Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
florence
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER
Arms folded, Dex’s frame swallows the plastic chair sitting across from the doctor. Partly hidden by his Moore Lumber cap, his expression is indecipherable. A granite statue, his knuckles are white and he’s unnervingly silent.
It hurts my soul knowing he attended these appointments alone until today.
I reach over, taking his hand and bringing it to my lips. His gaze meets mine. “We brave the storm. Together.”
He inhales and nods.
Dex pulls his hat off when the doctor enters, bending the bill nervously as he stands to greet the middle-aged woman.
“Dexter. I see you finally made the appointment,” she greets, passive but friendly. Her gaze cuts to me. “Who do we have here?”
I stand, offering my hand. “Florence. Nice to meet you.”
“My girlfriend,” Dex adds, his tone upbeat for the first time all morning.
Oh, there go the butterflies.
“Good. It’s important to have support.”
Once we’re seated, a white desk separating us, she steeples her fingers under her chin. Dex’s hand fumbles with mine. I squeeze hard.
“There’s been no change or evidence that your recent attack left any permanent damage to the auditory nerve. Fluctuation is normal. You experienced that with your left ear, but this is low frequency hearing loss, not sensorineural.”
Relief drips over his muscles, coiled tight under his white T-shirt.
Doctor Accetta checks the patient file on her desk. “It appears you’re fulfilling your prescription regularly now. What’s changed?”
I like Doctor Accetta. No nonsense, straight to the point—exactly the type of physician this stubborn man requires.
Dex isn’t subtle when he turns my way. “New priorities.”
“Well, keep it up.” The doctor levels him with a look. “Any thoughts about additional treatment?”
Rolling his shoulders, he hesitates.
“You’ve been my patient for over ten years, and I see plenty of men in trades experience a range of hearing loss. Do you know what most have in common?” the doctor asks.
He doesn’t answer. His grip is almost painful.
“Lack of acceptance. If they ignore the problem, it’s easier to pretend it doesn’t exist. There’s no cure for Ménière’s, but it’s treatable.
You know this. Your symptoms will be more manageable if you set time aside and prioritize your health.
” Her gaze flits to me. “I’m guessing there’s a reason Florence is here today? ”
He straightens in his seat. “She was the kick up the ass I needed to come in today. I’m ready to take this seriously.”
She dips her chin, satisfied. “Good. It’s about time. Now, let’s discuss next steps.”
I listen closely, taking notes, which gets Doctor Accetta’s nod of approval. Two hearing aids versus one. Steroid injections. Surgery. No decisions are made today, but it’s a step, an enormous one. He schedules another appointment for two weeks’ time, when he hopes to have weighed all the options.
Back in his truck, there’s a shift in him. More relaxed. Assured.
“That went well,” I say while buckling my seatbelt. “Doctor Accetta is…”
He pushes the key into the ignition, chuckling. “She’s a ball buster and should’ve kicked me to the curb years ago.”
“I’m glad she didn’t. You need some tough love.”
The roar of the engine drowns out his grunt, and we make our way back to town. Instead of taking the back roads toward the cabin, we head in the direction of my mom’s neighborhood.
“Pat giving you a ride later?”
“Yeah. I said I’d watch Lottie while he and Jo are out.”
Patrick and Jo have an appointment with their OBGYN, and after I’ve packed the rest of my belongings up, I promised my niece a tea party.
I haven’t stepped foot in the A-frame since he showed me the location of our future home.
My brain has been a lot kinder recently, and next month, I’m meeting with a new psychiatrist.
We pull up outside my childhood home, and I crawl across the bench to smack a kiss to Dex’s lips. He deepens it, giving the neighbors quite the show until I pull away breathlessly.
“Down, boy.” I poke him in the chest. “Oh, don’t forget to clean out Duck Norris’s water. And the boys need to take their deworming tablets.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. I love you.”
He strokes a finger over my tattoo. “You’re beautiful. I love you. Now, get out of here.”
I jump out, wave at him until the truck disappears around the corner, and go inside.
“Hey, Mom,” I shout and kick off my sneakers.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m back here.”
I follow the sound of her voice and find her reclined in her chair. She closes her book and smiles when I enter the den. My dad’s matching chair remains untouched.
“Is that one of my books?” I ask and sit on the sofa opposite her. “You know there’s…”
“Sex?” She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m familiar with the act, Florence. I have four children.”
I shiver. “Respectfully, please stop.”
She laughs. “Are you taking your books with you?”
“A few.” I pat my emotional support Kindle in my tote bag. “They’re mostly trophies, so have at them.”
“Oh, I will.” She fans herself with the pages. “These cowboys are something.”
Note to self: don’t join a book club with my mother.
“Moving on… Do you know where Daddy’s old Polaroid camera is? I was hoping to take it camping next week. Document the trip and make a scrapbook out of it.”
“That’s a lovely idea.” Her expression turns reminiscent. “I’m so happy for you, Florence. And Dexter. It was a surprise, but a wonderful one. So many years ahead to make beautiful memories.”
My tummy flutters. “I’m excited about what’s next.”
She leans forward, setting her book aside. “And what is next? Apart from the cabin? What’s left to do on the List of Florence?”
Laughing, I fuss with the cushion before I freeze.
I blink at her.
“Or have you finished it?” she asks softly.
“H-how do you know about the list?”
“Your father, of course. He came to bed the evening you wrote it, muttering and complaining about his baby girl getting a tattoo.” Sadness lines her smile.
“Once he calmed down, he told me about all the other items. He was reluctant to let you date, let alone fall in love, but I assured him if you found a love like ours, you’d be safe and cherished.
That’s exactly how he made me feel every day, for thirty-three years. ”
I swallow. “I completed the list.”
“Good. I wondered when Booth was going to give it to you.”
I’m having an out-of-body experience.
“You know about the letters?” My voice cracks at the edges.
She tilts her head. “Who do you think left them in the closet for Patrick to find?”
As if she hasn’t just delivered a shocking revelation, my mom ambles out of the room. A few minutes later, she returns with my dad’s old camera.
And an envelope.
I hold my breath, scared to move in case this is a cruel dream and a single movement will drag me to consciousness. The smooth white paper rests in my clammy hands, confirming this is real, and I release a shaky exhale.
“Mom,” I croak. “W-what is this?”
Peering down at me with nothing but adoration, she strokes a hand over my head. “You know what it is, sweetheart. I was under strict instructions on when to give you this.”
“When I finish the list?”
“No, Florence.” She taps two fingers to my heart. “When you stopped trying to prove yourself to the world and accepted who you are.”
Tears well in my eyes as she steps away, blowing me a kiss. “I’ll leave you alone with your dad. Give him my love.”
The featherlight envelope is like lead in my open palms. Bitter-sweet emotion swirls in my veins.
I hesitate to break the seal, as if doing so is the end of a chapter.
And maybe it is. Months have passed since Booth delivered the list, and a lifetime of changes have occurred since then. What hasn’t changed is me.
I’m messy. Easily distracted. Emotional. Short-tempered. And loved.
Not in spite of those traits, but because of them.
Paper tears. Handwriting belonging to the man who taught me how to ride a bike, tie my shoelaces, and bandaged my grazed knees fills my vision.
Hello Buttercup,
Last to join the motley crew. The final branch to our tree. The reasons for all my gray hairs.
Ironically, yours is the first letter I’m writing. Don’t ask what came over your sentimental old man. I’m sure your mother has the answer. She always does.
I’d planned to share words of wisdom and direct you on the journey that is life, but when have you ever listened to anyone?
I suppose my advice is to spread those wings, make mistakes, learn from them, and make them again. I’ll always be here to catch you if you fall, but if I’m not, there’s an army at the ready to fill my spot.
Don’t aim to please. Aim to be happy. Write your lists because achieving them will bring you happiness, not to prove your worth or success. Change them. Throw them away. There’s no set path in life, Florence. You create the road you walk along.
In my old age, there’s only one thing left on my list. I don’t plan on checking it off, because it’s not something I’ll ever stop doing.
1) Love my wife and children
The world is your lobster, as you once said. I can’t wait to see you conquer it.
Be loud. Be proud. Be you.
With all my love,
Dad
Sobs wrack my body. The ache in my chest is sharp. Arms catch me.
A mother’s embrace.
She holds me until the shaking stops and the pain ebbs.
“I thought he forgot about me,” I wheeze.
“Oh, Florence.” My mom squeezes tighter. “He’d never forget you.”
It’s here, with the summer coming to an end, that I finally find my way.
Not because of a list. Not because of Dex. Not even because of a letter from my father.
Because I stopped fighting myself.