Chapter 37
thirty-seven
PATRICK
Am I a good father? Do my employees respect me? Do I spend enough time with my siblings? Why wasn’t I enough for Jo ?
Those are some of the questions that float around my head regularly.
Today , there’s only one.
Would my dad be proud of me?
I’d like to think he was when he was alive, but would he be proud of the man I am today?
My dad was always a straight talker to all four of his kids, never making us feel like we’d disappointed him. He’d listen carefully as we talked through our feelings before offering up his guidance.
One piece of advice that’s always stuck with me was from when I was eight years old.
I was crying in the mud with grazed knees and hands, probably more embarrassed than anything. Jo and all our friends watched me eat dirt after I tried to show off on my new bike along the trail behind my house. My front wheel didn’t even make it off the ground before I was thrown over the handlebars.
Dad calmly walked over, sat in the mud with me, and cleaned my cuts. He picked up my bike and said, “ Tomorrow is a new day, Patrick . Make it count. Let the failures of today build the foundations of tomorrow.”
At eight years old, those words didn’t make much sense, but he repeated that phrase over the years. The older I got, the more I understood the meaning.
I’ve lived my life by those words. We all make mistakes— I still make them— I just try not to dwell on them. I’m only human, and perhaps that’s na?ve of me, but life’s too short.
Losing my dad proved that.
Not telling Jo how I felt all those years ago was a mistake. Holding her at arm’s length when she first returned was another.
But she doesn’t speak about her years in Tennessee as a mistake. And having Lottie was most definitely not a mistake.
I’d assumed Jo had given up on us, and the pieces of herself she’d given me were all I was ever going to get. I suppose that’s why I always keep a piece of her with me at all times.
I’m not ashamed of crying; I want to show Lottie it’s healthy for men to be open with their emotions. But when she asked me if I thought Grandpa Teddy would have liked her, I excused myself from the table, kissed Lottie on the head, and walked out of the family dinner being hosted at my mom’s tonight.
Mom gave me a look of understanding, not questioning or asking me to stay. Giving me space she knew I needed.
Lottie’s innocent question gutted me. I should have stayed and told her that of course her grandpa would have liked her. He would have loved her and spoiled her rotten. Knowing he never got the chance to meet his first grandchild is one of the most painful realizations about my dad’s passing.
I stare out across the horizon. The dark storm clouds reflect exactly how I’m feeling. The sounds of the crashing waves and birds usually calm me, but today they’re drowned out by a torrent of emotions. I stand there for what feels like hours, trying not to think about anything at all.
It’s not the squeaking of footsteps on the sand that lets me know she’s here. It’s the presence I felt moments before. The tips of my fingers are going numb from the biting wind, but having her close by warms me.
Jo loops her arms through mine and rests her head against my shoulder. We look out at the bay together, the whirls of dark grays and purples painting the sky. The storm hasn’t reached us yet, but it will soon.
“ They loved this view,” she murmurs softly. I turn my head to look at her as she continues to stare out at the choppy waters, looking peaceful as she takes in the moody horizon. “ Do you remember that barbeque we had on the beach one year? I think it was before Harriet and Florence were born. Your dad convinced us there was treasure buried in the sand. We spent hours digging holes; there were so many of them along the beach, I’m surprised we weren’t charged with ecocide. After every hole he would act confused and say he forgot what the treasure map said. Right as the sun was about to set, he suddenly remembered.”
I nod, a weak smile pulling at my lips as I recall that memory.
“ I don’t know how your dad did it, but I remember the excitement of digging that final hole and finding one hundred gold chocolate coins. We didn’t even wipe the sand off them before we started devouring them. I was so sick that night. I’m pretty sure Graham and Booth ate them with the foil still on.” She laughs and nuzzles closer to me. Dropping her hand from my elbow, she intertwines our fingers, her warm ones a reminder of how long I’ve been out here.
“ That’s how I always like to remember Ted . Making memories for us at every opportunity, a smile on his face as long as the people he loved were happy.” Her smiling doesn’t stop as tears fall freely down her cheeks. She strokes her fingers against my knuckles, soothing the pain away in so many ways.
Her words. Her touch. Her presence.
It settles me.
My tears join hers as she shares more stories about my dad, ones about him dressing up as Santa Claus every year at the restaurant, or how he asked George for advice when he had a daughter after three unruly sons. She doesn’t tense up or falter like she has on other occasions when talking about my dad but laughs and smiles through the tears. It’s such a welcome sight and sound.
“ You remind me of him, you know.” Her hand remains in mine as she turns to face me, and brings our woven hands up to her chest, the other coming to rest on my cheek. Leaning into her touch, I shut my eyes, feeling relaxed for the first time all day.
“ Every day I see pieces of him in you. He’d be so proud of you, Patrick . I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you after you lost him. I’m sorry for a lot of things, and I need you to understand that leaving wasn’t easy for me, but I’m here now, and I don’t ever plan on leaving unless you’re with me.
“ When my mom passed, I buried away a lot of feelings and trauma from her death. And even years later, I never really addressed them. I thought it was best to hide it, especially from Dad , who was dealing with his own grief after losing his wife and adjusting to being a single parent. I slapped a label on it and called it grief, and most people accepted that. It took a long time for me to be honest with myself. Grief was present, but what I was trying to keep hidden was severe anxiety and depression.
“ Before I even knew what Generalized Anxiety Disorder was, I suspected my moods and emotions weren’t what most people experienced. I found my own ways to cope with them and, worked for a while, but it wasn’t healthy. Pretending I was okay when I wasn’t was probably the worst thing I could have done. On the day your dad…” She takes a deep breath, and I squeeze her hand, letting her know I understand what she’s trying to say.
“ Everything I’d been hiding or was too ashamed to talk about refused to be kept in the dark any longer. Those last few days in town were some of the most difficult in my life. I was holding on by a tether.” She looks off into the distance, and I want to pull her into my arms and kiss away her tears, but I know she needs to finish.
“ My anxiety disorder and depression come hand in hand. After a lot of therapy, I began to understand the reasons behind my disorder. An intense fear that everyone I care for will be taken away from me, and everywhere I looked, I was reminded of it. Loss of loved ones. I know it sounds ridiculous, but?—”
“ It’s not,” I say hoarsely, her eyes darting to mine. It’s the first I’ve spoken since she arrived, content in listening to her stories, but I won’t stay silent when she says things like that. “ Nothing about how you feel is ridiculous.”
“ Sometimes I need to remind myself of that.” She runs her thumb along the scar on my chin, like that small contact keeps her going. “ The day of the funeral was too much for me to take. Putting on a brave face for everyone was too much. My dad was worried sick about me. When I saw how ignoring my feelings was impacting my family, I knew it was best for me to get out of town for a little while. I left, thinking I’d be back soon, a couple of months tops. But it got a lot worse before it got better. The panic attacks were less frequent but more intense. I ended up in hospital on two occasions.
“ It was never you, Patrick ,” she says, and the sobs she’s been holding break free. The moment fresh tears fall, I pull her into my chest. “ I can’t stand the thought that you’d think I would leave because of you. I never moved on; I never forgot you. Whatever you saw the day you came to visit me wasn’t how it looked. The guy, Davis , he’s a therapist. He’s a friend of Harriet’s , and she put me in touch with him…who then put me in touch with Amanda . My therapist.”
I understand now why she might have felt apprehensive about sharing all of this with me, like it would make me see her differently. But I only see her as this incredibly brave, selfless, resilient woman.
“ That day was the first time I left the apartment in a while, and I went to go and thank him for connecting me with Amanda . It took a while to find the right fit, and I was so grateful for his help.”
“ That’s good. That you didn’t settle for just anyone, right?”
“ Yeah , it is.” Bending her neck, she places a kiss on the tops of my hands, which are wedged between us. “ I never wanted to leave, and as much as it pained me, I don’t think I would be the person I am today if I didn’t. It was only meant to be short term, that’s the truth and I don’t tell you this to hurt you, but when I found out about you and Carrie … I was already in a really bad place. Eventually , the idea of coming back to town felt so overwhelming; too many reminders of what I’d lost. I went from trying to confront my fears face-on, to running from them entirely. I think leaving when I did was the best thing I could have done for myself.”
I know she’s not being spiteful in sharing how the news of me and Carrie landed with her, but I hate to think I played any part in hindering her recovery.
She brings her hand to my jaw and runs it over my skin lovingly, catching across the stubble I didn’t have the energy to shave this morning. “ I’m so happy you found joy when you had just lost so much. Sometimes it takes hitting rock bottom to find the way out. That’s how I see my time away from Sutton Bay . But you were always with me. ”
Pulling away from me, or as far as I’ll let her, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a little slip of paper.
“ On my hardest days, this note reminded me why I could get through it. It reminded me that not all days are bad, and though it didn’t feel like it then, I would be happy again. Even before our first night together, you made me so fucking happy, Patrick .” She unfolds the paper and holds up a Post -it note. It’s been folded a lot of times, wearing thin at the edges, but I can still make out my messy handwriting.
You make me happy.
I take hold of her face, staring deeply into those stunning blues, so warm and welcoming. “ I’m so proud of you, Johanna . Proud of what you’ve overcome,” I whisper and lay a soft kiss to her forehead. “ I don’t want you to ever feel shame for having a bad day or if your anxiety gets too much. I’m so happy you came back to me, love. I can’t begin to put into words how much I’ve missed you, and I’m sorry for not chasing after you, for not trying harder to reach you.” I kiss her nose and cheeks. Those freckles I love so much. I bend at the knees so our mouths are level, barely touching. “ But you’re here now, and I’ve got you.”
“ Being here, with you right now, this is why I had to come home. I had to come back to you.”
We waste no time in letting our mouths meet. The kiss feels like our first. Not the one on my sofa, but the one I stole on New Year’s Eve as kids. Because that was the moment I knew Johanna Thomas would be in my life forever.
I feel weightless as we deepen the kiss. Pride and relief flood my veins.
When the first raindrops splat across my cheek, we pull away from each other and look up at the sky as the heavens open. The rain washes away the tears, but our smiles remain.
“ You were always going to find your way back to me. This is your home, Johanna , and you’re mine.” I watch water droplets glide down her face and coat her skin.
She watches me attentively, recognition shining in her eyes. She was so close to whispering those words that evening after Lottie’s birthday. I need them. I need those two words like my next breath.
“ I’m yours.”
And there they are.
I’m yours.
I bring my mouth to hers with fierceness. As much as I love seeing her smile, it feels and tastes even more incredible. I taste it as our tongues entangle, and sense it in my soul. I feel her in my soul. Because she’s mine and I’m hers.
As I hold her in my arms, I know what I want.
This .
A hundred more moments like this. The sad, happy, and angry ones. For every sad day, I’ll give her one hundred happy ones. On the days we find ourselves angry at each other, I know the making up will be incredible. I’ll take on anything, so long as she is by my side.
Since I was seven years old, I knew one thing for sure.
I love her.
I love her so deeply I think it’s one of my life’s purposes.
As the rains falls on us, I know this moment is one I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.
On a day that’s filled with such sadness, she brought me joy.
She showed me love.