Summer's Kiss, for brutti_ma_buoni
Title: Summer’s Kiss
Author: judith_88_g
Recipient: brutti_ma_buoni
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~2,700
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: A huge thanks to the very lovely linvro21 whose beta work was of inestimable value. Any remaining errors are all mine.
Summary: Set in season 2 but slightly AU-ish. After some time of hunting by herself, Jo comes to see Ellen.
“Ellen. Stunning as always. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He says it in a sing-song voice, by way of greeting, like he hasn’t been sitting dry-mouthed at that paper-covered table for almost an hour now, before finally shuffling towards the bar.
She acknowledges his approach with a nod, nothing that could hint that she’s been eying him warily the whole time. She learned a long time ago that hunters have their own ways of going about things.
“Been a while. You know I still keep a rifle under that counter, don’t you?”
“Hey, ain’t gonna risk checkin’ to see if you know how to handle it,” he says as he takes a stool opposite her.
“Be careful there, Jake. That almost sounded like it might’ve been doubt that crossed your mind.”
“Hell no. Save yourself a bullet, woman, and pour an old crook some coffee. I swear I’ll stick to it.”
The espresso machine she purchased a couple of months ago resides proudly on the counter top, the stainless steel catching the beams of early October sun sneaking through the windows. Ellen reaches for the press pot and brews the coffee extra strong, just like she always does.
“Damn,” Jake says, raking a hand through his hair the moment a steaming cup appears in front of him. “I was half sure you weren’t gonna give me any warnin’ before you got down to firearms.”
“I run a saloon, if I shot every drunk bastard getting stupid ideas in his head-“
It’s not that Ellen’s heart skips a beat then. It honest to God stops beating and even if she tried, she wouldn’t be able to say how long it takes before it resumes.
“Well, that just would be bad for business.” There’s laughter in the words and sunshine and jauntiness, and Ellen can swear that just like that, the room becomes a few notches brighter. “Hi, Mom.”
*****
Her skin is still covered with bruises after Duluth when she pulls over to the shoulder of the road, a map spread in her lap. She smooths the creases in the worn-out paper absentmindedly. The thing is ornamental, really, just something to occupy her hands with.
It isn’t the first time she’s considered going home, but it is the first time the bitter taste of surrender that always follows the thought, instead of making her angry, leaves her weary and spent.
But Mom would know. One look at her and Mom would know, and Jo’s sure she wouldn’t be able to find voice for any of it. Never mind, is what she told Dean. She meant it back then and she still means it now. It just doesn’t change anything about the way the demon’s words still haunt her in those dark hours of the night when sleep is nowhere to be found.
She thinks she’s truly a hunter now, a maladjusted, having the I-don’t-wanna-talk-about-it cliché worked down to a T type she’s seen so many times at the Roadhouse. She pictures herself at one of the tables, a grim-looking figure buried in appalling newspaper clippings and cigarette smoke and vapors of cheap whiskey, and the thought makes her giggle like a maniac until they are tears that get squished out of her eyes.
She shoves the map into the backseat, figures ahead is as good a direction as any.
*****
Jo’s wearing a cavalier grin and a leather jacket Ellen doesn’t recall her having. She crosses the room in an easy stride, her hair falling on her shoulders and back in unruly waves, just like Ellen remembers. She thinks it should be reaching farther by now, that it’s been long enough.
“Jo,” she says, because it’s the only thing she can come up with.
Jo smiles as she takes a stool next to Jake. “I’m still surprised to see you here though. Bad for business or not, my chips were down on you hobbling out of this place at the very least. Should the crazy idea of dropping by the Roadhouse have ever occurred to you again, that is. Guess, that makes me twenty bucks short, and Ash a couple of beers happier.”
“Jake ain’t out of here yet,” Ellen says, and even despite the tightness in her throat and stinging in her eyes it feels easy. “You might wanna stick to your cash, Jo.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. Jake here’s a decent guy. I’m sure his tip’s gonna cover both my debt and that pool table, seeing he’s still walking and all. By the way, wasn’t that Ash’s favorite?”
“I seem to recall him saying it once or twice.”
“Huge sentimental value. Priceless. Almost.”
“God damn you, women. I swear, kid, you get snarkier every time I see you.”
Jo flashes him a self-satisfied full-teethed grin.
Jake grumbles and grudgingly gathers himself off the stool. “Reckon I’d better get back to work. ‘Scuse me, ladies.”
They watch him make his way to the table, Jo leaning back against the bar on her elbows, Ellen right next to her, close enough to smell the fruity scent of her shampoo.
“He’s not going to scrape together any of that money, is he?”
“Not until Hell freezes over.”
“I can’t believe you let him in in the first place.”
“I could be wrong. God knows it wouldn’t be the first time.”
*****
She finds a job in Ohio. Waitressing, again, and there’s a tingle of worry in her gut that it’s a curse. The pay is shit, but the tips are good and it’s not the sort of place where patrons habitually drink themselves under the table so she refuses to call it a complete loss. Besides, it’s only until she saves enough money to fix the car and hit the road again. The thing about curses, though, is you don’t break them, you can try running away but you don’t break them.
She made five states in the last four weeks, picking up the scent of a new hunt before the reek of burning bones had enough time to air out from her hair. She fell asleep behind the wheel on a dark stretch of road just outside of Dayton, was woken up by the horn of a truck going in the opposite direction just in time to swerve from its lane. The car fishtailed on the blacktop and slid to a ditch. She caught a ride back to the city, decided she was done with running for a little while.
She spends three weeks there and - in all honesty - she would have probably stayed longer, but she learns the appeal of a bed to go back to every night sometimes just isn’t worth it. It’s like one of those corny stories girls are taught to be scared of, except in Jo’s version she breaks her boss’s nose and makes sure he’ll be singing in falsetto the next couple of days. Then she lifts some money from the register - a little above her usual pay she figures he owes her for the lost tips - and walks out.
She presses the speed dial and calls Ash even before she reaches the motel, asks him to find her a hunt.
“Somewhere in the country,” she says almost as an afterthought, staring at the massive chunks of concrete cutting against the bleached sky. And Ash, God bless him, drawls por supuesto in that boozed up way of his and pretends he can’t hear when her voice hitches up.
“My mom cannot know. I mean it, Ash.”
“I’m pretty attached to my head. I’ve had it my whole life.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. You don’t wanna see it spiked at the entrance to the Roadhouse.”
“She knows I’m fine.”
“Fine ain’t that difficult to spell on a postcard, no.”
“Ash.” Goddammit. “Please.”
There is silence on the other side of the line before he says, “A week, ‘s all I can give you. After that it becomes public knowledge, capishe?”
“I love you too.”
*****
The first thing Jo does after dropping off her bag in her old room is making her way to the arcades and beating all the records. Ellen can’t help but smile at that, wonders how anyone might have ever thought it right to put their name in front of Jo’s.
*****
Jason takes a drag on his cigarette, leans against his truck when he says, “Helluva job you did back there, kid.”
She knows him from the Roadhouse and he almost coughed a lung from laughter when he saw her working a job, all but locked her in a trunk when she told him where the demon was and what plan she had come up with.
“The girl died,” Jo says, because there’s really not much else she can think about.
He nods, “Yes, she did.”
They are quiet for a spell, the crisp wind biting against Jo’s face. Jason inhales the smoke once more, drops the butt and smashes it with the heel of his boot.
“Take care, kid,” he says and climbs into the driver’s seat.
*****
When the lazy afternoon changes into a busy evening, Jo ties an apron around her waist and helps waiting tables. Ellen studies her confident posture, her movements, her mimics. She looks for cracks but doesn’t find any, fears they’re hidden far too deep for her to see.
She still hasn’t decided if she should strangle her daughter for staying quiet and off the radar for so damn long, or hug her like there’s no tomorrow. They’re not mutually exclusive, she thinks, and the realization makes her smile.
The busy evening soon progresses to busy night, and it’s not until the last customer leaves and Jo is wiping the tables that they finally have a realistic chance of hearing each other.
“Hey, Jo, you feel like some cupcakes? I got a couple left out back.”
Her daughter straightens up, her eyes squinted in a cat-like expression. “Frosting and sprinkles?”
“Chocolate and hazelnuts.”
“Mom, you’re kidding me, right? How is that even a real question?”
*****
It’s almost three in the morning when Jo finishes her fourth beer, wriggles out her phone and studies the small screen for a while as if it was an ancient puzzle that needed her undivided attention. She toys with the idea of calling Dean and asking about Sam, but then reminds herself she’s still livid at him for saying he’d call and never actually meaning it. She chooses a different number, waits through five signals before there’s a crackling sound indicating the phone being picked up.
“This better be important.”
“Hi, Bobby. Long time no see.”
“Goddamn you, kid. Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I am, I just-” Jo doesn’t really know what she wants to say. She realizes it’s been days since she opened her mouth for anything much beyond getting a room and ordering food, and the thought feels nauseating. “How are you, Bobby? How is everybody?”
She’s not used to it. There always were people around, old stories, gruff comments, lame jokes; the Roadhouse throbbed with life. Nothing like these series of impersonal drafty walls featuring a sickening variety of crazy wallpapers which Jo has had enough time to learn were in fact all the same.
She can hear Bobby sigh heavily on the other side, he doesn’t even humor her with an answer. “You far away? I got a bottle of whiskey I’ve been meaning to open.”
“You offering to share your liquor? Is there an apocalypse coming I haven’t heard about?”
“Apocalypses come and go. When you’re in the game as long as I am, you learn there’s no point in gratifying them with good scotch.”
She huffs a small laugh, shakes her head a fraction. “Oregon. I’m in Oregon.”
“Thought we already established the world ain’t ending any time soon. The door’s open, the couch’s made, ‘s all I’m saying.”
“Thanks, Bobby. Really.”
“Your momma’s worrying herself sick.”
Off all the things she not needed to hear right now.
It’s an old trigger, really, and she wants to say she’s not a child and she’s got the right to make her own choices - a knee-jerk reaction. She wants to say she never intended it to come down to this, it’s her mom who said no hunting under her roof and Jo only granted that wish. She wants to say she didn’t change her phone number and if her mom is that worried, she should just pick up the damn thing and call - it’s not like she wouldn’t answer.
Jo just nods instead. There’s a pause before she says a quiet I know.
*****
It’s late. The sky is clear and shotgunned with millions of bright stars. Ellen’s breath floats in a small mist before disappearing into the night and she can smell a distant rich scent of cattle carried by the chill October air. It’s weaker than in summer, but then again, almost everything is in those strange days when the midday sun still feels warm and caressing and deceptively constant, while evenings bring cold that with each new sunset seems to be cutting deeper through the bones, nesting and settling for the long winter months. A summer’s good bye kiss, is what Ellen’s mom called days like today.
She sits down next to Jo, spreads a blanket around both their figures. They’re out back. The wooden swing screeches and creaks as it lazily moves back and forth with the small push of Jo’s legs. She places her head on Ellen’s shoulder.
“You bought a swing.”
Ellen smooths her daughter’s hair, lets out a small laugh, “Three months ago. And I’ve sat on it maybe twice since.”
“I like it.”
“Me too. My mom used to have one like this. She spent hours in that thing, mostly reading. Sometimes she’d read to me too. And then when her sight was all but gone I read to her.”
“I wish I’d known her.”
“You’d like her. She was a tough woman. I never told you that, but when I said Bill and I were getting married she threw a bottle of hooch at him and when it hit the wall just above his head, she said she didn’t need a good eye to fire a shotgun.” Ellen chuckles at the memory. “You should’ve seen your daddy back then, a mighty hunter running away like a spooked hare.”
“She didn’t like Dad?”
“It’s not that. Bill, oh Jo, your dad was a charming devil. With that crooked smile of his and easy talk, he seemed to have not a care in the world. Your grandfather was the same and my brother, too, going through life like there was nothing that could stop them. Always laughing a bit too loud like it all was a secret joke and they were the only ones that could see through it. And you couldn’t help it, you just wanted in on it. My mom buried them both and she might’ve not known a first thing about hunting and her eyes might’ve not been what they used to be by then, but the moment Bill’s foot stepped over our threshold she knew. She saw him for what he was - trouble and pain and tears. And even then, I knew she was right - God help me - but it was probably why I loved your daddy so damn much.”
“You ever wished you’d listened to her?”
“There was a time when I thought I did, but that was grief. Because it wasn’t just trouble and pain and tears, those were there too, but they weren’t what mattered. You understand what I’m trying to say?”
“Yeah, Mom, I think I do.”
They are quiet for a while. It’s Jo who finally breaks the silence.
“I missed you.”
Ellen can’t stop herself from placing a broken kiss on the top of her daughter’s head. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m always here.”
“You know I’m not staying, right? I can’t.”
And Ellen just nods, because she knew it the moment Jo showed up today with that flicker of the late fall sun caught in the wisps of her hair. “It’s okay, honey.”
They sit like that for some time, swaying gently on the swing that suddenly feels years old with the memories it never witnessed. Jo talks and Ellen listens. She spins stories of places she’s been to, people she’s met, things she’s seen. Her words are light and Ellen knows they’re carefully chosen but doesn’t call her daughter on that, she just listens.
Because when Jo laughs the sound cuts clear through the cold quiet night.
Author: judith_88_g
Recipient: brutti_ma_buoni
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~2,700
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: A huge thanks to the very lovely linvro21 whose beta work was of inestimable value. Any remaining errors are all mine.
Summary: Set in season 2 but slightly AU-ish. After some time of hunting by herself, Jo comes to see Ellen.
“Ellen. Stunning as always. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He says it in a sing-song voice, by way of greeting, like he hasn’t been sitting dry-mouthed at that paper-covered table for almost an hour now, before finally shuffling towards the bar.
She acknowledges his approach with a nod, nothing that could hint that she’s been eying him warily the whole time. She learned a long time ago that hunters have their own ways of going about things.
“Been a while. You know I still keep a rifle under that counter, don’t you?”
“Hey, ain’t gonna risk checkin’ to see if you know how to handle it,” he says as he takes a stool opposite her.
“Be careful there, Jake. That almost sounded like it might’ve been doubt that crossed your mind.”
“Hell no. Save yourself a bullet, woman, and pour an old crook some coffee. I swear I’ll stick to it.”
The espresso machine she purchased a couple of months ago resides proudly on the counter top, the stainless steel catching the beams of early October sun sneaking through the windows. Ellen reaches for the press pot and brews the coffee extra strong, just like she always does.
“Damn,” Jake says, raking a hand through his hair the moment a steaming cup appears in front of him. “I was half sure you weren’t gonna give me any warnin’ before you got down to firearms.”
“I run a saloon, if I shot every drunk bastard getting stupid ideas in his head-“
It’s not that Ellen’s heart skips a beat then. It honest to God stops beating and even if she tried, she wouldn’t be able to say how long it takes before it resumes.
“Well, that just would be bad for business.” There’s laughter in the words and sunshine and jauntiness, and Ellen can swear that just like that, the room becomes a few notches brighter. “Hi, Mom.”
*****
Her skin is still covered with bruises after Duluth when she pulls over to the shoulder of the road, a map spread in her lap. She smooths the creases in the worn-out paper absentmindedly. The thing is ornamental, really, just something to occupy her hands with.
It isn’t the first time she’s considered going home, but it is the first time the bitter taste of surrender that always follows the thought, instead of making her angry, leaves her weary and spent.
But Mom would know. One look at her and Mom would know, and Jo’s sure she wouldn’t be able to find voice for any of it. Never mind, is what she told Dean. She meant it back then and she still means it now. It just doesn’t change anything about the way the demon’s words still haunt her in those dark hours of the night when sleep is nowhere to be found.
She thinks she’s truly a hunter now, a maladjusted, having the I-don’t-wanna-talk-about-it cliché worked down to a T type she’s seen so many times at the Roadhouse. She pictures herself at one of the tables, a grim-looking figure buried in appalling newspaper clippings and cigarette smoke and vapors of cheap whiskey, and the thought makes her giggle like a maniac until they are tears that get squished out of her eyes.
She shoves the map into the backseat, figures ahead is as good a direction as any.
*****
Jo’s wearing a cavalier grin and a leather jacket Ellen doesn’t recall her having. She crosses the room in an easy stride, her hair falling on her shoulders and back in unruly waves, just like Ellen remembers. She thinks it should be reaching farther by now, that it’s been long enough.
“Jo,” she says, because it’s the only thing she can come up with.
Jo smiles as she takes a stool next to Jake. “I’m still surprised to see you here though. Bad for business or not, my chips were down on you hobbling out of this place at the very least. Should the crazy idea of dropping by the Roadhouse have ever occurred to you again, that is. Guess, that makes me twenty bucks short, and Ash a couple of beers happier.”
“Jake ain’t out of here yet,” Ellen says, and even despite the tightness in her throat and stinging in her eyes it feels easy. “You might wanna stick to your cash, Jo.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. Jake here’s a decent guy. I’m sure his tip’s gonna cover both my debt and that pool table, seeing he’s still walking and all. By the way, wasn’t that Ash’s favorite?”
“I seem to recall him saying it once or twice.”
“Huge sentimental value. Priceless. Almost.”
“God damn you, women. I swear, kid, you get snarkier every time I see you.”
Jo flashes him a self-satisfied full-teethed grin.
Jake grumbles and grudgingly gathers himself off the stool. “Reckon I’d better get back to work. ‘Scuse me, ladies.”
They watch him make his way to the table, Jo leaning back against the bar on her elbows, Ellen right next to her, close enough to smell the fruity scent of her shampoo.
“He’s not going to scrape together any of that money, is he?”
“Not until Hell freezes over.”
“I can’t believe you let him in in the first place.”
“I could be wrong. God knows it wouldn’t be the first time.”
*****
She finds a job in Ohio. Waitressing, again, and there’s a tingle of worry in her gut that it’s a curse. The pay is shit, but the tips are good and it’s not the sort of place where patrons habitually drink themselves under the table so she refuses to call it a complete loss. Besides, it’s only until she saves enough money to fix the car and hit the road again. The thing about curses, though, is you don’t break them, you can try running away but you don’t break them.
She made five states in the last four weeks, picking up the scent of a new hunt before the reek of burning bones had enough time to air out from her hair. She fell asleep behind the wheel on a dark stretch of road just outside of Dayton, was woken up by the horn of a truck going in the opposite direction just in time to swerve from its lane. The car fishtailed on the blacktop and slid to a ditch. She caught a ride back to the city, decided she was done with running for a little while.
She spends three weeks there and - in all honesty - she would have probably stayed longer, but she learns the appeal of a bed to go back to every night sometimes just isn’t worth it. It’s like one of those corny stories girls are taught to be scared of, except in Jo’s version she breaks her boss’s nose and makes sure he’ll be singing in falsetto the next couple of days. Then she lifts some money from the register - a little above her usual pay she figures he owes her for the lost tips - and walks out.
She presses the speed dial and calls Ash even before she reaches the motel, asks him to find her a hunt.
“Somewhere in the country,” she says almost as an afterthought, staring at the massive chunks of concrete cutting against the bleached sky. And Ash, God bless him, drawls por supuesto in that boozed up way of his and pretends he can’t hear when her voice hitches up.
“My mom cannot know. I mean it, Ash.”
“I’m pretty attached to my head. I’ve had it my whole life.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. You don’t wanna see it spiked at the entrance to the Roadhouse.”
“She knows I’m fine.”
“Fine ain’t that difficult to spell on a postcard, no.”
“Ash.” Goddammit. “Please.”
There is silence on the other side of the line before he says, “A week, ‘s all I can give you. After that it becomes public knowledge, capishe?”
“I love you too.”
*****
The first thing Jo does after dropping off her bag in her old room is making her way to the arcades and beating all the records. Ellen can’t help but smile at that, wonders how anyone might have ever thought it right to put their name in front of Jo’s.
*****
Jason takes a drag on his cigarette, leans against his truck when he says, “Helluva job you did back there, kid.”
She knows him from the Roadhouse and he almost coughed a lung from laughter when he saw her working a job, all but locked her in a trunk when she told him where the demon was and what plan she had come up with.
“The girl died,” Jo says, because there’s really not much else she can think about.
He nods, “Yes, she did.”
They are quiet for a spell, the crisp wind biting against Jo’s face. Jason inhales the smoke once more, drops the butt and smashes it with the heel of his boot.
“Take care, kid,” he says and climbs into the driver’s seat.
*****
When the lazy afternoon changes into a busy evening, Jo ties an apron around her waist and helps waiting tables. Ellen studies her confident posture, her movements, her mimics. She looks for cracks but doesn’t find any, fears they’re hidden far too deep for her to see.
She still hasn’t decided if she should strangle her daughter for staying quiet and off the radar for so damn long, or hug her like there’s no tomorrow. They’re not mutually exclusive, she thinks, and the realization makes her smile.
The busy evening soon progresses to busy night, and it’s not until the last customer leaves and Jo is wiping the tables that they finally have a realistic chance of hearing each other.
“Hey, Jo, you feel like some cupcakes? I got a couple left out back.”
Her daughter straightens up, her eyes squinted in a cat-like expression. “Frosting and sprinkles?”
“Chocolate and hazelnuts.”
“Mom, you’re kidding me, right? How is that even a real question?”
*****
It’s almost three in the morning when Jo finishes her fourth beer, wriggles out her phone and studies the small screen for a while as if it was an ancient puzzle that needed her undivided attention. She toys with the idea of calling Dean and asking about Sam, but then reminds herself she’s still livid at him for saying he’d call and never actually meaning it. She chooses a different number, waits through five signals before there’s a crackling sound indicating the phone being picked up.
“This better be important.”
“Hi, Bobby. Long time no see.”
“Goddamn you, kid. Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I am, I just-” Jo doesn’t really know what she wants to say. She realizes it’s been days since she opened her mouth for anything much beyond getting a room and ordering food, and the thought feels nauseating. “How are you, Bobby? How is everybody?”
She’s not used to it. There always were people around, old stories, gruff comments, lame jokes; the Roadhouse throbbed with life. Nothing like these series of impersonal drafty walls featuring a sickening variety of crazy wallpapers which Jo has had enough time to learn were in fact all the same.
She can hear Bobby sigh heavily on the other side, he doesn’t even humor her with an answer. “You far away? I got a bottle of whiskey I’ve been meaning to open.”
“You offering to share your liquor? Is there an apocalypse coming I haven’t heard about?”
“Apocalypses come and go. When you’re in the game as long as I am, you learn there’s no point in gratifying them with good scotch.”
She huffs a small laugh, shakes her head a fraction. “Oregon. I’m in Oregon.”
“Thought we already established the world ain’t ending any time soon. The door’s open, the couch’s made, ‘s all I’m saying.”
“Thanks, Bobby. Really.”
“Your momma’s worrying herself sick.”
Off all the things she not needed to hear right now.
It’s an old trigger, really, and she wants to say she’s not a child and she’s got the right to make her own choices - a knee-jerk reaction. She wants to say she never intended it to come down to this, it’s her mom who said no hunting under her roof and Jo only granted that wish. She wants to say she didn’t change her phone number and if her mom is that worried, she should just pick up the damn thing and call - it’s not like she wouldn’t answer.
Jo just nods instead. There’s a pause before she says a quiet I know.
*****
It’s late. The sky is clear and shotgunned with millions of bright stars. Ellen’s breath floats in a small mist before disappearing into the night and she can smell a distant rich scent of cattle carried by the chill October air. It’s weaker than in summer, but then again, almost everything is in those strange days when the midday sun still feels warm and caressing and deceptively constant, while evenings bring cold that with each new sunset seems to be cutting deeper through the bones, nesting and settling for the long winter months. A summer’s good bye kiss, is what Ellen’s mom called days like today.
She sits down next to Jo, spreads a blanket around both their figures. They’re out back. The wooden swing screeches and creaks as it lazily moves back and forth with the small push of Jo’s legs. She places her head on Ellen’s shoulder.
“You bought a swing.”
Ellen smooths her daughter’s hair, lets out a small laugh, “Three months ago. And I’ve sat on it maybe twice since.”
“I like it.”
“Me too. My mom used to have one like this. She spent hours in that thing, mostly reading. Sometimes she’d read to me too. And then when her sight was all but gone I read to her.”
“I wish I’d known her.”
“You’d like her. She was a tough woman. I never told you that, but when I said Bill and I were getting married she threw a bottle of hooch at him and when it hit the wall just above his head, she said she didn’t need a good eye to fire a shotgun.” Ellen chuckles at the memory. “You should’ve seen your daddy back then, a mighty hunter running away like a spooked hare.”
“She didn’t like Dad?”
“It’s not that. Bill, oh Jo, your dad was a charming devil. With that crooked smile of his and easy talk, he seemed to have not a care in the world. Your grandfather was the same and my brother, too, going through life like there was nothing that could stop them. Always laughing a bit too loud like it all was a secret joke and they were the only ones that could see through it. And you couldn’t help it, you just wanted in on it. My mom buried them both and she might’ve not known a first thing about hunting and her eyes might’ve not been what they used to be by then, but the moment Bill’s foot stepped over our threshold she knew. She saw him for what he was - trouble and pain and tears. And even then, I knew she was right - God help me - but it was probably why I loved your daddy so damn much.”
“You ever wished you’d listened to her?”
“There was a time when I thought I did, but that was grief. Because it wasn’t just trouble and pain and tears, those were there too, but they weren’t what mattered. You understand what I’m trying to say?”
“Yeah, Mom, I think I do.”
They are quiet for a while. It’s Jo who finally breaks the silence.
“I missed you.”
Ellen can’t stop herself from placing a broken kiss on the top of her daughter’s head. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m always here.”
“You know I’m not staying, right? I can’t.”
And Ellen just nods, because she knew it the moment Jo showed up today with that flicker of the late fall sun caught in the wisps of her hair. “It’s okay, honey.”
They sit like that for some time, swaying gently on the swing that suddenly feels years old with the memories it never witnessed. Jo talks and Ellen listens. She spins stories of places she’s been to, people she’s met, things she’s seen. Her words are light and Ellen knows they’re carefully chosen but doesn’t call her daughter on that, she just listens.
Because when Jo laughs the sound cuts clear through the cold quiet night.