gestured with them. "He's fallen on hard times and, well, lately, running the farm alone has gotten more difficult. So I thought we could help each other. He and his son are going to stay in the old cabin and lend a hand for a small salary; nothing major."
Ellie shrugged. "Sounds okay to me."
Jake glanced at the house. "I wish Carla felt the same way. I think she's worried because Shane was friends with your mother and me."
Ellie patted his arm wanting to give a measure of comfort. "I'm sure everything will work out. And when they get here, I bet Carla will be just fine. By the way, when are they arriving?"
"They'll be here tomorrow."
****
The truck's wheels rotated, eating up the miles. Flat land with stray trees and occasional buildings flashed past. Deep in Alabama a small replica of the Statue of Liberty caught the eye of passersby, causing an immediate sense of patriotism.
"Its beautiful country, isn't it, Nicholas?" said his father as he steered north bound along the interstate.
Nicholas nodded in agreement because he didn't feel able to speak. The dream was still fresh in his mind. Swallowing hard, he wondered if he'd cried out in his sleep. Had his father seen his distress?
He glanced sideways, and for the first time in months, noticed that Shane Wiseman actually appeared happy. His dad's fingers drummed the steering wheel in rhythm to a tune blaring from the radio and his lips twitched upward. A light shined behind the old man's pale blue eyes. While Nicholas watched, however, his father's smile faded and a line creased his forehead. Shane said, "Nick, you really don't have to do this, you know."
Before Nicholas could reply, his dad continued, "I know you think I need help, but really I don't. I can do this on my own." Nicholas started to interrupt, but Shane stopped him with an upraised hand. "Listen son, truth is, I relied on your mother for just about everything. She liked to feel needed. And now that she's gone, well, I can take care of myself." He sighed, "Heck, I'm glad you're coming with me. I just don't want you to feel obligated to help dear old dad."
Nicholas noted the half-smile, half-grimace on his father's face. Nodding his understanding, he shifted his focus back outside the passenger window. His anger remained too close to the surface. Sharing his true feelings wouldn't accomplish anything. What was done was done, and it could never be rectified.
Memories flooded of a generous, loving woman—a woman who had cared for her family, helped the elderly, visited the sick, and taken food to shut-ins; a woman who had organized bake sales and fundraisers to raise money for homeless shelters; a woman, wife, and mother, who had wanted to make the world a better place. Nicholas could only view her as a saint.
His chest tightened and he released a pent up breath. He missed his mother more with each passing day. It didn't matter that he was twenty-six years old, a military veteran, or a college graduate. He still missed her like a small child who's been away from his mother too long.
Two years ago, Amy Denise Wiseman, had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. With her normal intrepid nature, she'd fought with every fiber of her being. She'd followed her doctor's orders to the letter. When his treatments had failed, alternative medicines and remedies had been sought and explored. But in the end, nothing helped.
Nicholas had been on tour in Afghanistan and received frequent updates from his father. Most of the updates were of her degenerating condition. When he'd gone missing, all he could think about was how it would affect his mother's illness. He'd tried to ignore his inner turmoil, believing his mother was invincible; that she could overcome this latest challenge.
Months after being freed, he'd been ready to sign reenlistment papers, but received the dreaded call. The one he'd hoped would never come.
"Son, I'm afraid your mother's not going to make it."
Nicholas had declined to sign the
Ellie shrugged. "Sounds okay to me."
Jake glanced at the house. "I wish Carla felt the same way. I think she's worried because Shane was friends with your mother and me."
Ellie patted his arm wanting to give a measure of comfort. "I'm sure everything will work out. And when they get here, I bet Carla will be just fine. By the way, when are they arriving?"
"They'll be here tomorrow."
****
The truck's wheels rotated, eating up the miles. Flat land with stray trees and occasional buildings flashed past. Deep in Alabama a small replica of the Statue of Liberty caught the eye of passersby, causing an immediate sense of patriotism.
"Its beautiful country, isn't it, Nicholas?" said his father as he steered north bound along the interstate.
Nicholas nodded in agreement because he didn't feel able to speak. The dream was still fresh in his mind. Swallowing hard, he wondered if he'd cried out in his sleep. Had his father seen his distress?
He glanced sideways, and for the first time in months, noticed that Shane Wiseman actually appeared happy. His dad's fingers drummed the steering wheel in rhythm to a tune blaring from the radio and his lips twitched upward. A light shined behind the old man's pale blue eyes. While Nicholas watched, however, his father's smile faded and a line creased his forehead. Shane said, "Nick, you really don't have to do this, you know."
Before Nicholas could reply, his dad continued, "I know you think I need help, but really I don't. I can do this on my own." Nicholas started to interrupt, but Shane stopped him with an upraised hand. "Listen son, truth is, I relied on your mother for just about everything. She liked to feel needed. And now that she's gone, well, I can take care of myself." He sighed, "Heck, I'm glad you're coming with me. I just don't want you to feel obligated to help dear old dad."
Nicholas noted the half-smile, half-grimace on his father's face. Nodding his understanding, he shifted his focus back outside the passenger window. His anger remained too close to the surface. Sharing his true feelings wouldn't accomplish anything. What was done was done, and it could never be rectified.
Memories flooded of a generous, loving woman—a woman who had cared for her family, helped the elderly, visited the sick, and taken food to shut-ins; a woman who had organized bake sales and fundraisers to raise money for homeless shelters; a woman, wife, and mother, who had wanted to make the world a better place. Nicholas could only view her as a saint.
His chest tightened and he released a pent up breath. He missed his mother more with each passing day. It didn't matter that he was twenty-six years old, a military veteran, or a college graduate. He still missed her like a small child who's been away from his mother too long.
Two years ago, Amy Denise Wiseman, had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. With her normal intrepid nature, she'd fought with every fiber of her being. She'd followed her doctor's orders to the letter. When his treatments had failed, alternative medicines and remedies had been sought and explored. But in the end, nothing helped.
Nicholas had been on tour in Afghanistan and received frequent updates from his father. Most of the updates were of her degenerating condition. When he'd gone missing, all he could think about was how it would affect his mother's illness. He'd tried to ignore his inner turmoil, believing his mother was invincible; that she could overcome this latest challenge.
Months after being freed, he'd been ready to sign reenlistment papers, but received the dreaded call. The one he'd hoped would never come.
"Son, I'm afraid your mother's not going to make it."
Nicholas had declined to sign the
Similar Books
