She wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her head on his back. “I didn’t think so.”
The gentleness of her touch undid him. Grant shifted, sitting on a nearby stool and pulling her onto his lap. He hugged her, nestling his face in the curve of her neck. She smelled fresh and clean. The scent calmed his runaway emotions. Here, with Sara, Grant took the first deep breath he’d had in days.
Sara ran her hands through his short hair. Her mouth brushed across his forehead. It was comfort, and peace, and everything Grant hadn’t realized he needed.
How long they stayed that way he wasn’t sure. Maybe minutes. Maybe an hour. Then he pulled back and smiled. “Are these hugs something you do for all the men you’re flirting friends with? Or am I special?”
She smacked his bicep and got off his lap. “You’re the only man I’ve ever been flirting friends with.”
He hooked an arm around her waist to keep her from going too far. “Guess that makes me special.”
“Yeah.” Her gaze met his. “Guess it does.”
Oh, he wanted to drown in her eyes. There wasn’t a shred of pity there. Only kindness and understanding. It reached inside him and squeezed his heart. She cupped his cheek with her hand. “What can I do?”
“I think you just did it, sweetheart.” He sighed and got up from the stool. Retrieving his wrench, Grant went over to the classic truck. “Mom says you were kind to her. Thank you. I know the house is gross and…”
“She’s unwell, Grant. I wouldn’t judge her if it was cancer.” She paused. “How many people know?”
“You, me, Aunt Suzie, and my mom. That’s it.” He let out a long breath. “She wasn’t always this bad. Mom suffered from depression all my life. She’d have bouts for days when she couldn’t get out of bed. It was hard sometimes, but she always made an effort to make it to my baseball games. The school plays. We’d cuddle up on her bed and watch TV together during the bad days. It wasn’t perfect, but it was workable.”
Sara didn’t say anything, just nodded.
“Pop told me from the time I was very young to keep her depression a secret. Mom cares about what people think of her, and Pop knew if townsfolk found out, they’d treat her differently. It was fine as long as it was manageable, but lately things have gotten out of control. The hoarding…that’s recent.”
“How recent?”
“Since Pop died.” He wiped a smudge mark off the shiny surface of the grill. “It started off small. Magazines and newspapers. Then dishes piled around the house, followed by laundry. I tried to manage it as best I could, but she became enraged if I moved something or threw it away. We were at each other’s throats every day. Screaming, fighting. I didn’t handle it well.”
Sara placed her hands on the curve of the truck’s side. “You were dealing with your own grief.”
He tightened the lug nut, then removed the wrench. “Yeah, but my mom…she needed me to be stronger. To help her. Instead, I bailed the moment I turned eighteen. It was too difficult. Fighting with her all the time. I wanted out of town and away from everything, so I joined the navy and left Mom to deal with it on her own.”
Her brow creased. “She wasn’t on her own. Your mother had your aunt.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t change the facts. I ran away.”
“You got out of a situation that wasn’t healthy. For either of you.”
“I made promises, Sara. I swore to Pop I’d take care of Mom and protect her. I’ve broken every one of those promises.” He met her gaze. It was time she understood exactly who he was. “You think I’m some kind of hero. I’m not. I’m a coward in the worst way. I let down the people who love me. That’s the real Grant Edwards.”
He marched past her to the workbench. Put his hands to work cleaning some tools, while shame and embarrassment ate the lining of his stomach.
Sara sighed. “Grant, I don’t know the right words to use here, so I’m just going to speak from my heart. The Grant Edwards I see is a strong man struggling with a difficult situation. No one has all the right answers. Why should you?”
“I…don’t know.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve run dangerous missions and stared down terrorists, but I can’t figure out how to honor Pop’s wishes. It doesn’t matter how many medals they pin to my chest. I’m failing at the only thing that mattered.”
“Failure is relative. Why did you come back to town?” Sara asked.
“Aunt Suzie called and said things were out of control. There’s a treatment facility in California called Helping Hands. They specialize in hoarding and depression. I came home to convince my mother to go there.”
“She won’t do it?”
His shoulders curved inward, and he sank back down to the stool. “No. She won’t even discuss it or look at the place. After the accident, she didn’t even want to stay in Aunt Suzie’s house. I had to threaten her.”
“Threaten her?”
“I said if she didn’t stay, I would go to court and get a medical power of attorney over her so I could force medical decisions.” Saying the words out loud made him feel three feet tall. “Aunt Suzie has been urging me to do it. The house isn’t safe, so Mom can’t live there. Without treatment, even if I clean out the house, in six months or a year we’ll be right back in this situation.”
“Because she’ll get new stuff and keep hoarding.”
He nodded. “Something has to give. I don’t know what the right decision is.”
Sara was quiet for a long moment. “Mind over matter, isn’t that what they teach in the military? If you believe a mission is doomed, then it’ll fail.”
That was the last thing he expected to come out
