Words Get In the Way by Nan Rossiter Page A

after she’d murmured those exact words, she’d watched in dismay as sadness and disappointment had filled his eyes, and she’d vowed she’d never see that look again.
    When she pulled into the driveway on that Thanksgiving, though, she was seven months pregnant and she still hadn’t told him. Tears had filled her eyes when she saw him standing in the doorway waiting for her.
    Oh, God, please let him forgive me.
    Biting her lip, she’d eased from the car and stood, pulling her coat around her round form. And her father, who had started walking across the driveway to greet her, had stopped and slowly shook his head in disbelief, trying to understand, trying to grasp what she hadn’t shared with him.
    At that sad moment, Callie had suddenly realized that not telling him had been a greater betrayal. She’d bowed her head in grief and shame as tears had spilled down her cheeks.
    The rest of that day and the next had been quiet and tense. It was the first anniversary of her mom’s accident and, just when her dad needed her most, he could hardly bring himself to look at her. Callie was devastated. “Please forgive me, Dad,” she’d said quietly. Without looking up, he’d nodded. Despite his nod and the hug he gave her when she left, Callie had felt lost and alone when she returned to the old Vermont Victorian in which she rented an upstairs apartment.
    One week later, though, she’d heard a sound outside her window and looked out to see him pulling up in front of the house. Tied down in the back of his pickup were her old baby crib, a new bassinet, a changing table, and a case of newborn-size diapers. She’d knocked on the window, and he’d looked up and smiled. Moments later, he’d come up the stairs lugging a box full of toys and clothes, and on top of the box was her old baby quilt, freshly laundered. He’d put the box down, given her a quick hug, taken a minute to catch his breath, and headed back down the stairs.
    In spite of Callie’s protests, he’d single-handedly carried all the furnishings up the stairs and insisted that Callie stay put and not lift a thing. While he set up the crib and changing table in her bedroom, she unpacked some of the clothes and toys. In the bottom of one of the boxes she found her old favorite bear and, with a smile, she’d gently propped him up in the corner of the crib.
    Later on, as the melancholy sun peeked between the campus buildings, they’d ordered a pizza and sat together in her tiny kitchen to eat. Before he left, he’d wrapped her in a bear hug and told he’d always love her. No matter what.
    And, one month later, on a snowy January night, he traveled through the darkness to be there when his new grandson was born. Callie had smiled as she watched him lift the tiny bundle into his arms and whisper, “Henry Benjamin Wyeth! You are beautiful! Oh, how I wish your grandmother were here to meet you!”

23
    L inden and Henry were sitting on the stone wall, each with a single long piece of grass between his teeth, watching the cows graze when Callie pulled up. She breathed a sigh of relief to see Henry still there and seemingly content! She got out of the car, and Kat and Springer, who had been lazing in the late-day sun, pulled themselves up and trotted over to greet her. She knelt down, and they wiggled around her happily. Callie smiled. “This is, by far, the warmest welcome I’ve ever had!”
    Linden nodded. “Well, they are the self-appointed welcoming committee.”
    “They’re beautiful. What are their names?”
    Linden smiled. “That big moose is Springer, and the smaller one is Kat.”
    “Cat?” Callie looked puzzled.
    Linden nodded. “With a K, short for Katahdin.”
    “Like the mountain?”
    “Yup, Springer is a mountain too.” He paused. “They mark the beginning and end of the Appalachian Trail.”
    She looked over at Henry and smiled. “So? How’d it go?”
    “Piece of cake,” Linden said with a grin.
    “No!” Callie said in surprised