Page 7 of Never and Always
I’d finished my engineering degree at the University of Colorado, and then taken a job with a big firm in California.
I’d loved it. At first.
The long hours, the challenging engineering design work, the huge paycheck. I thought I was on top of the world.
I’d thrived on it. I’d had no time to cook or eat, no time to date. My social life was the odd night out with work colleagues where we drank too much to blow off steam, or the odd random hookup.
I’d had no time to come home and see my mom and dad. No time to hike or ski. I didn’t do that a lot now, but occasionally, I got my skis out.
Several years had passed and I’d barely been home. Just lightning-fast visits for holidays, then back to work.
I hadn’t realized mom was sick.
She and Dad had kept it from me. She hadn’t wanted me to worry or to disrupt my work. By then, I’d been barreling towards burnout. I was no longer feeling the thrill from my work. Instead, I’d been tired and grumpy. Then Dad had called.
Mom was in the hospital.
Cancer.
I’d quit my job and come home.
Just been in time to watch Mom die. I’d spent the last two months with her. And being home with my parents had made me realize what I really wanted.
Not the eighty-to-a-hundred-hour grind of work. No more being burned out and not living my life. Not being so busy I wasn’t living.
My gaze moved to the snow-covered mountains. I’d grown up here, and the majesty still caught in my throat. I smiled. Mom had loved Windward. She’d loved those mountains. I felt her here.
I opened my truck, grabbed my scraper and brushed the snow off my windshield. Then I slid into the driver’s seat. My hands flexed on the steering wheel, then I set the truck in drive and headed home.
When I pulled up to my townhouse, I opened the garage door. The place was the perfect size for me. It was located ina small, attractive complex surrounded by trees. There was a trailhead close by that I made use of in the summer for running and hiking. The bottom level was covered in natural stone, the upper level in forest-green siding, and the garage door was a warm wood.
I’d added a few touches inside, like redoing the floors in a nice maple and redoing the bathrooms. I’d even made a few pieces of furniture myself.
The best thing was my dad lived in the townhouse next door.
I pulled into the garage, but didn’t go inside. Instead, I crossed the snowy path to dad’s place. The door opened before I got to it.
“Hey, Everett. How was work?”
“Fine.” I stomped the snow off, then left my boots at the front door.
I’d inherited my body from Dad. He was tall and rangy, loved to play golf and hike in the summer, and had been an electrician before he’d retired. His hair had gone gray years ago, but his blue eyes were bright in his raw-boned face. I’d gotten my hazel eyes from my mom.
Dad gave me a one-armed hug. “Beer?”
“Sounds good.”
He walked to the kitchen. The place was the mirror image of mine. The wall in the living area was covered in framed pictures of either him and mom, or all three of us. My whole life was there from the day I was born, through school and college, to a recent shot of Dad and I on a hike with his dog in the summer. They’d wanted more kids, but it hadn’t happened.
A low woof made me turn. Dad’s German Shepherd mix, Bear, was lounging in his dog bed near the fire. After Mom had died, Dad had found Bear at the local shelter.
“Too lazy to come and say hi,” I said.
Bear’s tail thumped.
“No crazy stories today?” Dad asked. “No naked guests busting down doors or chandeliers crashing to the floor.”
Those things had happened before. “Not today. Most exciting thing was a kid dropping marbles in the lobby and our COO almost taking a header.”
