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A loud banging at the door roused Isobel from her spot on the couch, and she hurried to answer it. They knocked again just as she reached the door.
"Hold on, I'm coming!" she shouted.
Isobel swung the door open to find Rose barreling inside. "You're alive!"
"What are you talking about?" Isobel said, trailing Rose into the living room.
"I've been trying to get a hold of you for two days. I called, left messages, even texted."
"Oh, sorry about that. I turned my phone off and completely forgot to turn it back on."
"For two days? What's going on?"
Isobel couldn't stop the tears any longer; they poured down her face.
"Isobel, what is it?" Rose asked, enveloping her in a hug.
After a brief moment in her friend's comforting embrace, Isobel pulled back and wiped away her tears.
"Isobel, seriously, what's happening?"
"It's Ryder..."
"What did Ryder do?" Rose's voice was rising with concern.
"That night after the rodeo we went to, after our fight..."
"Yeah, I remember."
"Ryder went and slept with some barrel racer after he stormed off."
"What? How do you know this?" Rose asked, guiding Isobel to sit beside her on the couch.
"He told me himself the other day."
"What a jerk! I'm going over there to give him a piece of my mind."
"No, Rose. Please don't confront him."
"Alright. If that's what you want." Rose grabbed a tissue from the box on the side table and handed it to Isobel. "What are you going to do now? Are you guys done?"
"I honestly don't know. I need time to think."
"Why don't you come over to my place? I find that riding horseback clears my head."
Isobel looked at her friend and managed a small smile. "Maybe tomorrow."
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It had been five days since Ryder informed Isobel, and he still hadn't heard a word from her. The uncertainty of her thoughts and well-being gnawed at him, driving him to the brink. He made futile attempts to distract himself, but keeping her out of his mind proved impossible.
Standing before a closet in his home, he hesitated. Minutes ticked by as he approached, retreated, and finally returned with determination. At last, he grasped the knob and swung the door open.
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There lay an old black case. He retrieved it and carried it to the living room, placing it gently on the coffee table before gingerly lifting its lid. Staring at its contents, he gathered his resolve.
His hand glided across the strings before resting on the neck of the guitar—his father's cherished possession that Ryder hadn't touched since his passing. He lifted it onto his lap and gave the strings a strum, wincing at the discordant notes.
After doing his best to tune it and mentally noting the need for new strings, Ryder began to play a few chords.
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"Dad, Dad, am I doing this right?" Ten-year-old Ryder eagerly tried to wrap his fingers around the neck of the guitar.
"Close, Ryder," Tyler responded. He gently adjusted Ryder's fingers, pressing them down on the correct strings. "Here, like this. Now take the pick and strum."
Ryder followed his father's instructions, and when the perfect sound of an A minor chord resonated through the room, his eyes lit up with amazement and a broad smile spread across his face.
"Again, Dad! Teach me another one!"
Just then, eight-year-old Terry dashed into the room, curious about all the excitement. Tyler lifted him up and placed him on his knee, holding the guitar in front of him as he demonstrated a few chords for his youngest son.
Celeste stood leaning in the doorway, watching with a smile as Tyler let their sons take turns mastering new chords. The room was soon filled with harmonious music and joyous laughter.
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As Ryder's thoughts drifted back to the present, a smile crept across his face at the memory of his dad. Glancing at his watch, he gently placed the guitar back in its case and strode purposefully towards his truck.
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"Hey there, Ryder," Dr. Brown said as she started the session. "We missed our meeting last week because you had a rodeo. How did that go for you?"
"It went great. My best friend snagged first place, and I came in second. I haven't felt this good about not winning first place...well...ever."
"That's wonderful news, Ryder! And how's your shoulder holding up?"
"I was concerned initially, but it didn't bother me at all."
"So what did you do after the rodeo?"
Ryder leaned back and crossed his leg over his knee. "Wren and I packed up the truck and headed home."
"That's excellent, Ryder. I'm so glad to hear it." She jotted down some notes. "Is there anything else happening in your life you want to share?"
Ryder took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and finally said, "I told Isobel about what I did."
"And how did that conversation go?"
"She left and I haven't heard from her since," Ryder shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I really hurt her, and she was very angry."
"That's understandable, right?"
"Yes," Ryder's eyes dropped to the floor. "I don't blame her at all. She didn't do anything wrong; she just asked me about my past, and I messed everything up."
"Maybe she just needs some time to process everything, Ryder. It was a lot to take in, and she has to decide how to handle it. Be prepared for any outcome—she might have trust issues, stay angry for a while, or even be very forgiving. You need to be patient with her."
"I know. I'm trying really hard to stay busy and keep her out of my thoughts."
"Is it working? Can you manage that?"
"No, not at all."
"Are you still journaling?"
"Yes, a few times a week. I attended that cowboy church support group."
"That's wonderful, Ryder. How did you find it?" Dr. Brown inquired while jotting down another note.
"It wasn't as difficult as I expected. Many people there are also dealing with loss like me."
"Indeed, Ryder. Being among others who are going through similar struggles, and learning about their coping mechanisms, is very beneficial for your healing process. Everyone has a unique way of dealing with loss; sharing experiences can shine a light on your journey, making you realize that better days lie ahead."
"I'm starting to understand that." Ryder placed his foot on the ground and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Something happened just before I came here today."
"What was it?"
"For the first time since my father's passing, I smiled at a memory of him."
"Would you like to share that memory with me?"
"I took out his guitar for the first time since he died. After tuning it, I started playing and remembered the day he began teaching my brother and me how to play." Ryder's face lit up at the recollection. "And I smiled."