Almost Home

Chapter Ten

The Trouts' house is only fifteen minutes from the hotel and truthfully, way less extravagant than what I had pictured in my head.

It's a one-story house, though I can tell that there's a basement underneath the main level.

The house, itself, is a deep, oxford blue, adorned with cream-colored shutters and an oak front door.

I hop out of the truck, cringing as the door slams shut behind me, the loud clanging echoing off the surrounding trees.

Jack waves his arm for me to follow him up a short sidewalk, a couple bright pink flowers sitting in a flower pot next to the front door.

"Easton's room is just down the hall there," Jack gestures with his head as he swings the door open for me, "Second door on your left."

I give a brief nod, suddenly nervous, though I'm not sure why.

Counting the doors off as I pass them, I arrive at the second and give a tiny knock.

When I don't hear a response, I knock again and this time, I hear a faint, "Dad?"

"It's Carly," I say, and then clear my throat to get the shakiness to subside, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," I hear bedsprings groan as I push the door open.

Easton is sitting up in his bed, a few blankets pulled across his lower half and his arm braced in a strange-looking contraption that seems to be keeping his elbow at a ninety-degree angle.

As expected, his arm is also wrapped in a sterile, white bandage.

"Hey," his face breaks into a wide smile when he sees me, his eyes half-obscured by his messy hair.

"Hey," I walk through the door, taking a few steps towards his bed, "How are you feeling?"

He glances, bashfully, down at his brace, "To tell you the truth, I'm not in as much pain as I thought I'd be in."

"That's good."

Easton nods, sliding over in his bed once I get near enough. He presses himself comfortably against the wall, painted a navy blue with various sports posters, mostly baseball, hanging up all over.

Getting the feeling that he's making room for me to sit down, I take a seat on the edge of his bed, crossing my legs at the ankles as I look around, taking in my surroundings.

Easton's room is, more or less, exactly what I'd conjured up in my head - shelves filled to the point of bursting with baseball trophies, a few clothing items and a pair of old sneakers littering the floor.

His Bible is sitting on his nightstand and on top of that-

"Oh, yeah," Easton smiles, picking up my cross and handing it over to me in an open palm, "Here's your cross."

I take it, turning it over in my palm for a moment before remembering that I had his, as well.

Setting my cross on the bed next to me, I reach up and slide the chain over the top of my head, handing it over to Easton.

He seems to size it up for a moment, like he's trying to figure out how best to put it on with his left hand.

"I got it," I give a small smile, opening the chain and sliding it over Easton's head.

It falls back down where it belongs, resting right below his collar bones.

"I guess I'm going to have to get used to this," he gives a sad smile, "Learning to do things with my left hand."