Maggie took his hand. “I know. Later.” She led him inside and turned the corner.
And there they were, standing in front of him, for real. Thomas and Savannah. Bess’s kids. His kids. He didn’t know if he should offer a hand or a hug or shove his fists in his pockets.
He was on his own.
To do his best to not completely screw this up.
To do what a biological father was supposed to do in this situation. Which was, what, exactly?
Savannah answered by throwing her arms around his neck. She hadn’t thought about what she was doing until her face was buried in his chest, one of his buttons digging into her cheek. She winced, and for a flash she allowed herself to think about how strangely intimate this was. In the arms of a stranger. The feel of his muscles under her fingers. But she closed her eyes, shutting it all out. He smelled like laundry sheets and airport cinnamon rolls.
Jack squeezed her back. It felt incredible.
“I’m Thomas. You must be Jack.”
Thomas stepped in and offered his hand. He didn’t really want to interrupt Jack and Savannah’s moment but—well, it was getting a little awkward just standing there.
Jack reached across Savannah’s shoulder and took it. “Nice to meet you. Finally, I guess. In person.” God, he wished he’d practiced so this kid wouldn’t remember his first words as the jumble that had just come tumbling out.
Thomas looked down at Jack’s hand in his. The long, narrow fingers. The flat knuckles. His hands, the ones he’d never seen on anyone else. Thomas suddenly felt like a stranger in his own body. Bound to this guy he’d never met in a way that couldn’t be described. Jack wasn’t McClair-ish at all. And still, Thomas didn’t want to let his hand go.
“Wow,” Jack said. “You got the Thorson hands.”
Thomas looked up to see Jack examining his hand just as closely. “What are the Thorson hands?”
“You see how flat your thumbnail is?” Jack held his up by way of example and, sure enough, Thomas had the same. “My dad and granddad both have the flat thumbs.” He made a fist. “And the flat knuckles. That’s a giveaway, too.”
Jack felt like a kid again. How many afternoons had he stood on the water, watching his grandfather’s hands at work, only to see them again, here, in a place he’d never even been. “Wild, huh?”
“Yeah, wild.”
Savannah, still buried in Jack’s chest, gave him one last squeeze and let go. “We are so glad you’re here.”
Fifty-Four
Maggie
Maggie sat on the bed of her ER exam room, with Bart beside her. Nadine stayed back at the house with Elise and Kristen, who’d offered to clean up. Sam Tamblin left the scene before Maggie was even in the ambulance. Thomas, Savannah and Jack were together in the waiting room, a few doors down.
The doctor suspected a broken collarbone, but they were waiting on her X-rays for a final verdict. It was going on two hours since Maggie fell.
“Mrs. McClair?” The doctor appeared, this time seeming even younger than when he’d first examined her. Maggie wondered what age she’d been when doctors went from looking like her parents to looking like her children.
“The X-rays confirm a clavicle fracture. A broken collarbone, in other words.”
He walked to the sink and washed his hands. “Good news is, it’s not a complicated break so you won’t need surgery.” He pulled her robe back from her shoulder and gently examined her one more time. “Bad news is that we’re still basically treating clavicle fractures the old-fashioned way—six weeks in a sling and lots of Tylenol and ibuprofen.”
His hands were a tiny bit cold, but the pain was still so red-hot, Maggie welcomed the cool.
“All right.” He stood back up and walked to the computer where the nurse had entered all of her health information earlier. “When was your A-fib diagnosed?”
Maggie cocked an ear toward him. “My what?”
“Your A-fib. Atrial fibrillation.” The doctor adjusted the angle of the monitor displaying her vital signs. He pointed to several points along the peaks and valleys representing her heartbeat. “These here indicate atrial fibrillation.”
Maggie shot a sidelong glance at Bart. “Yes, I’m aware. I was diagnosed about a month ago.”
Chef Bart gasped. “What?”
Bess whispered, Mother...
Maggie held up a hand to shush them both, only to feel a shot of pain in her arm hot enough to make her think she might throw up on the floor.
“Easy there, Mrs. McClair.” The doctor pulled the stethoscope from his neck and gingerly placed it against her chest. He listened several long minutes, moving it carefully as necessary.
When satisfied he’d heard enough, he pulled the buds from his ears.
“Are you seeing a cardiologist for treatment? A-fib is pretty common, but left untreated it can have serious complications. Including stroke.”
Bart looked furious enough to cry. Maggie looked directly at him, even while answering the doctor.
“I do have a cardiologist and he’s monitoring me closely. We’re in the process of finding the correct dose of medication.”
The doctor cocked his head, considering. “Well, the shock of your accident must have thrown you out of rhythm. It’s possible your heart may reregulate on its own when the pain subsides. But even so, I’d like you to make an appointment with your cardiologist within the next day or so. Just as a precaution.”
Maggie promised she would.
When he’d gone, Chef Bart turned on her. “I told you to go see a doctor.”
Maggie scowled. “Didn’t you just hear me? I did go.”
“He said you could have a stroke!”
“Could have. Not did have.”
“Margaret McClair.” Bart only used her formal name when he wanted her attention. “You have two grandchildren who need you healthy.”
She held up her good hand, stopping him. “You think I don’t know? I’m stuck in here like Brenda Brittle Bones when I’m supposed to be out there, keeping them safe.” She nodded toward the waiting room and it was all she could do to swallow back the pain.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The look on his face a mix of anger and worry.
“Because it’s humiliating.”
“A heart condition? Please.”
“Not that. Everything.” Maggie’s mind flashed with all the fears she’d been holding in as long as she could remember. “I’m the only one left for Thomas and Savannah. And ever since Bess died, I’ve been trying to be enough. Fun enough they didn’t dread coming home. Encouraging enough they grew up knowing they could do anything. Flexible enough that I don’t hold them back from actually doing it all.”
She motioned at the box of tissues on the counter across the room. Bart grabbed it and came back, offering her one. She took it and blew her nose. “It’s just awful trying to raise grandchildren with such talent and potential.”
Bart snorted. “Oh, the burden.”
Maggie laughed, then flinched. “Ow! How am I going to survive the next six weeks if I can’t laugh?” She let out a heavy breath. “Anyway, that’s the embarrassing part. The other part is—” She stopped. This was Bess’s business. And Maggie hadn’t ever told anyone precisely because it wasn’t her story to share.
Need I remind you I can’t speak anymore? Bess whispered.
Maggie ignored her and let go of a long, decades-old breath. “Everything that’s happened has also forced me to deal with—” No, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t fully dealt with it yet. “Forced me to acknowledge some anger I’ve been holding on to since Bess died.”
Bart looked at her, calm but attentive. His unflinching composure was just one of the hundreds of things Maggie cherished in her friend.
“I won’t go into it all, but Bess and I had a disagreement before she died. About a man from her past. We neve
r got to resolve it.” Maggie steadied herself before looking at Bart. “That’s terrible, isn’t it?”
She’d found out the truth about Tad the night before Bess died. He’d stayed in California after college, after all, but at some point, they’d reconnected. That night, Maggie came down to get a glass of water and Bess was just coming home. Her shoes were in her hand and her blouse was misbuttoned, and Maggie knew that even if Bess had been working until 2:00 a.m., she wouldn’t have come home with her blouse on wrong. She’d said, “Bess, I don’t care if you’re sleeping with someone. But can you at least let me know you’ll be late, so I don’t have to worry?”
Bess answered, “I slept with Tad.” Just blurted it out like that. “He’s here. He came to say he still loves me. That he’s never forgiven himself for deserting me.” And then she’d died the next day, on her way to see him again.
Maggie felt suddenly so drained from the memory she couldn’t hold herself upright, and she slumped, carefully, against Bart’s side. He held still and let her.
“So,” Bart said finally, “who are you really mad at? Bess, or the guy?”
Maggie sighed. “That’s the worst part. For a long time, I convinced myself I was mad at him. But what I’ve learned is that I think I’m actually mad at Bess.”
She sat up and turned her face to Bart’s. “I loved my daughter. I don’t want to be mad at her.”
He squeezed her hand. “I know. It’s the worst part of grieving.”
“Are you still mad at your ex-wife?” Maggie asked.
“Not anymore,” Bart said. “But I’m glad I was angry for a while. It was a necessary part of moving forward.”
“That’s exactly what I told Thomas and Savannah a few months ago. That they had to get mad at their mother so they could love her more fully.” Maggie rolled her eyes. “I wish I knew how to take my own advice.”
Bart chuckled. “One step at a time.” He poked Maggie gently on the top of her head. “Maybe you should start by cleaning out Bess’s old room.”
She sat up and pointed at her injured arm. “Why do you think I did this to myself?”
Bart laughed. “Ah, yes. Quite the excuse you’ve created for yourself.” He tapped a finger to his chin, grinning, but also studying her as he spoke. “I think I may have finally figured you out, Maggie McClair. Let me see if I’ve got this right. You didn’t want to get in the way of the kids’ mission to find their biodad, so you let them do the podcast, despite the risk. Then the whole time they were busy turning over every stone, you sat and worried yourself sick over what they might discover. But instead of going to the doctor like a rational person, you convinced yourself that your heart could match itself to music.” Bart looked at her. “You really prefer your own version of reality, don’t you?”
She felt suddenly sheepish. “Magical thinking can be a very good distraction, my friend.”
Bart chuckled. “So is delusion.”
The nurse walked in holding a more heavy-duty-looking sling and a stack of paper. “You ready to go home and get some rest, Miss Maggie?”
“Yes, please,” she whispered.
Fifty-Five
Jack
If Jack could have sat and watched the two of them forever, he would have.
Savannah reminded him of Bess in all the little ways—how she tucked her chin into her chest when she giggled or had the vocabulary of a PhD linguist. At one point, Savannah laughed so hard she snorted, which of course he knew was common—it’s just that she did it in such a Bess-like way.
He didn’t see quite as much Bess in Thomas. But what he did see amazed him. Pictures hadn’t done Thomas justice. He looked exactly the way Jack had felt at that age—all restless energy and limbs that couldn’t quite stop moving. He’d been shaking his left leg since the moment they got to the hospital, hours ago.
All the little things. So many, many small wonders.
The big things, though. That’s where he felt he didn’t know these kids at all. He hadn’t been there for any of their memories, or to help make the choices that now stood to shape their futures, or to listen to any of the questions now long answered.
He didn’t know Thomas or Savannah. Not really. But he wanted to. He very, very much did.
“When did you switch your name?” Savannah handed him the can of Pepsi they were all sharing, having had to pool the spare change in their pockets to have enough for a single trip to the waiting room vending machine.
“Well, I went by John growing up. That’s what my family still calls me. One of my fraternity brothers nicknamed me Thor in college, and I liked it, so I brought it with me to Breckenridge.”
He left out the part that Thor was a drinker’s name, earned after a particularly raucous night. The Norse god of thunder, more strength than brains.
Since waking up on the lawn back on Tybee, he hadn’t had a single drink. He didn’t know if he intended that to become a permanent thing, but the sight of his mom’s decaying drinker’s body was still fresh enough in his mind to turn him off anything stronger than the Pepsi in his hand right now.
“When I started guiding, Jack just sounded like a better name for a captain.”
He thought about the postcard he sent to the resort where he’d been hired in Oregon, announcing his change of plans. So many years ago. And thank god he’d done it.
“My boss on Tybee, Ford, was sort of a mentor. He said the name Jack belonged on the water. Captain Jack Morgan, and all that pirate stuff.”
Instinctively, he reached up and felt for the piece of paper folded up in his breast pocket. It went with him everywhere. Ford’s map. The one of Minneapolis he’d printed for Jack. He’d circled the McClairs’ house and written HERE at the top of the page. It had been in the third envelope.
“What about now?” Thomas said. “Are you going to change your name again since you’re not on the water anymore?”
Jack smiled, happy—relieved, even—to have good news for once. “Actually, I’m staying on the water. I just arranged to take over a small fishing business in St. Vrain, Colorado.”
The words hit him. They were so permanent. So decisive. And yet, suddenly, he couldn’t help but wonder if his good news wasn’t good at all for Thomas and Savannah. Had they thought he’d move to Minnesota? Were they hoping to be closer to him? Even move to Colorado?
“I—” He wasn’t sure how to begin to approach a subject as foreign to him as this. “I’m from Colorado, you know. I guess I just feel like I belong there. And, fishing—of course.”
Savannah leaned in and nudged him with her shoulder.
A singular, meaningful nudge.
“Of course!” Her voice beamed. Happy for him. Bright with enthusiasm. “Like we McClairs say, Follow your instincts!”
Fifty-Six
Savannah
Savannah couldn’t believe she was sitting there without a notebook. Of all things. Her dad was right next to her. A pivotal moment, and she wasn’t going to be able to remember the half of it.
“Jack, we have got to make a movie out of this.”
He grinned. “You think after what we all just went through with the podcast, I’m gonna let you put me in a movie?”
“Yes.” Savannah grabbed his arm with both hands. “I know for certain that someday, we are all going to make a movie. The whole world is going to want to know how our story ends.”
Because that was the greatest thing about meeting Jack. She knew almost immediately this wasn’t the end of their story. It was just the beginning. He didn’t freak out when he got outed on national television. He made good when he found out Thomas hadn’t told her about his emails. He even went along with her idea for salvaging the last episode.
The net of all their summer’s worth of chaos was one, crucial fact: their father was a decent human being. He wasn’t going to sweep in like a white knight or try to borrow money o
r even try to sell their story for money.
She didn’t think so, at least.
As far as she could tell, Jack Thorson was a nice, decent guy. And she liked him.
“Hey, Jack.” It was getting dark outside, which always reminded her of her favorite pastime. “What’s the best movie you’ve ever seen?”
He thought for a minute. “Well, to be honest, I don’t think I’ve seen one in a while. I watched a lot of Warren Miller films growing up in Colorado, though.”
Savannah had never heard of the guy.
“I watch TV some.” Jack snapped his fingers. “What’s that show? About the boys who lost their mom, except it’s sort of a comedy?”
Savannah knew that one. Not a second’s hesitation.
“Son Showers.”
“Yeah!” Jack was beaming. “That’s a great show. Sad, but funny. You know?”
“I know exactly. In fact, I’ve written so many letters to one of the producers, she might think I’m stalking her.”
Jack laughed. “Well, whatever works, right?”
“I’m trying to learn how to speak my mind.” She didn’t mind admitting this to Jack. It felt safe. “I mean, I have a lot to say, but sometimes I don’t know the best way to express it. I’m either too meek or too—” She wanted to use the word bitchy, but she’d recently promised to stop using it to describe herself or anyone else. Unless they really deserved it.
“Let’s just say, I’d like to feel I can say what I need to say without having to apologize for it.” That felt right. She had to remember that.
“Well,” Jack said, “I’m trying to learn that, too. Wish I was your age when I learned it, but better late than never, I guess.”
Savannah wanted to hug him. But that would have been about the eightieth time and eighty-one hugs felt excessive. Instead, she turned and caught Thomas’s eye, wanting to say the only thing on her heart. Thank you, she mouthed.
Thank you back, he said.
Fifty-Seven
Thomas
The Kids Are Gonna Ask Page 32