Page 42 of Finding Home

James’s hand appeared in front of him. “I’ll get the key.”

Cole took his brother’s hand and stood upright. “Thanks. For some reason, my body doesn’t like me bending over.”

“It’s because the doctors have been poking at your heart,” James said with a frown. “I told you this would be too much.”

Cole ignored him and pointed at the front door.

James muttered something about stubborn people who should know better, but he opened the door anyway.

When James stepped inside the cabin, he took a moment to get his bearings.

Cole had felt the same way when he’d come back. It was as if their granddad’s spirit was still here, still waiting for them with a big hug and tall tales of his latest fishing adventures.

After looking around the living room, James picked up a framed photograph from the shelf, and Cole sat in the chair near the window.

“Do you remember this Christmas?” James turned the photo toward Cole.

He knew exactly which Christmas it was. “The snow came down hard on the second morning we were here.”

“We woke up and the door wouldn’t open.” James smiled as he remembered the storm. “Granddad had to pull it from the bottom, and the snow came in like it owned the place.”

“You were annoyed.” Cole studied his brother’s face. “You’d told Mom and Dad you’d be back by the twenty-seventh.”

“I was a teenager,” James said. “I thought I had important things to do.”

Cole sighed. “You didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” James looked at the photograph again before setting it back down. “We were snowed in for a week. Granddad taught you to play chess. You beat him on the fifth day, and he spent the next two days acting like it hadn’t happened.”

Cole remembered the simple chess pieces, the small oil lamp on the table between them, and his grandfather’s hands, the knuckles wide, and the skin creased from years of outdoor work. Think three moves ahead, his granddad had said. Not one. Not two. Three. That’s the difference.

“He let me win,” Cole said.

James turned around. “He didn’t.”

“He did. He was always more moves ahead of me.” Cole looked at the window. The pines held their position outside, steady and indifferent to the conversation happening in the cabin. “He wanted me to feel like I could beat him, so I’d keep trying.”

James was quiet.

“I figured it out years later,” Cole said. “The way he played. He’d sacrifice a piece early to make me feel confident. Then he’d pull back and let me figure out the next moves myself.” He paused. “He did that with everything.”

James crossed the room and sat in the other chair, the one their grandfather had always taken.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Cole said.

James didn’t move.

Cole looked at his hands. He’d been trying to find the right words to say since James had arrived in Sapphire Bay, and he still wasn’t sure what they were. Maybe the words didn’t matter. They might just be waiting for the right moment or the right place to surface.

He was in the right place now, and Cole didn’t know when they’d both be here again.

“On the morning Granddad died, he sat on the porch steps and said he felt tired.” Cole stopped as an image of his granddad filled his mind. His hand was pressed flat against his chest and he was telling Cole he’d be okay. “I asked him if he wanted something to eat. He said no. He said he just needed to rest for a little while.”

James was very still.

“I went fishing.” Cole said the words plainly. No self-pity in them. Just the fact of it. “I thought he was tired. I thought it would pass. It was a sunny afternoon, and I didn’t want to waste it.”

Cole took a deep breath. “When I got back, he was still on the steps. He couldn’t move properly. His words weren’t—” Cole stopped. He pressed his thumb into the palm of his other hand. “I didn’t understand what I was looking at. I was eleven years old, and my grandfather was one of the strongest men I knew.”