and some you can't.
Not seeing you and Matthew again, that would have destroyed us even more than the cancer. Walter paused. And because your mother deserved to meet her grandson after everything she's been through, after everything we put her through, she deserved that much. Thomas nodded slowly. What about you?
What do you deserve? A second chance if you're willing to give me one. I don't know if I can forget. I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to try for whatever time we have left.
Father and son stood in silence, years of pain and love and regret swirling between them. Then Thomas extended his hand, not for a handshake, for a hug. Walter stepped into his son's embrace and felt 30 years of distance collapse. Thomas held him tightly, and Walter realized his son was crying again. "I missed you," Thomas said into Walter's shoulder.
"God, Dad, I missed you so much. " "I missed you, too, son. Every single day, they stood like that until the emotion passed. " When they pulled apart, both men were redeyed and raw, but something fundamental had shifted. The wall wasn't gone, might never be fully gone, but it had cracks. And through those cracks, love was finding its way back in. "Come on," Thomas said.
"You look like you're about to collapse. When's the last time you slept? " Walter tried to remember. "Yesterday morning, maybe. " "Jesus, Dad, you're 78 years old. You can't. " Thomas stopped himself, smiled slightly. Sorry, old habits.
It's okay. You're right. I am about to collapse. Guest room has a pullout couch. Not great, but it's better than nothing.
It's perfect. They left Dorothy sleeping and went back downstairs. Sarah had Matthew at the kitchen table working on homework. The boy looked up when they entered. Is Grandma okay?
She's resting, Thomas said. And Grandpa needs to rest, too. Can I show him my room first? Please. Walter smiled.
I'd love to see your room, Matthew. The boy's face lit up. He grabbed Walter's hand, his grip warm and trusting, and pulled him toward the stairs. Walter let himself be led his heart full despite his exhaustion. Matthew's room was exactly what a seven-year-old's room should be.
Toys scattered across the floor, posters of superheroes on the walls, a bookshelf crammed with stories, a bed shaped like a race car. This is my rock collection, Matthew said, showing Walter a shoe box full of stones. And this is my baseball glove that Dad got me. And these are my drawings from art class. Walter examined each treasure with the seriousness it deserved.
Asked questions, listened to Matthew's excited explanations and felt himself falling in love with this grandson he'd only just met. Grandpa. Matthew's voice was suddenly shy. Why didn't you come visit before? The question hit Walter like a punch.
Your dad and I, we had a fight, a bad one, and we stopped talking to each other. That's dumb. Walter laughed despite himself. Yeah, it was pretty dumb. My friend Jake and I had a fight once about who was better at soccer.
We didn't talk for a whole week, but then we missed each other, so we said sorry. That's very wise. Did you say sorry to my dad? I'm trying to. It's harder when you wait seven years instead of one week.
Matthew thought about that. But you're saying sorry now, so that's good. Out of the mouths of babes. Yeah, Matthew. That's good.
Thomas appeared in the doorway. All right, champ. Grandpa needs to rest, and you need to finish your homework, but I want to talk more. Tomorrow, Grandpa and Grandma will be here tomorrow. Promise?
Promise? Satisfied. Matthew hugged Walter a quick fierce hug, then ran back to his homework. Thomas helped Walter get settled on the pullout couch in the guest room. Brought him extra blankets, a glass of water, pain medication for his frost bitten feet.
Thank you, Walter said, for all of this. Get some sleep, Dad. We'll talk more in the morning. But at the door, Thomas paused. Dad, those bikers, Grizzly, they really risked their lives for you.
They did. Why? Walter thought about Grizzly's story, about his son in Seattle, about all the broken families trying to find their way back to each other. Because sometimes the people who look the scariest are the ones who understand pain the best, and they wanted to help us fix ours. Maybe so they could believe their own could be fixed, too.
Thomas nodded slowly. I'm glad they were there. I'm glad you're here. Me, too, son. Me, too.
After Thomas left, Walter lay in the darkness, listening to Dorothy's gentle breathing from the bed across the room. Outside, the storm was finally starting to break. Through the window, he could see patches of clear sky between the clouds, stars beginning to emerge. They'd made it. Against impossible odds, through conditions that should have killed them, they'd made it to Silver Falls, to their son, to their grandson.
Walter didn't know how many days they had left. Didn't know if Thomas would ever fully forgive them. Didn't know if Dorothy would live to see Christmas or even next week. But right now, in this moment, they were together, and that was enough. Walter closed his eyes and for the first time in months, fell into peaceful sleep.
Walter woke to the sound of laughter. For a moment, disoriented in the unfamiliar room he thought he was dreaming. But no, that was Matthew's voice, bright and clear, coming from downstairs, and Dorothy's laugh, weaker, but unmistakable, joining in. He checked the clock. 7:23 a.m.
He'd slept for 14 hours straight. Walter pulled himself out of bed, his body protesting every movement. His feet were wrapped in bandages. Someone must have tended to them while he slept. Probably Sarah.