The broken boy - healed by innocence

Taking them home

*Faith*

This is the longest meal of my life. Maybe it's because my stomach is knotted up so tightly I can barely eat, or maybe it's because I don't know what Dee might blurt out, or maybe, just maybe, it's because the sight of Cooper causes emotions to keep welling up. When he left, he made his position regarding me clear. But a part of me still longs for his arms to circle around me.

"All right, Little Bit, time for us to go. Give everyone a hug," I announce. I watch as my parents embrace my child, my heart squeezing as it always does because they so accept her. I know not all parents would.

I didn't think it was possible for my chest to tighten any further until Dee rushes with open arms toward Cooper. Her screech echoes around us as he swings her up and over his shoulder, wraps her arms about his neck before placing his below her butt, giving her a sturdy perch to rest on as her legs curl around his sides, her feet dangling just shy of his chest. "I will escort you home."

I don't much like the way my nerve endings come to attention as though he has offered a far more intimate service. "That's not necessary. It's not that far. We will be fine."

"It's getting dark." He says.

Laughing lightly, I hate the thread of panic roughening the sound. "We have traveled this path a thousand times."

"Still." He simply says.

The single word holds determination and reflects the obstinacy of a man who has made up his mind. I almost punch him. He had used that tone on me countless times when I was a girl, but now I'm a grown she-wolf.

Only he doesn't wait for me to rebuff him. He simply heads for the door, my daughter bouncing excitedly against his back. "Won't be long," he calls over his shoulder to my parents.

My mother arches a brow at me, challenging me to make things right between myself and Cooper. I give her a quick hug, then one to my father. "See you tomorrow."

I race out after Cooper, striving not to accept how natural it seems, not to recall how many times I had done so as a child, always chasing after him, always wanting to be in the middle of whatever he was doing. When I catch up to him, I'm grateful my long strides match his. I have always wanted to be his equal.

Together we saddle the horses in silence. I don't particularly like the way my heart gives a little tug when he lifts Dee onto her pony.

We are well past the house, Rufus running in circles around us, Dee laughing before Cooper says quietly, "Chase looks good," and I realize he hadn't insisted on escorting me home because he thought I couldn't take care of myself, but because he had needed to talk, had needed me.

"I know. He doesn't appear to be a man suffering from any ailments. Maybe it was something he ate, maybe it was the heat, but it sure gave us all a fright." I admit.

"I noticed you hugged them both pretty tightly." Cooper says.

The sun is just an orange line on the horizon. "I have come to realize they are getting older, and I could lose one or both of them at any time. They are so much a part of this place, a part of my life, I can't imagine not having them around."

"It will be a while yet." He says it with such confidence that I have no choice except to believe… or at least want to believe… him.

"We're home!" Dee yells, as though we couldn't see the small cabin nestled among the mesquite trees.

When we bring the horses to a halt, he dismounts, grabs Dee, and swings her to the ground. As soon as her feet hit the dirt, she is off chasing fireflies, Rufus leaping along beside her.

"You used to do that," Cooper says fondly.

"Remember when you caught some fireflies and put them in a jar for me, so I could sleep with them beside my bed?" He'd always done little things like that for me. Small wonder I had loved him so much, still do.

He nods, "I remember. Before you went to sleep you set them free."

I stare at him in disbelief. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I had been incredibly quiet creeping to my window, opening the jar, and sending the bugs back into the night. "You knew about that?"

"Faith, there wasn't much you did that I didn't know about." He nods toward Dee. "Didn't know about her, though. Why didn't you tell me about her?"

"Why did you really leave?" I fire back at him.

His answer is a half grin. "It's complicated."

My own words tossed back at me should have angered me, but they only serve to sadden me. "We never used to keep secrets from each other."

His smile turns somber, his eyes filled with regret. "We always had secrets. Or at least I did. I will see to your horses."

"I will help." I say.

We work in silence, relaxing into old, familiar routines. When the horses are settled in the corral with its protective shelter, I head up the steps to the front porch. "Thanks for escorting us home."

He stands with his hands pressed into the back pockets of his denim pants, a familiar stance that tugs at my heart. He studies me as though he has more to say and doesn't know quite how to say it. He isn't alone in that regard. Maybe I owe him an apology. My recollection of that night is blurred, faint, but I can't seem to find the words, not when so much between us has changed.

Dee bounds up the steps and hugs one of the porch beams that supported the eaves like it's her best friend. "Grampa helped me teach Rufus to play dead. Wanna see?"

"Sure," Cooper says, and I have a feeling he wouldn't deny her anything she asks.

She points her tiny finger at the dog. "Rufus, drop dead!"

The dog falls to his side.

"That's pretty impressive," Cooper says, looking over at me. "I can't believe Chase had the patience to train the mutt to do that."

"He always had a way of making people obey. I guess that talent transfers to animals, too. He will stay like that... Dee, let him know the game's over." I tell her.

"Rufus, wake up!" My daughter commands.

The dog jumps up and races off, no doubt catching sight of something in need of chasing.

"Uncle Cooper, wanna see my pictures?" Dee asks, and I know the child could spend all night sharing one thing after another.

"I'm sure Uncle Cooper is tired," I tell her. "We need to let him get back to Gramma's."

"Actually I'm not," he says. Reaching out, he tweaks Dee's nose, making her giggle. "I would like to see your pictures."

"It's time for her to go to bed," I say patiently.

"How long can it take?" he asks.

"Please, Mama," Dee pleads, clasping her tiny hands together and holding them as though in prayer. "Please."

Damn it. I have yet to learn how to deny my child anything. But I don't want Cooper coming inside my cabin, what had once been his cabin. I don't want to remember the last time I had been with him inside those walls.

Do those memories mean nothing to him? Maybe if they were rekindled I would find out the true reason for his leaving.

"I guess a few more minutes won't hurt. Come on in."