Chapter 27
Connor
I can’t believe I’m here. Alaska is even more gorgeous than I had imagined.
The trees in the backyard are old and huge.
The mountains are immense and imposing. The sea is vast and endless.
I’m completely at peace watching the low late-evening sun glisten across the water from where we’re sitting on the deck overlooking the harbor below us.
Gavin leans over his chair towards me and kisses my cheek. “You look good in the Alaskan sun.”
I can’t help myself from humming in contentment at his side while we wait for dinner to be ready.
All day he’s been slowly smoking the salmon we caught yesterday, and I’ve thrown together a salad from some of the vegetables we picked up at the farmers’ market this morning.
Going there is one of my favorite experiences.
This Alaskan life is interesting with the way a lot of it still works on trade.
We had caught an abundance of spawning salmon out of a nearby river that Gavin and Garrett cleaned and prepared.
They split it up into three piles. One for us, one for Garrett, and one to exchange with the vendors in town for fruits and vegetables.
It’s some of the best produce I’ve ever eaten.
It’s no wonder Gavin grew up to be as big as he is if this is how he’s eaten his whole life.
Coming up the driveway, I hear the low rumbling of an engine.
Gavin’s dad said he’d come by to have dinner with us again this evening.
Garrett has spent almost every night with us for dinner.
We keep asking him to stay at the house, but he insists on going back to his place instead.
We’ve been spending a lot of time there as well.
Now that Garrett is running his own boat, named the Marshal Rule—because Gavin and Garrett think it’s hilarious—he’s had more time to focus on his home, and we’ve been helping him fix it up.
He didn’t even put up too much of a fight when Gavin insisted he get a new couch.
Somehow, it was in worse shape than Gavin’s. I didn’t think that was possible.
Granted, fixing up his place is a slow process; we’ll likely be doing it for years. Which is fine by me as I love it here. I understand why Gavin, even though he fled it at sixteen, has always been called back to it as an adult.
Being here now I also understand why he left.
And why his dad was so hell bent on getting him an opportunity to play hockey by sending him to that junior camp years ago.
Watching them together, I know it must have been hard for them to live apart, but it was for the best. Sure, there are other opportunities in Alaska besides being a fisherman, but they aren’t often extended to people like Gavin and Garrett.
The world sees men like them as cannon fodder for the machine.
Men who society has cast off as expendable.
Sometimes I’m overwhelmed with the gratitude I feel that Garrett has lived as long as he has.
Not a lot of commercial fishermen make it into their fifties.
Still, though, I’ve learned through observation that running your own fishing boat is a lot of work.
Gavin will need to be involved via telephone and email once we return to Buffalo.
But for Gavin, knowing his father is no longer out at sea for weeks at a time is a big relief, and worth the extra workload. I feel it too.
And to make things easier, he’s also hired a lovely woman named Maria to help Garrett out in the office.
Garrett, of course, protested, but I think she has charmed him in more ways than one.
Which is also my suspicion as to why he’s finally letting Gavin do some upgrades to his home.
Like father, like son, I guess. They really are the same.
“Hey, Dad,” Gavin says as he reaches into the cooler and grabs a root beer for him.
“Put it back on ice,” he says. “There’s something I need to do before I get too comfortable.” He steps to my side and dangles a set of keys in front of me. “I believe I promised someone a driving lesson.”
I look up at him, then look over my shoulder. He didn’t drive his pickup truck here. Instead, he came here in his 1970 El Camino.
“You can’t be serious,” I say. I point at the car. “Even I, who knows nothing about cars, knows that’s a classic.”
“This is Alaska.” Garrett gestures around. “Cars like that are a dime a dozen around here.” He narrows his eyes at me. “But don’t tell the lower forty-eight. We don’t want them raiding our supply of reliable cars.”
“Reliable?” I question. Sure, I heard the purr of the engine as it made its way down the drive, but the car is older than Garrett.
Gavin grins at his father. “If it ran in the seventies it’ll run today.”
“That’s right.” His father points his finger and nods at him.
“I’m going to have to take your word on that,” I say. I may not own a car, but I do know my father’s cars have without fail ended up in the shop for some unforeseen problem or engine light that costs thousands to fix.
He jingles the keys in front of me again.
I hesitate before I grab them. “Are you sure you want to teach me how to drive in that?”
“Of course,” he says, then pats Gavin on the shoulder. “That’s the car I taught Gavin in. Should work for you too.”
I look at Gavin. “Really?”
He nods his head, smiles, then shrugs. “I got my first blow job in that car too.”
“Same,” his dad says, and they blindly slap each other a high five. He narrows his eyes back at me, then points back and forth between me and Gavin. “But don’t you two get any ideas.”
“Not a problem,” I say, rising from my seat. I look at Gavin. “Are you coming with us?”
“Nah,” he says. “There’s not a lot of space. It’s really only built for two. No need for us to cram ourselves on that bench seat.”
“Yeah,” Garrett says. “I don’t need a reminder of what it was like to sit on your old couch.”
Gavin levels him with a look. “Like yours was any better.”
“Hey,” Garrett says. “Leave my La-Z-Boy out of this.”
Gavin reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Have fun,” he says, then nods his head towards his dad. “He’s an excellent teacher. You’ll be alright with him.”
Of course I will be. He’s Gavin’s dad; there was never a doubt in my mind.
Gavin
Seeing Connor slowly steer the car up the driveway makes my heart happier than it already is.
It’s not that he’s driving that does it.
It’s that he’s getting to have an experience he should have had ages ago.
But now it’s even better than it would have been as he’s learning from my dad instead of his.
On paper, most people would assume it’s the other way around.
That Connor was the one of us born lucky.
The golden boy with a gold, not silver, spoon in his mouth.
Where my spoon was second-hand plasticware.
But who cares how I was fed? I was loved, and my dad did the best he could under, at times, terrible circumstances.
Now we get to share that with Connor. He deserves it.
He deserves the world. When they get back, I’m going to give him a little piece of it.
I’ve already placed it on the table in front of where he sits. It’s the deed to this house and property, amended to have both of our names on it. It doesn’t matter to me that we’ve only been together a few months. He’s it for me and I want to make sure he knows it.
I think my dad does too. He’s accepted Connor into our life with no hesitation. Showing him around and explaining the history of Alaska to him.
When I mentioned to him that I wanted to add Connor to the deed of this house, he smiled.
It’s not that my dad never wanted this place.
It’s more that he wanted me to keep it for me to share with someone.
Before Connor, I never thought that was a possibility.
It’s been Dad and me against the world for so long; it didn’t seem possible anyone would ever want to join our team.
Yet Connor jumped in headfirst and fit himself right in. We’re a family of three now—
four, if my dad can keep himself from getting too grumpy with Maria.
I think she’d make a good match for him.
She’s a tough Alaskan woman through and through.
Truthfully, that’s why I hired her. Well, that and she has a grandson who plays peewee hockey, so my dad will have an excuse to go to games again.
He needs it, especially now that he’s spending all his time on land.
Hockey has always been an excellent distraction.
One that this area desperately needs. Which is why Connor and I have been talking about funding and running a junior camp up here next summer.
With a little effort, we can attract some attention to these kids who know what it means to play with grit and toughness.
The kids who play hockey up here have what it takes to get knocked down and get back up for no reason but the drive to keep going. They deserve a fair shot.
By the time I hear the El Camino coming back down the driveway, I have dinner waiting on the table.
I’ve put some of the salmon aside for Bouchard when he comes to visit us next week.
He loves my smoked salmon and he’s more than earned a few pounds of it as a thank you for all of his help and support to us.
“Well, how’d you do?” I ask Connor as he comes through the door.
“He did good,” my dad answers for him. “He’s a natural.”
Connor kisses me on the lips, then pulls away with a wicked grin. “We need to get one of those for Buffalo.”
I tip my head and smile at him. If he wants one, I’ll happily buy him two. “There’s plenty of room in the back for us to toss our gear.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for one,” my dad says, and cracks open a root beer.
I kiss Connor one more time, then gesture for us to take our seats at the table.
“What’s this?” Connor asks, reaching for the envelope with his name on it. His cheeks are flushed from the sun, which has brought out a smattering of freckles across his nose. Each night, as we lie in bed, I want to kiss all of them.
“A little gift for you,” I say, taking a sip of my root beer.
Even though I’m confident in his response to what that envelope holds, my heart rate kicks up anyway.
I just want to make him happy. I want him to know I’m in this with him until the end of our days.
I want him to know that walking away from his father was the right decision, and that he’s strong for having done it.
I want him to know that I will always have his back, both on and off the ice.
I want him to know and remember that I love him now and forever and I’ll always choose him.
He opens it and his eyes go wide. He slowly lets out a breath.
“This is a big gift,” he says, then turns to look at me. His eyes are watery, and honestly, so are mine. If I looked, I’d bet my dad’s are too.
I reach around the table to ruffle his hair, letting the soft golden strands sift through my fingers. “The first of many,” I say, smiling at him. “Now let’s eat.”