Chapter Eighteen
Aiden
There is something bittersweet about knowing I’m going to finally get my dad’s stuff. I’m excited but more than that I wish he was here.
Lyndsey is with me now while the bank manager takes us to the lockbox room.
Before we got this far, there were a bunch of forms that needed signing, and they took a copy of our marriage certificate as proof of meeting the requirements of the will.
I know what is going to be in the box in general.
There will be a few medals, but my main motive is wanting to see what stuff my dad had with him when he was overseas.
I have wondered for years what were the things he kept, we sent hundreds of letters and pictures over the years and I know there is no way he could have kept every drawing, I have no idea which stuff was precious to him.
After pulling out the large box, the bank manager leaves us to it.
My hands shake as I bring the key to the lock but I’m trembling so badly that it slips from between my clammy fingertips.
“Can you?” My question is open-ended but Lyndsey knows what I need. A lot of the time she knows before I do.
She slides in front of me and unlocks the box with ease, but she keeps it closed. Turning to face me, standing between me and the box I have obsessed over for so long, Lyndsey cradles my jaw with her hands, looking me right in the eye.
“Whatever is in there is yours, Aiden. You deserve these things but if you want to leave right now, we can turn around and try again tomorrow.” God, I really care about what she thinks about me.
It’s a stark realisation, I’m quickly going from reluctant husband to really enjoying having her support, even if that makes me selfish.
“I can do this.” I want to drop my head and kiss her but I don’t, she wouldn’t be receptive anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised if she slapped me.
“Not going anywhere.” I never plan on letting her go.
Then I open the box.
Just like I thought, his medals are on the top and as much as I’m happy to finally have them it is the rest of the stuff I’m here for.
There are letters tucked neatly back in their envelopes but I can tell from the worn edges that they have been read over and over.
I recognise my own handwriting on some of the letters as well as the girls’.
Under those, though, is a different one, a letter written in my mom’s loopy handwriting.
I remember her writing every Friday, she would talk about what happened each week, from family news to stupid small-town gossip that he probably didn’t care about but she told him anyway.
When I asked her why, she said she wanted him to feel some normalcy, she didn’t want to lament about how much she missed him, said that much was a given, she wanted him to know what he had waiting for him when he came back home.
I pull her letter out first, stroking over her black penmanship and basking in the memories of her.
When I see the date written in small writing on the back, I’m shocked to see this must be the last letter she sent to him before Cece was born, before he finally came home.
I find myself not wanting to leave Lyndsey out of this and I start to read it aloud.
Hi my love,
I’m going to get all the news out of the way because I want time to complain.
1. Aiden got a concussion yesterday, I love how much passion he has for hockey but the mom in me wanted to ban the whole sport. Then I heard you in my head reminding me that risk is a constant, if he is going to be at risk at least he is doing something he loves.
2. Alice is a dream, I never asked her to and yet each night after I have tucked everybody into bed, I hear her sneaking into Eden’s bedroom to read her a story. I don’t know who loves it more but our daughters are something special.
3. Eden is finally having no bed-wetting accidents. If you asked Alice she would take responsibility but to me it’s just telling me they are all grown. Scary stuff.
Before you beat yourself up for missing it, know it is worth it when you come home.
When you get to hold them again they will tell you all of this stuff themselves and you will be just as proud.
You might miss it in the moment but they get to see your face when they tell you all of their stories and it brings them so much joy.
Eden has even started journaling so she remembers all the things she wants to tell you.
Now, my love, I’m going to complain. If you get me pregnant one more time I’ll kill you.
My poor ribs never get a break from this little monster, her foot is basically wedged in there all of the time.
She is so strong that the others like to sit and watch her move around like a little alien.
An alien I’ll love when she comes out but right now I get to be mad.
Outside of the Anders home there isn’t much happening, I wish I had more gossip but I have been staying in more than usual. I’m so ready to pop that I get scared I’m going to go into labour in public, I would never live down the embarrassment. I hope you are hanging in there.
We miss you and love you and when you do get home, I might have forgotten how much pregnancy sucks so bring this letter home with you to remind me. It is your duty as my husband.
All my love
Your Darlin’.
I don’t realise I’m crying until Lyndsey swipes her thumb under my eyes.
I pull her to me. Tighter than I should.
I had forgotten my dad called Mom darlin’.
It just felt so right when I met Lyndsey that she was my darlin’ and finding this letter, this reminder, makes me feel like my parents approve.
The paper falls to the table next to the box as we stand together in each other’s arms.
“They really loved each other, didn’t they?” Her voice is a quiet mumble against my chest and I finally let her go, pulling myself together.
“I’ve never seen anything like it, they were two halves of the same soul, I swear.” I shake my head lightly, putting everything back into the box, lingering on each piece of memory. “Dad, he called Mom his darlin’. I’d forgotten.” I don’t know if it makes me sad or happy.
I’m sad that I have started to forget things about them already.
And yet I’m happy to have a connection from my parents to Lyndsey.
The fact Dad kept this letter with him breaks my heart.
Every time he read it, it must have come with the instant reminder of what he was missing.
What made him want to come home and reclaim what was always his – in the same way I have come to reclaim these things.
Silence isn’t always a bad thing. Sometime silence can be how people connect, this is not that silence.
Lyndsey has been quiet, too quiet. Not that I’m any better.
I’m not sure if it’s her anxiety or something else keeping her lips locked but for me I just don’t know what words would be worth breaking the silence for.
I love my pops. He has been the man in my life for so long.
Even before my dad died he was away a lot when I was a kid, Pops stepped up to teach me how to shave and to open a car door for my woman while my dad was deployed.
As I grew the lessons changed. Instead of making me into my best self he wanted me to be my dad, he wanted his son back and I was as close as he was going to get, but that isn’t me.
My dad was brave beyond measure and I don’t think you could pay me enough money to join the army, I’m just not built for that life.
I’m good in a team. I’m a good leader. I have a strong mental capacity.
All things the military look for. But there is something I lack, the willingness to leave the people I love behind.
“My dad would hate this.” I break the silence, my hands gripping the steering wheel until it creaks.
“Hate what?” she asks, uncapping a bottle of water and taking a sip as I find the right words.
“That I’m lying to make Pops happy.” I sigh. “He would rip me a new one if he found out.”
“Was he a hard-ass?” she asks, I realise that she is doing so much for me and she barely knows the man she is helping. I don’t talk about my parents a lot, it hurts too much. Now seems like a good a time as any to reminisce.
“Yes and no. He had strong morals but as soon as we looked at him with puppy-dog eyes, he would give us anything.” I think that’s why I’m always so sure things will work out for me, my dad instilled the idea that as long as I wanted something bad enough, I could get it.
“I think if this makes your grandfather happy then it would be worth whatever your parents would say, it’s a small evil for a big reward,” she reasons, and I try to release the tension in my shoulders. I just need to believe that as much as she does.
Pops has been in Sunnyvale Care Home for three years, since his most recent stroke.
Not because the girls didn’t want to look after him but because he didn’t want them to.
Always so stubborn he wouldn’t hear them when they told him they would just be paying him back for looking after them.
No, he said that they should be living their lives not holding his hand at the end of his.
It was a noble decision and I understand why he did it but there was a big change in him when we moved his belongings into his room.
He became so sure he was going to die any day.
Three years later and I think he has some life in him yet – well, I did last time I saw him.
If Alice is right, there might be less time than I want to believe.
I just can’t imagine it: Pops dying. It feels blasphemous to even think about.
This man is the face of strength for me, he is invincible.
Alice has told me he is coming to the end and even though I know it isn’t something she would lie about I don’t want to believe it.
I want to believe it was just a ploy to get me home and if it was Cece who told me I might still think that. But not Alice.