Chapter 39
thirty-nine
PATRICK
The open doorway Jo just disappeared through feels more like a blackhole, sucking up any energy I have left.
I’m frozen in place. Torn between running after her or giving her the space she pleaded for.
The moment I saw the tearful and desolate look on her face, I knew I fucked up.
I was so blinded by my failure and denial that I let my emotions feed my words, not thinking how they would sound to her. And they couldn’t be further from the truth.
“ Should we go after her?” Booth says from where he’s perched on the sofa.
“ She needs a moment, she’ll be okay,” George says, but it makes me think about the words he said to me all those years ago when I found out Jo had left Sutton Bay .
She’s fine, she just needs some time.
No .
This isn’t the same thing and I trust her when she says she’s not running. I know she’s putting herself first, and I’m proud of her for doing what she knows is best for her. I just wish I wasn’t what drove her away.
My mom takes hold of my hand. “ Sit , sweetheart. I’ll go check on her. She’ll be okay, she’s a strong one.”
“ I know.” My agreement echoes down the hallway behind her.
Despite my desperation to go and find her, I take my seat again. I’m embarrassed at how I reacted, pacing around like a toddler having a tantrum, but arguing and trying to negotiate seems pointless now. Not when Jo isn’t beside me.
George gives me a pitiful look and picks up where he left off. “ We kept the buyer at bay until this morning. There’s no denying our cash intake has gone up, but the forecasts don’t look good. We might last another six months, but I don’t want to take that risk.”
The disappointment from earlier feels different now. The news about the restaurant is meager in comparison to the anguish I’m feeling over my behavior and thoughtless words. I allowed my own insecurities to take the driver’s seat and in return, I hurt Jo . I could see it in her pained expression, and it made me sick to my stomach, because I put that there.
The indent in the leather sofa taunts me as George continues. “ Nothing’s final and we have another meeting lined up in a few weeks to discuss it further. We’ve been clear that we will only sell to them if it’s written into the contract agreement that they don’t change the name of the restaurant and keep on all the staff currently working here.”
My head snaps up. “ You can do that?”
“ Of course we can. That’s what we were trying to explain to you earlier,” George says pointedly, and I cringe at his subtle scolding.
“ For now, we have enough money to keep us going until fall, but we need to come to an agreement with them soon, or we risk losing the offer they’ve put on the table altogether. I’m not sure we’ll get another opportunity like this. We don’t know who the buyer is, because we were contacted by a third party, but they’ve explained the buyer isn’t interested in the operations side of things. They prefer to take a backseat approach with their investments. We didn’t argue with that, it’s all kosher, and we couldn’t ask for a better proposal.”
George is talking to me like it’s a sales pitch, as if I need more persuasion. But I don’t really care what happens to this place if it means Jo won’t be by my side when it happens. I’m not sure we would have lasted this long had she not come back and accepted the job.
She’s the reason we’ve made it this far and she’s the reason I need to go. Now .
“ Do it. Do whatever you need to do, but I have to go. I’m sorry for how I reacted, I trust you guys,” I rush out. “ I fucked up, and I love this place, but…”
He seems to know what I’m trying to say.
I love her more.
I love her more than this place, because it’s not Our Place without her. It hasn’t been for a long time.
“ Go ,” Booth urges. “ You’ve waited long enough, dickhead.”
With my middle finger raised at my brother, I run out of the office and into the restaurant. I look around the room but don’t see them anywhere.
One of the servers walks by and I stop them. “ Sorry , have you seen my mom or Jo ?”
“ Oh , they left about five minutes ago. Your mom told me to tell you they’ve gone for a coffee at the bakery.”
“ Thanks ,” I call over my shoulder, my feet already carrying me out the front door.
Dodging people as I race down the street, I head in the direction of Just Brew It . When I stop outside the window of the bakery, I don’t waste time trying to catch my breath.
Gasps and stunned faces greet me as I barge through the door, and I know I look deranged on my hunt for Jo right now, but I don’t really care. Scanning the tables, I don’t see a head of golden hair, but suddenly something is sniffing at my shoe. Looking down, I see Curly , Graham’s dog, and follow the lead up to where my brother is standing.
“ Hey , have you seen Jo ?” I rush out, still winded from my run here.
My mom appears over his shoulder, a wary look on her face.
I do not like that look.
“ You don’t—yeah, she was with Mom before she went to the back to find Quinn . She seemed pretty upset.” Graham’s a direct person, so when I catch the edge to his tone, worry churns in my stomach.
I slide past him and my mom and walk over to the counter. Quinn looks up from her spot behind the glass cabinet, and I don’t like the look she greets me with either.
“ Hey , Quinn , is Jo here?” I ask, pointing to the small kitchen behind her. I don’t wait for a response, though, and maneuver my way past the cakes and breads. Her arm shoots out and grabs me by the bicep.
“ She just left,” she says and drops her arm.
“ Left to go where?”
“ I don’t know, umm, but she said…”
“ What did she say?” I ask, with a little too much bite.
“ Watch it,” Graham says in warning from behind me. I turn to look at him and raise my hands in apology before turning back to Quinn . She doesn’t seem fazed by my outburst, but a subtle blush colors her cheeks.
“ I’m sorry, Quinn . I just— I just need to find her. Do you know where she went?” I ask, more calmly this time.
“ I do, but she said that if anyone came looking for her to not tell them. I don’t want to break her trust, but I promise she’s safe. ”
“ Fuck . ” I don’t let the dread trying to bully its way out of me take root. She’s probably in her apartment, upstairs. I respect Quinn’s loyalty, but it won’t stop me from searching for Jo .
Only when I knock on her apartment door until my knuckles start to swell do I resort to calling Martin Willis and somehow convince him to let me into her apartment. But she’s not there.
She doesn’t answer her phone. Every call rings out until it goes to voicemail.
Graham and my mom assure me that she wouldn’t have gone far, presuming I’m thinking the worst and that she’s left town. But that’s not what I’m concerned about; that worry is a thing of the past.
It’s that I have no idea where she is, how she’s feeling, or what she needs.
And she doesn’t know I love her.
I’ve been staring at the chip in the countertop for way too long, I’m beginning to go cross-eyed.
My chin rests on my folded arms, as Lottie sits across from me, doodling away and humming a song. Her tuneless serenade helps distract me, but only a little, which confirms how deep in my head I am.
Jo must have turned off her phone, or the battery died, because it goes straight to voicemail now. That doesn’t deter me from leaving her a message each time I call. I think we’re up to twenty-five now.
Graham and I drove around town for an hour looking for her. Shirley’s , Dough , her dad’s, Piper Beach , Puffin Point Lighthouse ; we looked everywhere and no Jo .
I would have driven around town all day, but duty called, and I knew seeing Lottie would ease some of the regret I’m stewing in after today’s meeting. My mom and Quinn assured me that she was relaxed when they saw her. I just need to see her. I need to apologize and explain my words were a knee-jerk reaction, and nothing to do with us.
I need to hold her, kiss her, love her.
Instead , I’m sitting in my mom’s kitchen, agonizing over my words.
Tracing the granite countertop with my finger, I think of all the ways I’ll apologize to her. Iced coffees. Grilled cheese. A new puzzle every week. I’ll even let her win at a game of pool.
I need her here.
“ Daddy , why do you look sad?” Lottie asks, with a tilt to her head.
“ I’m not sad, spud.”
“ Are you mad?”
“ No , not mad.”
“ Then why is your face doing this?” she asks and scrunches her eyebrows together and pouts her lips. Even on her cute little face, it’s not a good look.
“ I’m just disappointed in myself.”
“ What’s spis-a-pointed mean?”
“ Dis -ap-point-ed means I’m not happy with something I’ve said or done,” I explain.
“ Are you spisappointed in me?”
Jesus , will I ever say the right thing to women today?
I stand and round the counter, bending at the knees until we’re eye level.
“ Not you, sweet girl. Never you. Not when you draw such pretty pictures like this,” I say, pointing to the big blob of pink and yellow.
“ It’s me and JoJo ,” she announces proudly and shoves it in my face. She peeks around the edge of the paper, her bottom lip curling. “ I miss her. Can I play Barbies with her again? That was fun.”
“ We’ll see her soon.” Standing up, I stretch my arms above my head and decide I need to distract myself until Jo is ready to talk. I ruffle Lottie’s hair, when a thought pops into my mind. “ Hey . Why don’t we make a fort, snuggle up underneath it, and watch Tangled ?”
She gasps and drops her pencils on the table, before scrambling down from her stool in a frenzy. She runs out of the kitchen, shouting for my mom, and I take that as a yes.
“ Let me grab the sheets,” I call and make my way upstairs.
Walking into my mom’s room, I search the closet for some spare sheets and pillows. When I don’t find any, I try the one in the guest room across the hall and nearly get flattened by all the crap piled high and leaning precariously on the shelves.
Board Games . Cassette tapes. Old baby booties. Fishing poles. You name it, it’s in here.
I’m about to give up the hunt, when I spot a pile of white sheets hidden behind an old boom box and… no way . The sight of my dad’s old Polaroid camera pulls at my heartstrings, and I wonder when my mom last cleared out this space.
Carefully , I pull the sheets down and try not to bring the contents of the closet crashing to the floor. Just as the sheets are freed from the carnage, my elbow knocks a stack of shoe boxes, and they tumble to the ground. A flurry of photos and pieces of paper float down to my feet.
“ Shit ,” I curse and bend to tidy up the mess.
When I have most of the contents stacked in neat piles, I shuffle them back into their worn, cardboard homes, but pause when I see four envelopes, one with my name on it and the rest with each of my siblings’ names on them. I pick up the one addressed to me and turn it over, inspecting it to work out what it is and who it’s from. My name is written out in big, block letters, so it’s hard to decipher whose handwriting it is.
The longer I look at it, the more my curiosity gets the better of me. It has my name on it, so it’s clearly meant for me. I tear the seal of the white envelope and pull out a folded piece of paper, but before I finish unfolding it, something flutters to the floor.
A Polaroid photo.
It’s lying face down, but when I turn it over, a hearty laugh mixed with astonishment breaks loose. Looking up at me from the monochrome film is a photo of a young boy and girl. They look the same age, and the boy is leaning in and planting a kiss awkwardly on the girl’s cheek. A look of shock and disgust on her face. Even in black and white you can make out the flush of her cheeks.
I don’t blame Johanna ; I was a gross kid.
I’ve never seen this picture before, and even though it was taken almost thirty years ago, I remember the night clear as day. I trace my finger across the black-and-white image, amazed that my dad managed to capture this moment.
Our first kiss.
But not our last.
I admire the photograph for a few moments, when I remember the piece of paper in my hand.
Once it’s unfolded, I recognize the handwriting immediately. Probably because it’s the same handwriting that taught me my ABCs .
When I start reading, I don’t stop, despite how my heart tumbles with every word.
To the boy who made me a father,
I have no idea why I’m writing this letter. I’m sitting in my office as you finish up your first shift as bar manager and I thought I would share some sage words of wisdom. We know I’m good at that.
But first I’d like to tell you a story, so bear with me.
I once met a woman who I instantly fell in love with, but I was too chicken shit to talk to her. When I finally found the courage, I didn’t ask her out on a date like I had planned, no that would come later, but we did become good friends. I cherished those years of friendship, but I knew deep in my bones this wasn’t what fate had planned for us. When I finally asked her out, she rolled her eyes and responded with, “ Well , what took you so long?”
That woman soon became my wife, made me a father, and is the love of my life.
But you call her Mom .
Your mom was my best friend before anything else, and I can’t believe I almost let a future with her pass me by.
I suppose my advice is to not make the same mistake I almost did. It can be scary to ask for what we want, but isn’t that what life’s about? Facing our fears and not living with regrets.
Get your head out of your ass, son, and go after what you want.
I’m so proud of the man that you are.
Tomorrow is a new day, Patrick . Make it count. Let the failures of today build the foundations of tomorrow.
All my love, Dad
A whoosh of air leaves me and I realize it’s the first breath I’ve taken since I read the first word. A broken sob follows closely behind as I read my dad’s words over and over, until I can no longer make out the letters through my blurred vision.
I can’t begin to understand what would make him write a letter like this, and over a decade ago no less. Was he ever planning on giving it to me?
It doesn’t take a genius to know what my dad is referring to in the letter. Clearly my efforts at hiding my feelings for Jo really were useless.
I’ve always trusted my dad’s advice, and that doesn’t stop today, even if he’s no longer here to see his words come to fruition.
If I only knew where she was.
Folding the letter up, I tuck it back in the envelope. From where I’m still kneeling on the floor, I pull out my ratty old wallet, knowing exactly where the Polaroid picture is going.
Jo told me the Post -it note I left her kept her going through the hardest of days, and as I slide the multicolored piece of cardboard out of its home, I stare at the one thing that helped me through mine. As I look down at paint strokes of blue, white, pinks, and purples, I’m reminded that Jo has always been close by.
Who knows why I never reunited it with the 999 other pieces, but when Jo left, I was grateful to have a small piece of her to carry with me wherever I went.
Despite its missing piece, the puzzle created a beautiful picture of a mountain range, with the sun setting behind it. The painting of the sky always reminded me of the sunset you could see from Anakiwa Lookout .
And it hits me.
I know where Jo is.
I’m still following my dad’s advice, because Johanna is my tomorrow, and every day that follows. But I’m not waiting until then to find her. I’m going after what I want today.
Ten minutes later, after rushing out of the house and trying to answer the slew of questions my mom was firing at me, I’m about to turn the key in the ignition of my old Chevy truck, when I stop to take a breath.
I bring my hand to the dashboard and tap it three times.
“ Thanks , Dad . Love you.”
Then I start the engine and drive off to find the owner of the missing puzzle piece and my heart.