Chapter 35
thirty-five
PATRICK
Jo waves at me through the window of her car as she pulls away from my house, the smile that’s been on my face all day not faltering. And it stays there well after her headlights disappear into the night.
We’ve fallen into a routine over the last two weeks, spending time at one another’s places and making up for lost time. Last night she came over after her shift and spent the night, though, we didn’t do much sleeping.
I’ll come to regret that decision later, but right now, I feel on top of the fucking world. Things between us aren’t good. They’re not great. They’re unbelievable.
As much as I love my daughter wholly, I crave the nights I get to be alone with Jo . Finding new ways to bring her pleasure and explore each other’s bodies. Cooking her dinner, driving out to the lighthouse to make out like horny teenagers, and lazing around completing puzzles together.
We can’t get enough of each other. On the days I don’t see her, I call her. If I can’t call her, I look at pictures of her that I’ve snapped on my phone. Anything for a glimpse of her, needing my hit of her even in the tiniest of quantities. That’s why we’ve probably only had two days in total where we haven’t seen each other. She seems just as addicted and helpless as I am.
If we’re not in the privacy of our own homes, we’re working our asses off at the restaurant.
As a last-ditch effort to bring in new customers, we offered a “flatlandah’s only” discount. Now that May is here, the discount was a great success, with tourists flocking in from all over the place. Right now, ignorance is bliss, because we haven’t really spoken about what happens if the outcome isn’t what we want to hear.
I haven’t heard her say those two words that I begged her to say after Lottie’s birthday party. I was a depraved man, like I would die if I didn’t hear her say them.
We also haven’t spoken about a date that creeps closer and is a hard day for all of us. Next Wednesday is the six-year anniversary of my dad’s passing. A day that comes around too quickly.
It’s also a reminder that it’s been almost six years since Jo left Sutton Bay .
I won’t break my promise to be patient with her, but it’s now more than ever that I need to know what happened. Why she left. Why she left me.
I want to talk to her about my dad, her mom, to share memories of our childhood together. But I still sense an air of restlessness around her when they’re mentioned, so I don’t push the topic. And as much as I want to, I don’t invite her to family dinner at my mom’s, something we’ve done every year on his anniversary—eating my dad’s favorite meals and watching his favorite films.
Shutting the front door, I turn, and silence greets me. My house always feels destitute when Lottie isn’t here singing or dancing her way around the place, like the little tornado she is. It feels even more barren when it’s void of her and Jo . Even the walls look sadder now, not having Jo’s laughter bouncing off them.
Bringing the heels of my hands to my eyes, I rub the building pressure away.
I walk into the kitchen to tidy up the dishes from dinner. Jo calls it dinner, but it was a charcuterie board made up of whatever she could scrounge from my pantry. I reach for the stack of Post -it notes by the fridge to write myself a reminder to always have cheese stocked for her.
When I glance down at the small stack of papers, writing on the top note has my hand freezing where it’s reaching for it.
You make me happy.
I read the words over and over. You make me happy. Simple words to most, but not to me. Not to us. Because those words are the exact four that I left on the pillow after our first night together.
Everything fell apart after that morning, and I convinced myself she never saw it or that I never actually wrote it.
Seeing them written in her neat handwriting, the ink still fresh, tells me she did.
I’ve always wanted to make her happy. As happy as she’s made me most of my life. Jo’s happiness is intrinsic to my own, and as I trace the cursive words, I wonder if she even knows how effortlessly she does it.
A buzzing sounds from the other side of the kitchen, my screen lighting up with an incoming call. Walking over to where it’s sitting, I see George’s name.
“ Hey , George ,” I greet. I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder and continue tidying the kitchen.
“ Hey , Pat , how are things?” he asks.
“ They’re good, busy as always, can’t complain though. Everything okay? ”
“ Yeah , yeah.” There’s a long pause before he clears his throat and speaks again. “ Listen , umm, I’ve been trying to get a hold of Jo , but she’s not answering her phone. Have you spoken to her today?”
Does he know she was here? Jo still hasn’t spoken about what went on between her dad and her, but to avoid his calls seems so unlike her.
“ Yeah , she was actually here tonight.” I’m not about to lie to him about where his daughter is, but also, we’re grown adults. “ She left about fifteen minutes ago.”
“ Oh . And she’s okay?”
“ She’s great. Tired like me, but good. Is there something going on, George ?”
“ I worry about her, is all. Doesn’t matter how old your little girl is, you’ll always worry.”
“ I know the feeling.” I sit down on one of the chairs at the dining table, abandoning the dishes.
“ I’ve worried about her over the years, more so than I should, but I can’t help it. She’s …she’s been through a lot.” I can hear the tiredness in his voice as he sighs through the phone. “ I didn’t know how to help or if I ever did. Her leaving was hard on us all, for you especially. I always thought it was the best thing for her, but now I worry that I pushed her away when maybe she needed me the most. Needed the people of this town the most.”
It takes a second for his words to sink in, and I question what I even heard. “ Why would you be the one to push her away?”
The silence that follows feels like it lasts eons, rather than minutes. “ I don’t— Patrick , Jo never left town willingly. I wish she had, but she fought me on it for weeks. You didn’t know that?”
My mouth goes dry. My mind runs through a thousand scenarios as to why she left, none making sense .
It feels like my mouth is stuffed with cotton, but I manage to get my words out. “ No . I thought she just… left.”
“ Listen , son. I’m not here to tell Jo’s side of the story, that’s not my place, only hers. I don’t want you jumping to any conclusions about why she left, and I know that’s hard, but trust me. Sometimes we reach our limit. She would have stayed here had her sister and I not begged, and I mean begged for her to get on that flight. She sees it now, but back then, she was barely keeping her head up. I worry she would have drowned had she stayed.
“ I never expected her to stay away for so long, to make a life out there, but it seemed to work for her. When I asked her to come home and work at the restaurant, I prepared myself for her to turn the offer down. Having her here has been amazing, don’t get me wrong, but I also worried she wasn’t ready to come home yet, that all her hard work would unravel. That the town and its people would remind her of those hard days. That was stupid of me to presume, because if I know anything about Johanna , it’s that she doesn’t do anything without thinking it through. It took time, but she knew what she was doing out in Tennessee , and she knows what she’s doing now.”
There’s a lot to dissect. The sucker punch to the gut is that she never left willingly. I spent years being angry and bitter about her leaving, right up until a couple of months ago, and it looks like all that was misplaced.
“ I don’t know what to say, other than, I care for her. So much. Having her back in my life is...”
“ I know. And I know you care for her, and I have no doubt she cares for you too. I just worry this is all going to be too much for her to han?—”
“ With all due respect, George ,” I cut him off. “ Johanna can handle a lot of things. You’re right, I don’t know the full story, but I’m also not letting that change how I feel about her. She’s the strongest person I know. ”
“ She is,” he agrees.
“ Does she know that?”
There’s another long pause. I can picture the discomfort in George’s face right now. “ I’ve been so worried about protecting her from the world that I failed to see how resilient she is.”
“ Maybe that’s exactly what she needs to hear.”
“ I think you’re right. It’s clear now why she fought me tooth and nail about leaving town. I wish I’d seen it sooner. I still stand by my word that time away was the best thing for her, and I know she carries around a lot of guilt about leaving when she did, but I think she’s just been biding her time. Waiting for the right moment to come home. To come home to you.”
Hours after George and I hang up, his words still echo in my ears.
To come home to you.
Why would Jo not tell me leaving wasn’t initially her idea, even if in the grand scheme of things, she needed it? It’s difficult not to type that very question out to her as I open our text thread. Instead , I let her know that I found her note.
Patrick: You make me happy too.
It’s past midnight, so I’m surprised when her reply chimes through.
Johanna: I wondered how long it would take you to find it.
Patrick: Not as long as it’s taken you to find the puzzle piece.
Johanna: Goodbye.
Chuckling at her response, I type out another text, hoping it doesn’t ruin the moment.
Patrick: Your dad called me. I think you should speak to him. He’s okay, but I think he misses you.
I wait a few minutes for her reply, expecting her to put up an argument.
Johanna: Okay. I will.
Johanna: Don’t think I won’t get payback for that puzzle piece comment.
Patrick: Oh I count on it. Goodnight, love.