Chapter 18 Forrest
18 FORREST
Forrest? Are you there? Please come in.”
The shrill blip of the walkie-talkie in the vestibule may as well be a signal from outer space. I ignore it. Continue trailing water from my fingers over Margot’s lips, her graceful neck, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she recovers her breath.
“Forrest? Hello? Really need to talk. Come in, Forrest.”
Margot’s eyes flutter open. “Was that… Am I hearing things?”
I don’t know. Processing extraneous sound isn’t one of my abilities right now.
“FORREST, I CAN SEE THE LIGHT ON IN THE SAUNA, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. COME IN.”
At Jo’s commanding voice, I jolt with the spine-buzzing alarm of a middle schooler caught making out with his girlfriend in the basement. I take in the mess of towels and the tangle of our limbs on the floor. Margot sits up, too, her eyes snapping to mine. “That definitely wasn’t in my head,” she says.
Biting back a curse, I gently separate myself from her. “Wait here,” I say, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. I stand and go to the door, leaving quickly so Margot won’t be blasted by the chilly air in the vestibule. And by chilly, I mean cryogenic. I repress a yelp and cup myself as my balls try to migrate permanently into my stomach. Shit, it’s cold out here . I do an awkward half-jog to the walkie, goose bumps contracting all across my body. Goddammit . There’s no reason for Jo to need me at—what time is it, even? Grumbling and shivering, I pick up the walkie and press the button. “I’m here, Jo.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Jo’s voice crackles through. “What the hell are you doing in there? I was beginning to think you’d given yourself heatstroke!”
“Uh, no,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Sorry. What’s up?”
“No time to explain. Just get over to your dad’s room, quick.”
At the urgency in her voice, a hundred worst-case scenarios fan out in my mind like the world’s most terrifying deck of cards. All irritation disappears as guilt swallows me whole. I moved to Alaska to be on call for my dad, but instead of being at the ready, I’m stark naked in a sauna, losing my goddamn mind over the very woman I swore not to get involved with. How long has Jo been trying to reach me? Has my dad been hurting and needing my help? And what can I even do if he is? Ever since moving back, I’ve been dreading this moment, knowing that despite all my medical experience, there may be little I can do in this remote location beyond basic care. Panic sluices through me, extinguishing all thoughts of further pleasure. I’ll have to explain the situation to Margot and hope she’s willing to wait in my cabin until I’ve sorted everything out. With some semblance of a plan forming, I let out a short exhale.
“I’m on my way.”
Naturally, Margot refuses to stay behind.
“But did Jo say anything was wrong?” she asks as we hastily climb the steps to the lodge, both sweaty beneath all our winter gear.
“She didn’t need to,” I say tersely, holding out the door for her.
“Because you’re telepathic?”
“Because she wouldn’t radio me at one in the morning if there wasn’t an emergency.”
“You don’t know that,” Margot argues, but I can tell from the anxious pitch of her voice that she’s as scared as I am. Despite the stress of the moment, her genuine concern for my family feels like a fist squeezing my heart. I try my best to focus as we jog through the dark first floor of the lodge to the staircase, climbing the wide steps side by side until Margot stops abruptly.
I turn to look at her. “What is it?”
“I just—” She glances up at me. “They’re going to know we were together, Forrest.”
This has occurred to me as well, and while I’m fully aware that my dad might pull a sheaf of wedding brochures right out from under his orthopedic butt cushion when he sees us together at this hour, merciless matchmaking is the least of my concerns at the moment. As long as my dad’s okay enough to tease me, I’ll take it.
“They’ll consider it an early Christmas gift. Come on,” I say, reflexively holding my hand out to her.
At Margot’s hesitation, I immediately worry I’ve crossed some invisible line that’s been drawn at hand-holding. Which, after the things I did to her in the sauna, should feel ridiculous but somehow doesn’t. It’s an intimacy I’m intentionally unfamiliar with. But then her hand is in mine, and I exhale as she slots her slender fingers between my much larger ones. Her chest rises and falls, and I know we’re feeling the same thing—that facing this won’t be so bad if we’re together. She looks up from our intertwined hands to give me a brave smile. “Let’s go.”
When I knock on my father’s door, I half-expect her to let go of me, but her thumb strokes mine, and my heart does an embarrassing sort of pirouette. Before I can read too much into it, the door begins to open. I brace myself for whatever catastrophe awaits me, my mind running split-second dry runs of every lifesaving medical procedure I’ve ever learned. But Jo’s face appears, and she’s… smiling ?
“Finally!” she booms, her eyes going round when she sees I’m not alone. “And Margot too! Oh, this is just wonderful ! Come on in, you two, come on in.” Jo backs into the room, her long flannel nightgown swinging merrily as she holds the door for us. I look around, still expecting to have a coronary embolism at the sight of my father lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. Instead, he’s sitting up in bed, looking alert and comfortable.
“Jo radioed,” I say uncertainly as Scout gets up and pads over from his bed to greet us. “Everything okay, Dad?”
He looks pointedly at Margot’s and my interlocked hands. “Never better,” he says, laughing. “Took you long enough, son.”
Heat creeps into my face, but I don’t loosen my hold on Margot’s hand. “It’s late. Is there a reason you called?” I ask, irritation quickly replacing fear now that it’s clear he’s okay.
At my tone, Jo comes to sit beside my dad, sliding her fingers into his unresponsive left hand. “Show them, Trap,” she urges gently.
My eyes zero in on Dad’s hand, and I grip Margot’s tighter. I’m convinced I’m imagining it when his middle finger twitches, then shakily curls over the back of Jo’s hand. His other fingers follow until he’s holding her hand in a weak but determined clasp.
“Oh my God, Trapper!” Margot exclaims. She gives my hand a final squeeze before slipping hers out of my grasp and hurrying over to my dad and Jo. She drops down to cover both their hands with hers, radiating happiness for my family, and a band that’s been around my chest snaps. In a single moment, all my fear over her intentionally hurting the lodge with a bad review vanishes. How did I ever think she was remotely like Charlotte? Beneath all her protective layers, she cares. She’s all the warmth and light I’ve needed in this cold, dark place, though I can hardly bear to witness it. I’m rooted to the spot while a nameless disappointment stretches bitter branches through me.
The feeling doesn’t obey logic. I know this is a major milestone for my father. One that we’ve worked countless grueling hours for in our daily PT sessions. I should be thrilled. Over the fucking moon. But knowing how I should feel doesn’t stop the only thought pulsing through me: it’s not enough . Not enough to give me hope that he’ll ever walk again, and not enough to give me hope that I’ll ever be able to leave his side. The guilt for even thinking of leaving while the one parent I still have is suffering is unbearable. But the truth is, since Margot showed up, I’ve been hoping for a miracle. A way out. But this victory—the smallness of it—feels like a chain binding me tighter to the future I’ve committed to. A future that doesn’t include California, my lab, my research funding, and most importantly, Margot. I wouldn’t have admitted it yesterday—or hell, a few hours ago—but after she let me hold all her trust in my hands tonight, there’s no denying the way I want her goes far beyond “happy for right now,” even if that’s all we’ll ever have.
“Think this calls for some wine,” Dad announces, interrupting my thoughts. “Jo? Will you grab a bottle?”
“I’ll get it,” Margot volunteers with a smile that lights up the whole room. My chest contracts so hard, I wonder if I should use my dad’s blood pressure cuff on myself. After the door closes behind her, the silence lasts approximately point-three seconds before my dad and Jo start talking, completely oblivious to what’s playing out inside me.
“What’d I tell you!” Dad snaps his good fingers and points at me. “He’s always had a thing for blondes.”
“Quick, before she comes back,” Jo says, flapping an impatient hand at me as Scout (clearly done with the late-night human drama) heads back to his bed. “Tell us how it happened! Is it serious? Of course it’s serious. But how will you make it work after she leaves? Would she ever consider staying for good?” Jo gasps and covers her mouth with her hands. “Oh, Lord, what if I scared her off? The way I was yapping at you while you were intimate ,” she stage-whispers with air quotes, in case I somehow missed her meaning.
Christ . “You two really need a new hobby.”
“Of course she’s not staying here, Josephine,” my dad cuts in, ignoring me. “Margot’s got a whole life back in Los Angeles. What would Savannah do without her?”
At my father’s perfectly sensible words, the disappointment ballooning through me abruptly doubles in size. I know she’s going to leave. It’s not exactly news, but hearing it spoken so plainly after the night we’ve had together feels like a kick to the chest.
My misery must be written all over my face because my father says, “There’s no need to look so glum.” I lift my eyes from my boots to see him smiling softly. “The answer’s easy. It’s time for you to go back to California.”
The room is silent until a husk of a laugh escapes me. “Go back? You know that’s not happening, Dad.”
“And why not?” Jo interjects with a sudden brightness in her dark eyes. “Your father held my hand tonight, Forrest. All your hard work is obviously paying off. He’s had a breakthrough!”
I resist shaking my head, not wanting to minimize his accomplishment. “It’s an incredible milestone to reach,” I agree, silently dusting off my old bedside-manner training. “But we also know this is a two-steps-forward-one-step-back situation. It’s very likely you’ll experience some backsliding, Dad, and you still have a long road of PT ahead of you. We’re also not out of the woods for a post-traumatic neurological event. We’ve been lucky so far, but if—”
My dad holds up a hand, shaking his head. “Don’t even try it, Forrest. You and I both know if I had a stroke, there’d be nothing you could do for me here but make a fuss.”
Hurt and indignation swell inside me right alongside the paralyzing uselessness I feel at his words. He’s right, of course, but there’s zero part of me that wants to admit it, even to myself. “Make a fuss?” I repeat, while Joe looks nervously between us. “That’s what you think I’m doing here?”
My dad makes an impatient sound. “No. What I think you’re doing here is letting a misplaced sense of guilt and responsibility dictate your life.” He pauses and his gaze on me softens. “What happened back then wasn’t your fault, or your responsibility, and neither is this.”
At my dad’s oblique reference to my mother, my heart seizes up. Up until now, he’s gone along with me, letting me use my medical knowledge as a mask for the real reason I’m here. But it’s gone now, and all I can say is the simple truth. “I need to be here.” I look at him beseechingly. “I… I’m happy to be here.”
My father purses his lips, staring at me. “But you can’t stay here forever, Forrest. Your whole life’s in California.”
I shake my head, unable to bring myself to say what I think we’ve both known for some time: that with every passing day of almost nonexistent gains, the independence we’d hoped to reestablish for him has become less and less likely—right along with my willingness to return to my old life. I’m only thankful I never told him about the grant I was awarded. He doesn’t need another reason to feel like he’s holding me back.
Dad looks down at his hand, still awkwardly wrapped around Jo’s, and I see a tear slip quickly into his mustache. It’s the moment when I realize he’s been holding out for a miracle too.
“Your mother never would’ve agreed to this,” he says, his voice thick. “Never.”
Regret nearly suffocates me, quickly followed by irrational anger. I want to tell him Mom doesn’t get a say because she’s dead. And instead of spending the last year of her life by her side like I should have, I was thousands of miles away while her cancer spread.
“Losing Mom is exactly why I’m here,” I say too sharply. “I’m not making the wrong choice again.”
Dad’s mustache bristles as his mouth hardens into a thin line.
“But what about Margot?” Jo says, interrupting whatever argument my dad was about to unleash.
I take a breath. “She’s going back to her sister in three weeks.” I make my voice as neutral as I can. “And I’m staying here. Margot understands why.” I pause. “She understands better than anyone.”
At this, all three of us go silent, sifting for any sliver of hope, when the door eases open behind me. I turn, and there she is, holding a bottle of champagne and smiling like the goddamn sun. Her eyes lock with mine, burning me from the inside out, but I can’t look away. Despite all logic, I look at her and feel the shape of my future, the same way I know the warm taste of her skin without touching her.
“Forrest?” she says hesitantly, her smile falling slightly.
Before I can think better of it, the words “Come here, sweetheart” escape me in a low voice.
Because the future is a slippery thing. And even when your plans are cast in stone, and every piece of data points to one bleak conclusion, reckless hope is the last ember to fade into darkness.