Nola hated watching him hate it.
One autumn morning, she found him on the porch before sunrise.
He held two cups of coffee.
She sat.
Took one.
Tasted.
“Terrible.”
“Consistent.”
They watched the sun rise over Hollow Creek.
After a while, Garrick said:
“Remember when you stepped off the stagecoach?”
Nola groaned.
“You were horrible.”
“I was grieving.”
“You were still horrible.”
“Both can be true.”
She smiled.
He continued:
“I decided immediately I didn’t want you.”
“I know.”
“I was wrong.”
Nola turned.
“That sounded almost painful.”
“It was.”
“Again.”
“No.”
She laughed.
Garrick looked toward the pasture.
“Do you ever think about leaving?”
“Now?”
“Then.”
Nola considered.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“First hour.”
“Reasonable.”
“Second day.”
“Less flattering.”
“After you nearly shot Wren.”
“Still reasonable.”
He smiled.
“Why didn’t you?”
Nola looked toward him.
“At first?”
“Weston.”
“Then the children.”
“Then the ranch.”
“And later?”
She took his hand.
“You.”
Garrick’s eyes filled.
He looked away.
Nola squeezed his fingers.
“You?”
“What?”
“Why did you ask me to stay?”
“You were terrifying.”
“Garrick.”
He smiled.
“Because after Mae died, I thought loving her meant the house had to remain the way grief left it.”
Nola listened.
“Then you walked in and moved everything.”
“Furniture.”
“Food.”
“Children.”
“Me.”
“You didn’t erase her.”
“You made life move around the memory.”
His voice broke.
“I didn't know that was allowed.”
Nola leaned against him.
For a long time, neither spoke.
The sun rose.
Cattle moved across distant pasture.
A grandchild shouted near the barn.
Ordinary life.
Garrick whispered:
“I was lucky.”
Nola shook her head.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Luck brought a stagecoach.”
“You chose whether to be less stupid afterward.”
He laughed until coughing.
Even near the end, she refused easy stories.
Garrick died that winter.
At home.
Not in battle.
Not in another conspiracy.
Not beneath dramatic skies.
He simply became tired.
Clara came.
Eli.
Weston.
Hope.
Grandchildren.
Nola sat beside him.
Mae’s photograph remained downstairs.
The family did not move it.
Garrick opened his eyes near dusk.
“Nola.”
“I’m here.”
He smiled faintly.
“Still?”
“For the moment.”
He laughed weakly.
Then:
“Mae.”
Nola’s throat tightened.
“What about her?”
“I think…”
He stopped.
Nola leaned closer.
“I think I’m not afraid to remember anymore.”
Nola closed her eyes.
Then touched his cheek.
“Good.”
He looked toward her.
“Will you be all right?”
“No.”
That surprised him.
Nola smiled through tears.
“Not immediately.”
“Eventually.”
“Probably.”
He smiled.
“Honest.”
“Always.”
He slept.
Died before dawn.
Nola held his hand until Clara told her he was gone.
Then she remained another hour.
No rush.