Coming Home to the Mountain: Complete Edition

3. Bartlett

CHAPTER 3

Bartlett

D riving up to my parents' house, I look over at Abby, this wild-haired girl with eyes filled with a faraway look, her dog in her lap, a backpack at her feet. She's seen things, been places.

I don't know if she's been traveling a long time, but she looks tired. She says she was meaning to come home, but I want to know where she comes from.

Though, before I can get to that, I figure I better prepare her for what's coming right now.

I clear my throat. “The thing is,” I say. “My family–”

“It's a big one, right? You have a little sister, Fig?” she asks.

“Right,” I say, “she's just turned eighteen.”

“Okay,” Abby says, nodding and taking it in.

“And she's a senior in high school,” I say. “We all went to school here at the Home Secondary School.” I shrug. “I'm not sure what kind of high school you went to, but this school, it's small. Everybody knows each other. This whole town is small.”

She gives a smile that lights up the car, which is saying something considering the sun has already set and we're driving up the big old mountain road, the pine trees crowding out the black sky full of stars. Her smile makes anything seem possible.

“I was homeschooled,” she says. “We were on the road a lot.”

I chuckle. “Well, we were certainly not homeschooled. My mom wanted us out of the house so she could have some peace and quiet for seven hours a day. God knows she needed it.”

“So how many brothers do you have exactly?” Abby asks.

“There are seven of us in all. Five boys, two girls.”

“Where are you in the lineup?” she asks.

“I'm second-in-command. My brother Rye, he's a few years older. I'm 26. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.” She twists her lip. “So you got a big old family, a mother who somehow managed all of you, and a little sister who is ready to go spread her wings. Okay. Should I know anything else before we go to this family dinner?”

“Have you been to many family dinners?” I ask.

“Family dinners?” Abby repeats. “Well, my family was pretty close growing up. I mean, they are still close.” Her words falter a bit.

“But you're not with them. Do they know where you are?”

“No, not exactly. I needed some space is all,” Abby says, her fingers fidgeting, running along the hem of her jacket. “I needed to clear my head. I needed to spread my wings. Maybe I'm like Fig.”

Laughing, I look over at her. “You're not like Fig.”

“I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing,” Abby says, laughing. Her laugh, it's a good one. Big and bright.

Our eyes catch. “I love Fig to death, but she’s a little spoiled, being the baby and all. You don't seem spoiled. You seem like your head's on straight. Like you've been through some shit and you're not taking any of it for granted.”

“Guess that's not the worst assessment of me considering we just met,” Abby says, “and you seem like you'd be the oldest brother considering you run a hardware store. You're so responsible that you take in stray dogs and girls.”

Now it’s my turn to smile. I want to reach for her hand. I want to hold it. I want to do more than hold it. I want to hold her . Hug her, take care of her. She seems lost, but not in a fragile, breakable way. She seems lost in a way that says she really does need to come home, here.

“Rye is certainly the oldest. You'll know that when you meet him, but he is different than me. He's an ass, if I'm going to say it bluntly. Me? I'm the nice guy. The guy who plays it safe. Who always does what he's told and who makes his mama happy.”

“Ah, I see. You're a mama's boy,” Abby teases.

“Hey,” I say, pulling up to the big old house where I was raised. Abby's eyes widen as she takes it in. The house is huge. “My parents own a construction company called Rough House,” I clarify. “My hardware store, Hammer Home, was my dad's shop for years, and their office is above my store. They build custom homes all over the mountainside. My dad built this home with his own two hands.”

“It's incredible,” Abby says.

The headlights on my truck show off every big bay window of the two-story house, with attic rooms. There's a big barn and a garage with a rec room over the three bays.

I open my car door and jog around to open hers. “I'd say, for being the Rough family, we're pretty gentle, but I wouldn’t want that rumor to spread.”

“Says the mama’s boy,” Abby teases.

I take Hijinx from her and hold him in my arms, not wanting her bandages to tear. “You okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah. I mean, I have no idea what I’m in for, but I appreciate the invitation.”

“It would have been terrible for you to go eat by yourself at the diner tonight.”

“I’ve eaten plenty of meals alone.”

“I thought you did a bunch of things with your family?” I ask, looking for clarification, trying to understand what Abby’s life is really like.

“Yeah, I did. But you know how you can be with people and still feel really alone?”

I shake my head. “Actually, no, I’ve never felt like that.”

Abby's lips twist into something wistful. “You're lucky, Bartlett,” she says. “And right now, I feel pretty lucky to be here with you.”

Walking inside the house, I’m suddenly nervous. I’ve never brought a woman home – and I have this deep need for my family to like Abby. To love her. She looks over at me as I close the heavy front door, and we stand in the big foyer, alone for a moment. A rare quiet moment in this loud, rambunctious house. There is a big staircase leading upstairs to the bedrooms, a hall leading to the kitchen and my dad’s den. To the left are the big family and dining rooms.

But the foyer is filled with shoes and coats, a closet overflowing with decades of hunting jackets and rain boots, clogs and sweaters. I watch as Abby takes it all in.

“This feels like a real home,” she whispers as we both slide off our shoes, adding them to the pile by the door.

I take her hand protectively. “You okay?”

She nods, but I know there is a well of emotion in her eyes as we walk into the family room, together, where my entire family is gathered.

Watching through her eyes, as she takes in the family photos hanging on every square inch of the walls, I see the house in a new light. The warm wood finishes my father added, the wicker baskets filled with the books my mom is reading next to her favorite chair. The basket of yarn and knitting needles for when Grandma Rosie comes over, the blazing fire warming the room, the chess match on the coffee table between Graham and Mac. Fig braiding Plum’s hair. My mom calling for Rye to grab some cans of chicken stock from the pantry. Lemon showing Dad how to download some app on his phone.

No one notices us for a moment, and time seems to still. My hand’s in Abby’s, hers squeezing mine right back, and suddenly I don’t feel like I’m bringing home a stranger for dinner. I feel like I am bringing home Abby. My Abby.

Eventually Fig notices us, and all eyes turn to the newcomer. I introduce Abby to my parents. “This is Redford. And my mom, Anise.”

My dad chuckles. “You can call me Red. And this is Annie,” he says. “And you're Abby?”

After I explain how we came to meet this afternoon, my siblings all chime in with welcomes and introductions of their own. My niece Plum is thrilled with the prospect of a new dog.

“Well, I already met him,” Plum explains to Abby. “We found him on the street. We were so scared because your poor puppy seemed so sad. But then Uncle Bartlett brought him into the shop and I got him this leash and Uncle Bart, he let me pick it. What do you think of the color? I chose purple because I thought purple would look really pretty with his fur.”

“I think purple is a lovely color, and thank you for helping with Hijinx,” Abby says with a grin. She takes off her jacket, and my sister Lemon hangs it up on a coat rack for her.

Fig is twirling her hair and showing off pamphlets on France to anyone who will listen. I hear her travel pitch in the background. “It's only four months and it is mostly in Paris. I would be getting the education of a lifetime. And considering I took two years of French already, I'm basically completely prepared.” Fig talks with her hands, her long black hair swinging around her shoulders as she tries to get everyone's attention with her new plan.

I know there's no way in hell my mother's going to let her out of her sight. She's not just Mom's baby. We all see her as ours to protect.

Hijinx is happy, and Abby is holding her own with Lemon and my dad, and I'm listening to Mac tell Graham about the building plans for some country lodge he’s working on over in the Burly Mountains.

“I just don't understand why you would want to clear-cut so many trees,” Graham says adamantly.

“This acreage is prime real estate though!” Mac debates. “The future is now! Uncle Luke agreed with me.” Not wanting to listen to that discussion right now, I wind through the house.

I find Rye in the kitchen. The fridge is open and he's rooting around for a beer. “Want one?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say.

“So who's that girl?”

“You heard how we met?”

“Sure,” he says, eyes narrowing. “But what do you know about her?”

“What do you care? You think she’s gonna steal my wallet?” When Rye doesn’t answer, I snort. “How are you always such a cynic?”

“Uh. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Maybe because the world's not actually out to get us?” I say, rolling my eyes as I pop open the cold one.

Rye takes a slug of his beer. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. The guy is a train wreck.

He needs someone nice in his life, or maybe a dog, a dog like Hijinx. Someone to soften his rough edges. He shakes his head, looking pissed.

“Did I do something to offend you?” I ask with a growing growl.

“I just think it's weird that you brought some girl home to Sunday dinner. We don't even know her.”

“Rye, it's dinner,” I say. “She's new to town. She was held up by a knife earlier this afternoon.”

Rye’s jaw tenses at that, his mood shifting. “Fuck, you serious?”

“Abby got stitches for what they did to her. Poor thing had her wallet stolen.”

Now Rye is more than pissed. “I bet it was those guys in Burly. They’ve been causing lots of problems. It’s time they slow their goddamn roll. Don't you think?”

“Yeah I do. But I don't even know who did it. We should go talk to Graham at the police department and find out.”

Rye nods. “Yeah, we should. And look, I'm not saying she shouldn't be here. I'm just wondering who she is.”

“Well, it's nice that you're protective,” I say, “but she's my date tonight. Okay? So let me do the protecting when it comes to Abby.”

“All right.” Rye runs a hand over his beard. “Enough said.”

“Good,” I say as Lemon comes into the kitchen with Abby at her side.

“What are you grumpy boys talking about?” she asks with a deepening frown on her face.

“I swear, the two of you,” I say, pointing to Rye and then Lemon, “are both constantly so irritable.” I walk out of the room, taking Abby’s hand as I do.

Abby asks me what that was all about.

“Honestly, I think they both need to find someone to date and get laid.”

She laughs then leans in close, her warm breath on my ear. “And what about you, Bartlett? Do you need to get laid?”

I groan. “You trying to drive me wild before we sit down to Sunday supper?”

She bites her lip. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, it could be something we continue talking about when we're not about to sit down at the dinner table with your parents.”

She points to the room full of my family, a few feet away.

I grin. But my hand is suddenly at her waist and she is at my side. “I'm happy you're here,” I say, standing close to her, feeling her warmth. I realize I like this girl. I like the way she smiles and laughs. The way she's comfortable in her own skin and the way she entered this big, wild house without cowering in the corner. She was just here, talking to Plum and my parents and me like she's been here all along.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

“I'm thinking I'm really glad you came home.”