He was facing the window when I entered, his tall frame folded into a little upholstered easy chair, one ankle resting on his knee. His broad shoulders were a shadowed outline against the vivid blue skies of our Pacific Northwest summer, sunny but lacking the humid heat I’d left behind.
I hesitated, because there was something vulnerable about seeing him like that, in a quiet moment. I stayed near the door, glancing over at his mother. She was asleep, her finely-lined face at peace. I looked back at Landon, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the way that even here, he didn’t slump, didn’t relax. If I didn’t see him at night, sleeping peacefully, I’d think he was never at ease.
He didn’t move as I walked to him, as I placed a hand on his shoulder. I rounded the chair, my fingers trailing down his arm, and took in the surprise on his face as he realized it was me.
We faced one another for several beats of silence, and the questions in his eyes were enough to make me speak. “The internship didn’t feel right anymore,” I said.
He furrowed his brow, and I hoped to hell it was worry—not disappointment—written in his eyes.
“I thought the internship was what you wanted,” he said.
I raked in a steadying breath. “Yes. Wanted. Past tense.”
He folded his hands in his lap, studying me, as if trying to find the regret he was sure I’d have. Just a day ago I’d done the same to him. “I don’t want you to walk away from your dreams for me,” he said.
I pursed my lips. Shook my head. How funny that I was so afraid he’d regret walking away from his dream, and here he was, only concerned that I’d done the same thing. “Dreams come in many forms, Landon. That internship… it wasn’t the right one for me.”
He stared longer, and I met his gaze, willing him to understand.
“You’re sure.”
“Absolutely,” I said, shoving my hands into the front pockets of my shorts.
He looked tired, the stress written on his face. “No regrets.”
“None.”
He stood, then, wrapping me up in his strong arms. I sank against him, inhaling his scent and knowing this was where I was meant to be. We stood like that, for what may have been hours but felt like seconds, until a rustling noise made us pull apart.
I spun around to see his mother, her hands clasped over her stomach, eyes open. There was something hazy about her look, like her eyes were out of focus.
“Mom?”
Landon rushed over, taking her hand in his, and I nervously followed. She’d been here for almost 24 hours already, but I knew from Landon that she’d been out of it, that he still hadn’t been able to hold a conversation with her.
She blinked up at him, and recognition slowly dawned.
“Landon,” she said, her voice raspy.
Desperate to be useful, I went to the little water pitcher on a table near her bed, filling a tiny cup half-full with water and handing it to him.
He adjusted her bed, allowing her to partially sit up, and then helped her drink a sip of water. This was the Landon I’d known growing up. The Landon who sprang into action when someone needed him, who would give you the shirt off his back if you needed one.
Yes, wild and crazy, but somehow still as dependable as the tides.
“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice soft.
She said something, but it was lost in a garble, which then turned into a cough.
Landon didn’t move, but he didn’t have to. I could sense the hope fizzle out, the tension returning to his shoulders, along with the rigidity in his spine. He was on edge, looking for any sign that his mother’s health would tip one way or the other.
I stepped up beside him, resting a hand on his back.
She laid back against the pillow, closing her eyes again.
He stood there, a statue, until her breathing evened out and she fell back asleep. I could sense his disappointment, sense that he had hoped this would be the moment they could speak, the moment he could make amends for the funeral and everything else between them.
But that moment would have to wait. Instead, Landon and I left her to sleep, stepping out into the hallway so we could talk. He pulled me against him, squeezing my shoulders.
“She’ll be okay,” I said, even though I couldn’t be certain.
“I know,” he said. “The doctors said her stroke was minor, that it would take a few days, maybe a few weeks, for her to get her bearings again.”
The way he was holding me up against him, I could hear his voice, deep and rumbly, in his chest. He didn’t seem to want to let me go, so I just rested my cheek against him, willing to stand like this forever if he found comfort in it.
“But it doesn’t make it any easier,” I said, finishing his thought.
“Exactly.” He kissed the top of my head, reluctantly releasing me.
“Do you want to go out to lunch?” I asked, stepping back and glancing into the room again. “Looks like she’ll be sleeping for a while.”
He was shaking his head before I even finished asking. “I don’t want her to wake up alone.”
“Well, I’m not letting you eat disgusting hospital food,” I said, trying to smile. “I’ll bring something back for you.”