17. Caleb
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Caleb
Father’s Day has started to lose its meaning for me in recent years. Growing up, it was always celebrated with a nice family brunch at home, followed by a family activity that we would all participate in.
Now, I’m lucky if I see my father at all.
I always send him a text in the morning to see what his plans are for that day and ask if he wants to meet up.
I still feel the need to make an effort, even if it’s not always met with the same.
It’s his day, after all, and he should be able to spend it how he wants.
Usually, I can take him out for morning coffee and make small talk for the first few minutes before it just turns into work talk.
This year, he’s golfing with some of his high school friends off-island.
They left this morning to play all eighteen holes on the new course in Falmouth, so this morning’s coffee run was a solo one.
Nothing like seeing dozens of families out spending time together to sour the mood knowing your father isn’t the same as he was when you were growing up.
I pull into the driveway a bit too hastily, but my mood lifts instantly when I see Berry waiting on the porch to greet me. She jumps up, tail wagging, and runs down the steps toward me. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t put a smile on my face.
The thought of just sitting around the house for the rest of the day is bumming me out.
Linny is working all day, Parker is out of town for a weekend conference, and I don’t know where I stand with Marnie.
We only spoke a few times outside of me sending her the blueprints for the showroom almost three weeks ago.
I tried to stop by her office several times, but she was never there.
Josie said she was out meeting vendors and clients who were offering artifacts to display in the exhibit, and though it is killing me to not talk to her, I’m doing my best to give her some space to figure herself out.
I need an outing with Berry to take my mind off everything.
An idea comes to me that will give both Berry and me some enrichment. Physically for her, emotionally for me.
I walk around the house to the back gate, unlatch the handle, and head over to the greenhouse, Berry in tow.
If Berry is my pride and joy, my boat comes in second, and the greenhouse ranks third.
A few years ago, I was overseeing the construction of a new summer home, and the client wanted a custom greenhouse, which we were able to order pieces for and put together ourselves.
Unfortunately, the company got the dimensions wrong, and it didn’t fit in the designated space in the yard once it was fully constructed. The landscape designer had the yard outfitted to the centimeter, and there was no room for adjustments.
We eventually got the correct dimensions delivered and it fit perfectly in the designer’s plans.
Luckily for me, the client didn’t care what happened to the other one since they just wanted the custom one that they paid for, so as long as I disposed of it, they were happy.
And so was I, because I disposed of it right into my backyard.
All I needed was a flatbed moving truck and a miniature crane, courtesy of Hansen & Hansen Construction.
This greenhouse is twenty feet long and fourteen feet wide with a triangle roof, wooden beams, and translucent polycarbonate panels.
The interior has a wooden ledge surrounding the entire border that serves as both a workspace and shallow flower bed, two dozen hanging pots supported by additional beams, and a vertical growing tower to maximize space.
After the greenhouse relocated to my backyard, I swapped out the brick flooring for gravel to allow for better drainage once I rigged the sprinkler timers.
I’ve tried my hand at growing all sorts of flowers over the years, and I’ve successfully maintained an assortment of nearly thirty plants, flowers, and trees enough to pursue a small side business.
I’m slowly becoming a household name on the island all on my own, not because of my father’s business.
After a stressful day at work or an exhausting day of manual labor, I seek solace here.
I scan the array of flowers until my eyes land on the light pink peonies. Perfect.
I grab my clippers and cut a single symmetrical flower and examine it for imperfections. She’ll love this one.
Out of the corner of my eye, Berry is completing her daily perimeter walk of the fence, and I whistle her over to me. I cut a second smaller flower and tuck it into her collar just below the buckle so it won’t fall off.
Locking the greenhouse door and latching the fence behind me, I load Berry into the front seat of my truck, pink peony in hand, and set off down the dirt road.
The twenty-minute drive to the coast is peaceful. There’s not a ton of people on the roads today, so hopefully it won’t be too crowded.
Exiting the car, the familiar lighthouse stands tall in the distance. Berry jumps out of the driver-side door after me, and I clip her leather leash to the ring on her collar. I let her take the lead down the sandy path, watching her sniff the shells and rocks sprinkled throughout.
She greets a few strangers along the way, and when we reach our destination, she eagerly climbs up the small stone staircase and heads to our usual spot on the far side of the lighthouse.
I twist the thick stem between my fingers a few times before gently placing the flower on the stones, sitting down next to it.
My back leans against the base of the lighthouse and Berry curls up next to me, both of us facing the ocean.
I focus on the waves slowly rolling into shore for a few minutes.
“Hi, Mom,” I whisper, feeling tears forming. I’ve been here hundreds of times over the years for this same purpose, but it doesn’t get any easier.
Whenever I am feeling down, lost, or just need someone to talk to, I find myself here.
“I’m sorry it’s been a while.”
I fill her in on the last few weeks, just like I always do. I know she’d want to know what I am up to, and even though she’s always with me in spirit, I like to tell her anyways because it also helps me reflect on everything.
She wouldn’t be happy about where things are with my father, that much I know.
I could probably try harder, but it’s also a two-way street.
The effort needs to be reciprocated. If he’s not willing to try, then why should I?
It took a long time for those wounds to scab over, and I have no interest in reopening them anytime soon.
Maybe we will get there one day, but I have no idea how to tackle that on my own.
Another beat of silence. I debate on whether to say anything, but she might enjoy the direction this conversation goes.
I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “I met someone. You’d like her,” I smile to myself. She really would.
“She’s smart, independent, headstrong.” I run a shaky hand through my hair, chuckling quietly at my next words. “A bit stubborn, but she knows exactly what she wants in life and will do anything to make it happen for herself.”
I describe our first meeting at Wicked Brews, working together at the historical society, all the way through game night.
My mind drifts to memories of Marnie and that last interaction in her office. Something happened after she left Linny’s house before she arrived late to our meeting the next morning. I know she assured me that she is okay, but something is different.
I’ve been thinking about that interaction every day since it happened.
She’s not avoiding me, but she’s not seeking me out, either.
I lean my head back into the stone, trying hard to listen for the pearls of wisdom my mom would bestow upon me if she were still here. I’ve tried so hard to give Marnie space, but the waiting is eating me alive. I decide to extend an olive branch.
Me
I’m going bridge jumping with Linny and Parker on Friday.
Offer still stands for you to join.
A few minutes later, her reply appears, and it’s not at all what I was expecting, especially when she sounded so firm on us not seeing each other outside of work.
Arnie
I’ll be there.