The House that Love Built

Twenty-Four




Brooke got her parents settled in her mother’s old room downstairs, which was unchanged since Mom left for assisted living. She laid out fresh sheets, brought in extra towels, and helped her mother write down a schedule for her father’s pills. Then she cooked a chicken-and-rice recipe she knew her mother liked and brought it to them both on trays in the bedroom. She’d called Juliet to let her know she wouldn’t be in for at least a couple of days, and she’d spent a lot of time fielding questions from Spencer and Meghan. But she’d avoided being alone with her father since they’d arrived.

It was nearing ten o’clock by the time Brooke got the kids settled down and in bed that night. By this point, she wanted to hole up in her room and have a good cry—about Travis, Owen, her parents, everything. But first she decided to make herself a cup of hot tea. She was sitting down at the kitchen table to drink it when her mother walked in.

“What’s wrong with him?” Brooke took a sip of tea as she stared straight ahead.

Mom pulled out a chair. “He has an infection—that’s what the fever’s about. But beyond that, he has liver cancer.”

Brooke swallowed hard. “Is he—”

“Dying?” Her mom took a deep breath. “Yes. He’s been through several bouts of chemo, but he’s decided against further treatment. He could have months or maybe a year.”

They were quiet for a while as Brooke’s mother made her own cup of tea. When she sat back down, she said, “The doctor says six months, but he seems to be going down faster than that. I’m sure this infection isn’t helping.”

Brooke couldn’t breathe for a few seconds. She’d just assumed she would have the rest of her life—and her father’s—to resent him.

“Is that the reason you accepted him back into your life so easily?”

Mom looked down at her cup, circling the rim with her finger. “Not one thing about any of this has been easy.”

Brooke couldn’t help but wonder how differently their lives might have been if her mother had let her father come home after his affair. What if it had been Travis who cheated? Would she have let him come home? Could she have forgiven him?

She didn’t know.

“I should have told you the truth, I suppose—that he wanted to come home. But back then . . . it was confusing. You hated him.” She paused, shrugging. “And I thought I hated him too. But all that seems so long ago now. We just want to spend whatever time he has left together.” She blew on her tea, and they were quiet for a while before Mom changed the subject. “How are things going with your friend Owen?”

Brooke swallowed hard, not wanting to talk about it. “We’re just friends, so there is nothing to tell.” She shrugged.

“That’s too bad.”

Brooke glared at her mother across the table. “I’m not replacing Travis, Mother.”

“No one said anything about replacing. That’s your word.”

As Brooke shook her head, she said, “You know, Mom, we are two very different women.”

“Not so much.” Her mother slid the chair back from the table and picked up her cup. “You are going to be hung up on a man who isn’t here for the rest of your life. Sound familiar?” Then she walked away and left Brooke with her mouth hanging open.



Owen found excuses to go to Miller’s Hardware for the next three days, although Brooke’s employee—that huge man she called Big Daddy—wasn’t offering up any information about why Brooke wasn’t there. “Taking time off,” was all he would say. Owen wanted to call her. No matter what had been said the other night, he still missed her and hoped that she and the kids were okay.

He decided to drop by the store again on Thursday, though, and was glad to see Juliet sitting at the counter. Bingo. Juliet was a lot more likely to offer up information about Brooke. Or so he hoped.

“Hi, Mr. Saunders. What can I do you for?” She tossed long blond hair over her shoulder, sat taller on the stool, and flashed him a big smile.

“I have a short list.” He pointed to a piece of paper in his hand but then lost patience with his cover story. “Where’s Brooke?”

Juliet frowned. “Uh, she’s taking a few days off.”

“Is she sick?”

“No.” Juliet looked down and fidgeted.

“Then where is she?”

Juliet looked up. “I don’t know what happened with you two, but why don’t you just call her?”

Did Juliet know something Owen didn’t—maybe that Brooke had changed her mind about things? He certainly had changed his, and he’d decided he wasn’t going to let her go without a fight. He turned to go.

“What about your list?” Juliet yelled after him. He waved her off and headed to Brooke’s.

Meghan answered the door, pushed it wide, and threw her arms around Owen’s legs. Instinctively he picked her up and kissed her on the cheek, surprised how much he’d missed all three of them. “How’s your mommy?”

Meghan buried her head in his shoulder. “Sad.”

Owen put her down. “Is she here?”

Meghan nodded and stepped back so Owen could go in, but he wasn’t sure whether to enter or not. Then Brooke appeared in the doorway.

“Owen. Hi.” Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, but strands were hanging in her face and dark circles shadowed her eyes.

“Are you okay? I haven’t seen you at the hardware store, and I—I was just worried about you.” Please just tell me you want to go back to the way we were. That you’ve missed me the way I’ve missed you.

Brooke gave Meghan a gentle push inside. “Go check on Grandpa.”

Owen’s ears perked up. “Your dad is here?”

Brooke stepped out on the porch and closed the door behind her, obviously not planning to invite him in. “Both my parents are here.” She rubbed her forehead as though it ached. “They were living, well, pretty badly in my dad’s apartment. And my dad is sick, really sick.” She paused. “He has cancer of the liver, and I’m trying to take care of him the best I can because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Because he’s your father,” he said softly as he reached out and touched her arm. “Is there anything I can do?”

She blinked rapidly, and Owen could tell she was fighting tears. “No, but thank you. My mother just couldn’t handle taking care of him on her own, and I was worried about her health, so I just brought them both here, and . . .”

She sighed, obviously exhausted. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, and she let him. “I’ve missed you,” he said as he kissed the top of her head. “Please let me help you.”

She tightened her grip around his waist, and Owen just held her for a while. Finally, she stiffened and backed away. “We’re okay. Really.”

Owen couldn’t stand it any longer. “Brooke, did I misread things between us? I thought everything was going fine. I really don’t want to take a step backward, and I don’t understand why you do. Please just talk to me.”

A tear slid down her cheek as she bit her lip.

“Baby . . .” He stepped closer to her, realizing he’d never called her that before, but it felt so natural. “What is it?” He brushed the tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“I—I just can’t talk about this right now. I have a full plate and . . .” She looked up at him and more tears fell. “I loved my husband, Owen. I loved him with all my heart and soul. He was a part of me. I don’t know how to love that way again.” She paused. “Or if I want to.”

Owen grabbed her shoulders. “I understand. I really, really do. But, Brooke, we have something together. I feel it, and I know you do too. And I’m willing to give it as much time as necessary, but please don’t push me away. Let me help you with your parents, and when things settle down, we’ll see where things are.” He pushed back strands of hair from her face. “You’re worn out—I can tell. Let me help. What can I do?”

She shrugged. “I really don’t know. My dad’s fever broke last night, but he doesn’t sleep. And he’s taking medicine around the clock, so Mom and I are taking turns getting up with him. The kids are driving me bonkers, wanting to go and do things, and—”

“So why don’t I take Meghan and Spencer for the day tomorrow? I can pick them up in the morning, and I’ll take them to do something fun.”

“What about your work on the house?” Brooke dabbed at her eyes.

“Uncle Denny and Hunter have been working really hard. Maybe we’ll all take off and go do something.”

Brooke’s expression had shifted at the mention of Hunter. “I don’t—”

“I know what you’re thinking, but it’ll be okay. Really. Hunter is a great kid who just needed a little help. And I’ll be there the whole time anyway. Just leave it to me.” Owen cupped her cheek, leaned in, and kissed her on the mouth. She didn’t pull away, and Owen found himself thanking God for that. Which was a surprise even to him. Especially to him. It just kind of slipped through his mind when he wasn’t looking. But he was thankful. Elated, in fact.

“You won’t take your eyes off of them, right?”

“I promise. How ’bout I pick them up at eight tomorrow morning?”

She hesitated for a second, then threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you. For everything. I’m just a mess right now.” She backed away and met his gaze with a little smile. “I’ve missed you too.”

He couldn’t hold back from kissing her again. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

As he left, he realized that he could analyze the situation until the cows came home, but there was only one conclusion: he was in love with Brooke Holloway. Each time he was with her, he could feel his baggage and burdens getting lighter. And with every day, Virginia’s memory got further and further away.



Maybe Brooke should have said no. But she just didn’t have the energy right now to fight her growing feelings for Owen. And she had to admit it would be nice to have a day without having the children underfoot. They were restless and a little confused, and a day out would do them good.

She walked back into the living room and found her mother dozing on the couch. The kids were nowhere in sight, probably playing video games upstairs. She glanced down the hall to her parents’ bedroom and felt a nudge. Her father was a little better, but he was still very weak. Who knew how much time he had left.

She stood there for several moments, arguing with herself. Then she walked down the hall, knocked lightly on the bedroom door, and pushed it slowly open.

“Daddy?” Brooke had never called him anything else. “Are you awake?” She walked to the side of his bed. He blinked up at her, briefly confused, and she realized she had woken him. But she needed to do this now, while courage prevailed.

“Yes, I’m awake.” He pushed himself up in the bed until he was almost sitting up. “I’m much better. Thank you for everything.” He reached for his glasses on the bedside table. “I think your mother was having a hard time.” Groaning, he tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed. “She should stay, but I’ll go now.”

“No one’s going anywhere.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Just rest.”

Then she pulled a chair close to the bed, sat down, and stared at him for a while, hoping the words would come. Nothing.

“What can I do, Brooke? I’ve hurt you beyond apologies. I’ll do anything you want.” He leaned forward. “But you have to know that I have always loved you and your mother. I will love you ’til the day I . . .” He stopped, looked away, licked his cracked lips. Then he turned and locked eyes with Brooke. “Your mother will have a hard time when I’m gone. You encourage her to find someone else. She might be pushing seventy, but she has a lot of life left in her. I tried for many years to get her to find someone else, someone better than me.”

Brooke had never heard this before, but she sat quietly as her father went on.

“Just tell me what I have to do to share a small part of your life, to get to know my grandchildren. I’ll do anything.”

Brooke’s eyes filled as the answer came to her. “There’s nothing for you to do, Daddy. Nothing at all.”

The creases in his forehead grew deeper as he looked at her. “There must be something.”

Brooke smiled. “No. I’m the one who needs to do something.” She reached over and pulled her frail father into her arms until they were both embracing each other. Then she whispered, “I forgive you.”

Her father wept in her arms. And Brooke cried too—the kind of freeing sobs that only come when you are cleansed of something that keeps you from moving forward.



Hunter found an old pair of swim trunks he hadn’t worn in years, but they still fit. He was excited to have a day off—paid. Owen said they were going to blow off work today and take Mrs. Holloway’s kids to a water park. Even Denny was going. He smiled as he tried to picture the older man with his long gray hair and big belly in a bathing suit.

He walked through the living room, glad to see Grandma wasn’t on the couch and had slept in her bed again. Seemed once he’d gotten her to take a bath and gotten a little food in her, she’d been doing better. He was almost out the door when he noticed the vodka bottle that had been next to the couch was gone. He’d seen it there the past few days.

Tiptoeing to her room, he slowly pushed the door open. Sure enough, the bottle was next to the nightstand, turned on its side and empty. Good thing he’d watered it down. He walked across the room toward the bed, shaking his head. Couldn’t anyone in his family stay sober for more than a week? He picked up the bottle and realized how cold it was in the room. Shivering, he walked over to the window unit and turned the temperature knob.

“Ain’t you freezing in here, Grandma?” He folded his arms across his chest and rubbed his arms. When she didn’t answer, he walked to her bed and gave her a slight nudge since she was on her side and facing the other way. She was all bundled up in the covers. “I’m leaving.”

She didn’t move, so he nudged her again. Then again. He walked around to the other side of the bed so he could see her face. It was white as the sheet, and her eyes were wide open.

“Grandma!” Hunter stumbled back, fell over the rocking chair in the corner, and hit his head on the wall. When he stood up, he couldn’t breathe—the choking feeling again. But he forced himself to walk closer and touch her face, which was ice cold.

“No!” He kicked the side of the bed, then he kicked it again. “No! No!”

He ran out of the house. This time he was for sure crying like a little sissy baby. He ran as fast as he could to the only other person, besides his grandma, who might care a lick about him. When Owen opened the front door in a blue plaid bathing suit and white T-shirt, Hunter dropped to his knees in front of him.

“Owen, I can’t . . . breathe. And . . . and . . .” Tears spilled down his cheek, and within seconds Owen was squatting down in front of him. He could hear Denny in the background asking what was wrong.

“Grandma. She’s gone. She’s dead.” He looked up at Owen. “I thought I’d been taking real good care of her, and now she’s dead. She’s dead!”

Owen grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure! Her eyes were all bugged out like them movies on TV.” He bent at the waist. “I think I’m going to die too.”

Hunter heard Owen telling Denny about the anxiety attacks, but Hunter didn’t look up.

“Uncle Denny, stay with Hunter. I’ll go over to the house and do whatever needs to be done. Hunter, do I need your keys?”

“Door’s open,” Hunter managed to gasp.

“Come on, boy. Let’s go inside and get you something cold to drink.” Denny put his arm around Hunter and led him through the living room and to the kitchen.

Hunter couldn’t stop shaking. His grandma. Gone. It didn’t seem possible. He put his head on the table and cried.



Brooke had Meghan and Spencer ready to go by eight o’clock Friday morning. When eight thirty rolled around and there was no sign of Owen, she called his cell phone. No answer.

“Where’s Owen?” Spencer already had his backpack on with a towel, sunscreen, and a few water toys packed in it.

“I’m sure he’s coming, just running late.” She was starting to wonder, though.

By nine o’clock she had two unhappy children and was getting a bit irritated herself. She tried Owen’s cell phone again, and this time he answered.

“Brooke, I’m so sorry. I totally lost track of the time. Hunter’s grandma died, and I’m at his house with the police. They think she overdosed on pills and vodka, but she also had cancer, so I don’t really know.”

“Oh no.” Brooke cringed at the ugly thoughts she’d been having about Owen not showing up. “How’s Hunter?”

“I don’t know. He was a wreck when I left him at my house with Uncle Denny. He ran to my house as soon as he realized she was dead, so I’m trying to take care of things here. I’m really sorry.”

Though Brooke was no fan of Hunter’s, her heart hurt for him. His grandma had practically raised him. Everyone in town knew that, and Brooke suspected he was in a bad way. “Don’t give it another thought. The kids can go another day. You just take care of Hunter.”

“I’ll call you when I’m done here.”

Brooke hung up the phone and told Meghan and Spencer what had happened. Despite their disappointment, both her children knew about loss, and Brooke was proud when they both focused on Hunter, saying they hoped he’d be okay. She tried to picture Denny tending to Hunter, who was really just a kid.

She went and found her mother sitting on the bed next to her father, showing him the photo album from Brooke’s wedding. Brooke swallowed hard, not sure how many more emotional moments she could take.

“Are you two okay if I leave the kids here for a little while? Owen said Hunter’s grandmother died, and I want to go see if there’s anything I can do.”

Mom frowned. “That’s terrible. You go. We’ll all be fine, dear. And . . .” Her mother seemed to search for words, then decided on, “This is a good thing to do.”

Brooke gave a quick wave, pulled her hair into a ponytail as she was walking through the living room, and told Meghan and Spencer she’d be back soon.

As she pulled into Owen’s driveway, it occurred to her that Hunter might not be glad to see her. People handled grief in all sorts of ways, and she and Hunter didn’t really have a friendly relationship. Brooke had spent the past couple of years making sure of that. But she was here, so she knocked anyway. Denny answered the door.

“I was just stopping by to check on Hunter. Owen told me what happened.” Brooke was wishing she hadn’t come. She understood loss, but she didn’t understand Hunter.

“Nice of you to come,” Denny said as he moved back so Brooke could enter. “The boy’s in the kitchen. He’s a real mess. Sounds like his grandma was all he had.”

Brooke noticed all the work that had been done since she’d been there. “The house looks good,” she said as Denny led her through the living room.

“Yep. We’ve been pretty busy.” Denny stopped in the kitchen door. “Hunter, somebody to see you.”

Hunter’s freckled face was red from tears, his bottom lip trembling. His eyes widened when he saw her, and he quickly sat tall and wiped at his nose with his hand. “Mrs. Holloway, what’re you doing here?”

Brooke pulled out a chair next to him at the kitchen table. “Brooke. Call me Brooke.” She put a hand on his. “I just want to know if there is anything I can do for you.”

He pulled his hand away as a tear rolled down his cheek. “Why?” He quickly wiped it away.

“Because I—I know how it feels to lose someone.”

“I mean, why would you come see me? After what I . . .” He stared down at the floor.

Brooke sent up an emergency prayer. Help me say the right things. “The past is the past, Hunter. It’s over. And I’m here for you now. At this moment. Is there anything you need?”

He sniffled, shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Has anyone called your parents?”

“Oh man!” He threw his head back against his shoulders, then raised it to look at her. “I didn’t think ’bout that. I got to, don’t I?”

Denny, who had been busy at the kitchen counter, now brought over two cups of coffee and placed the mugs in front of them, then took a seat in a chair across from Brooke and Hunter.

Brooke pushed her cup to the side. “Do you want me to call them and tell them?”

Hunter grabbed his chest. “I don’t feel so good. Where’s Owen? When’s he coming back?”

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Brooke waited a minute before she asked him again if he would like for her to call his parents.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s my mom’s mother, so I guess she needs to know.” Hunter put his head in his hands.

“If you’ll give me the number, I’ll call her.” She glanced at the daisies in a vase in the middle of Owen’s table, the same hybrid variety that someone had laid on her doorstep. “Where did the daisies come from?”

“Hunter brought those.” Denny let out a light chuckle. “Said the place needed a woman’s touch.”

Brooke stared at Hunter for a while. “Did you mow my yard? Put the flowers on my doorstep?”

Hunter kept his head down but nodded. “Just wanted to make up for—” His voice cracked.

Brooke took a chance and put her arms around him. He stiffened at first, but it was only a few seconds before he buried his head in her shoulder and cried. She stroked his stringy hair as she fought her own emotions and wondered how she had any tears left.