Chapter 6 - THE LONG DRIVE HOME
The ride back to South Austin was conducted in a silence so thick you could have cut it with a butter knife. Claire had decided to drive separately with Harper, taking the scenic route back through Blanco, giving Grant and me space to breathe.
Grant kept his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel of his SUV, his knuckles white as we crossed over the Colorado River bridge. The Austin skyline rose in the distance, shimmering through the afternoon heat haze.
"She’s right, you know," I said softly, breaking the quiet as we turned onto my street.
"I know," Grant whispered, his voice hoarse. "I was just... I was so tired of hurting, Mom. Every time I looked at Mason, I saw everything we lost. I thought if I just pushed hard enough toward a normal life—a new house, a new wife, a new daughter—the old pain would finally stop burning."
"Pain doesn't stop burning just because you put a wedding cake on top of it, Grant," I replied, looking out the window at the sprawling live oaks lining our neighborhood. "It just bakes underneath until the whole foundation collapses. Like it did yesterday."
When we pulled into my driveway, Mason was no longer sitting under the pecan tree. The sketchbook lay closed on the lawn, weighted down by a smooth river stone.
We walked up the front steps together—father and mother, bound by decades of shared history and a grief we had all handled so poorly.
When we opened the front door, the house was dead silent.
"Mason?" Grant called out, his voice laced with sudden panic. "Mason?!"
From down the hallway, the guest room door creaked open. Mason stepped out, wearing his old gray hoodie, carrying a small canvas duffel bag. He looked older than eleven—too old, too serious, too battle-worn.
"I'm not running away, Dad," Mason said before Grant could panic. "I just... I packed my things for Mom’s house. She called. She said I could stay with her for a few days while you and Claire figure out the wedding stuff."
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Grant stopped dead in his tracks, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked at the duffel bag, then at his son, and finally did something I hadn't seen him do in three long years.
Grant crossed the hallway in two strides, dropped to his knees right in front of Mason, and began to cry.
