Smoke rose from the chimney. Someone was home. Grizzly parked the Suburban at the curb. For a moment, no one moved. This was it.
The moment they'd fought through blizzards and rockslides and collapsing bridges to reach. And now that they were here, Walter found himself paralyzed with fear. What if he doesn't forgive us? The words escaped before Walter could stop them. Then you walk away knowing you tried, Grizzly said.
That's more than most people can say. Dorothy took Walter's hand. Together always, they climbed out of the suburban into the snow. The rest of Devil's Backbone MC stayed in their vehicles, giving Walter and Dorothy space, but ready to provide support if needed. Walter and Dorothy walked up the path to the front door, their feet crunching in fresh snow.
Walter's hands shook as he reached for the doorbell. Before he could press it, the door opened. A woman stood there, late30s, auburn hair, kind eyes. Sarah from the photo that had been included with the letter. Can I help you?
She looked confused. Then recognition dawned. Oh my god. Walter. Dorothy.
Hello Sarah. Dorothy said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. Sarah's hand went to her mouth. I didn't think when I sent that letter.
I didn't know if you'd even get it. And then when you didn't respond, I thought she stopped. Come in. Please come in out of the cold. They stepped inside.
The house was warm, filled with the smell of something baking. Children's drawings covered the refrigerator. A backpack sat by the stairs. "Is Thomas here? " Walter asked. Sarah's expression shifted.
"He's at work. He manages a garage downtown. Won't be home for another hour. " She paused, studying Dorothy. "You look sick. " "I am sick," Dorothy said simply. "That's why we're here.
I needed to see my grandson before before Sarah understood. He's upstairs playing in his room. His name is Matthew. " Dorothy's eyes filled with tears. Matthew, that's Walter's middle name. I know.
Sarah's own eyes were wet now. Thomas never stopped. She broke off. Let me get him. She disappeared up the stairs.
Walter and Dorothy stood in the entryway holding each other up. Two old people who traveled through hell for this moment. Footsteps on the stairs. A small voice saying, "But Grandma said I should finish my homework first. " I know, sweetie, but there's someone here who wants to meet you. A boy appeared at the bottom of the stairs, 7 years old, towheaded with Thomas's stubborn chin and Dorothy's gentle eyes.
He looked at the two strangers in his house with the careful weariness of a child who'd been taught not to talk to people he didn't know. Dorothy made a sound that was half laugh, half sobb. She dropped to her knees, not caring that it hurt, not caring about anything except the boy standing 5t away. Hello, Matthew," she whispered. "I'm your grandmother, Dorothy, and this is your grandfather, Walter. " Matthew looked at Sarah.
She nodded encouragement. He took a tentative step forward. "My dad told me about you," Matthew said. "He said you lived far away. " "We did," Walter said. His voice was shaking.
"But we wanted to meet you very, very much. " "Are you really my grandparents? " "We really are. " Matthew studied them with the serious expression children sometimes have when they're trying to understand adult things. Then he said, "Why are you crying? " Dorothy laughed, tears streaming down her face. "Because I'm happy. Because I've wanted to meet you for so long, and now you're here and you're perfect. " "I'm not perfect. I got a C in math. " That made Dorothy laugh harder.
She held out her arms. "Can I have a hug? " Matthew hesitated for just a moment. Then he walked forward and let Dorothy pull him into an embrace. She held him like he was made of glass and gold, like he was the most precious thing in the world, because he was. Walter watched his wife hold their grandson for the first time and felt something in his chest that had been broken for 7 years finally start to heal.
Then the front door opened behind them. Cold air rushed in and a voice Walter hadn't heard in seven years said, "Sarah, whose vehicles are The voice stopped. Walter turned slowly. Thomas stood in the doorway, work boots tracked with snow grease stains on his jacket. He'd aged gray and his hair on lines around his eyes, but he was still Thomas.
Still the son Walter had raised and loved and lost. Father and son stared at each other across the room. Seven years of silence hung between them like a wall. Thomas's face went through a dozen emotions in as many seconds. Shock, disbelief, confusion, and finally settling into something harder.
What are you doing here? Walter's mouth went dry. All the words he'd rehearsed during the 1300-m journey evaporated. Tommy, don't call me that. Thomas's voice was ice.
I asked you a question. What are you doing in my house? Dorothy slowly released Matthew, her hands still trembling. We came to see you. To see our grandson.
You don't have a grandson. Thomas's eyes were hard. You made that clear 7 years ago when you told me I'd never amount to anything. When you said I was throwing my life away. I never said that.
You said exactly that. Thomas's voice rose and Matthew flinched. Sarah moved closer to the boy, putting a protective hand on his shoulder. You said investing in a garage was stupid, that I was being irresponsible, that I didn't think things through. Walter found his voice.
We were worried about you. We didn't want you to lose everything. What you didn't want was for me to make my own choices. Thomas was shaking now, years of buried anger flooding out. My whole life, you second-guessed every decision I made.
The girl I dated wasn't good enough. The college I chose wasn't prestigious enough. The career I wanted wasn't stable enough. Nothing I did was ever enough for you. The words hit Walter like physical blows because they were true.
Every single one of them. You're right, Walter said quietly. Thomas stopped mid breath. What? You're right about all of it.
Walter's voice cracked. We did second guessess you. We did think we knew better. We were wrong. You think you can just show up here after 7 years and say you were wrong?
You think that fixes anything? No. Dorothy stepped forward, her legs barely supporting her. No, we don't think it fixes anything. But Tommy Thomas, I'm dying.
The word dropped into the room like a bomb. Thomas's angry expression flickered. What? Cancer. Stage 4.
The doctor said 6 months. That was 4 months ago. Dorothy's voice was steady despite the tears streaming down her face. I don't have time to wait for the perfect moment or the perfect words. I needed to see my grandson before I die.
That's why we're here. Thomas stared at her. His face had gone pale. You're lying. I wish I was.
This is just another manipulation. Just like always. Make me feel guilty so I'll look at her. Thomas. Walter's voice was sharp.
Really look at her. Thomas did. And Walter saw the moment reality hit his son. Saw Thomas register the weight loss, the hollow cheeks, the way Dorothy was swaying on her feet, the color that had drained from her over the past months. "Oh my god," Thomas whispered.
Dorothy swayed. Walter caught her, but his own legs were giving out. They both started to fall when Thomas moved. He crossed the room in three strides and caught his mother supporting her weight with the same strong arms that had once thrown footballs in the backyard of their Milbrook home. Mom.
The word came out broken. Mom, I I'm okay. I'm okay. But Dorothy clearly wasn't. Her breathing was labored, her face gray.
Sarah was already moving. Matthew, go to your room, sweetie. But now, Matthew. The boy ran up the stairs. Sarah turned to Thomas.