by Lorenz Font
Ahila rested his head against the cushion of the chair and glanced upward. “I also stepped down as the tribe’s chief and handed the reins to Trimble. As they say, ‘out with the old and in with the new.’ ” He laughed and rubbed his hand across his face.
Sarah hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath until she blew it out in a relieved sigh. Giving her father a wistful smile, she wondered why she still didn’t feel happy. She had been accepted back into the tribe, and her marriage betrothal had been dissolved. Why did she feel no sense of victory?
“Papa, are you sure this is what’s best for all of us?”
“Trimble is a good man. I’m sure he is capable of leading our tribe in a new direction. I trust him to make the best decisions for our people.”
Words escaped her while she stared at her father. The realization hit her that Ahila had been giving up, giving in, and getting ready to accept his eventual fate. Dotson’Sa, please give me more time with him. He’s all I’ve got. Out of nowhere, tears came in a furious rush, and before she knew it, she was crying in her father’s arms again. She wept for the too-short time she had with him, as well as for the loss of the one man she’d ever loved other than her father.
“Shh … don’t cry, my precious child. This is all for the best. I’m happy for this opportunity to hold you again. And I’m thankful for the chance to ask for forgiveness and make peace with you.”
“I love you, Papa.” Sarah burrowed her face in his neck.
He rubbed her back in slow, gentle strokes, and she knew that she meant more to him than anything. “I love you, Sarah. Don’t ever forget that,” he murmured in a soft voice.
As the weeks passed by, Sarah spent most of her time with her father, watching him with close attention that drove him up the wall. She dreaded losing him, and she often found herself checking on him every few minutes to make sure he was breathing.
Many times, Ahila forced her out of the house to check out the new hospital, which would soon be ready for its grand opening. One ordinary day, Sarah wandered around the building, waving to several people she recognized and stopping for an occasional, short conversation before resuming her survey.
She walked the corridors with their new, painted walls and tiled surfaces, and she smiled to herself. This was what their small town needed—a hospital geared to serve the increasing needs of the people.
The structure was small in comparison to the bigger cities’ trauma hospitals, but it came complete with a triage desk, brand-new computers, an in-house lab, and an emergency room, as well as several in-patient rooms. It was a far cry from the little clinic it would be replacing.
When she reached the end of the long hallway, the automatic double doors opened, leading her to the trauma section. She gasped at the small but prominent sign, which read SARAH JONES—TRAUMA DEPARTMENT.
Her breath hitched, and her throat closed against her tears. Cupping her mouth to hold in her cry, she rested her head on the wall that bore her name. Greg, she thought, couldn’t have given her a better gift. If she could have him, as well, her life would be complete.
But she couldn’t have her cake and eat it, too.
With heavy footsteps, she continued to wander around the building. Sarah walked out of the hospital and covered the quarter mile to Lily’s house. There, she not only found her best friend but Trimble, as well.
As soon as Lily spotted her at the door, she squealed so loudly that Sarah’s ear drums almost shattered. They hugged and jumped up and down, to Trimble’s amusement. After greetings were exchanged, Lily pulled Sarah toward the kitchen, leaving Trimble to his own devices. The scent of Dinjik wafted throughout the room, and Sarah closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the aroma of one of her favorite dishes. Dinjik was the local name for the moose, a popular fare in Gwich’in gatherings. Lily planted her on a chair and rushed to check the pot on the stove.
“Why are you visiting me just now?” Lily’s tone, though accusing, made Sarah smile in understanding.
Sighing, she stood and walked over to her friend. “I’m spending as much time with my father as I can.”
Lily replaced the pot cover and turned to look at Sarah with sympathetic eyes. She nodded. “I understand. I figured you needed every minute you could have with him.”
“I hate it, Lily. It’s like watching a ticking time bomb, waiting for the inevitable explosion. Thing is, I can force him to go for the surgery because it’s what I think is best for him … but that just takes us back to the issue of making a decision for another person, regardless of their feelings.” Ahila had expressed his wishes, and no matter how wrong she believed his choice to be, she must respect it.
Lily pulled her down onto a chair. She took Sarah’s hands in hers and squeezed them. “Your father is at peace with himself now that you have returned.”
Sarah nodded. He’d found his peace, but here she was, still tied in a tight knot of worry and filled with fear about his health, her future, and life in general.
The following weeks rushed by with the same crush of activities. These preoccupations gave Sarah a shallow respite from her fears. There hadn’t been a call from Greg. After a month of waiting, Sarah had shut off her cell phone for good. With a terrible ache in her heart, she went through her new routine of watching and spending time with her father. She tried to forget Greg, banning all thoughts of him from her mind.
Sarah often caught her father watching her in silence or glancing in her direction with a worried expression during their short walks around the neighborhood. She’d hold his hand, and he kept her close with his arm around her shoulder. Even if her longing for Greg still filled her with emptiness, she cherished this time with her father.
Ahila hadn’t brought up Greg again, and she was thankful for his sensitivity. She’d called Columbia, and they had granted her a leave of absence for two months before they would have to give her spot to another student on the waiting list. Thankful for their understanding, Sarah realized there was no way she’d ever get back to New York anyway. Aside from her duties in her father’s home, funds were also a concern. The decision to ask for extra time from the university had more to do with her hope that she and Greg could be together again.
It had been a delaying tactic on her part—her way to end the beautiful and unforgettable chapter of her life on her own terms.
The more time passed without word from Greg, the more Sarah believed that everything that had happened between them had been a dream. Maybe it had been a nightmare instead, considering the pain each memory of him gave her.
Snap out of it, Sarah! her small, inner voice scolded with authority. Saying was easier than doing it, though. She knew that from experience. No matter how often she reminded herself to move on, each step forward proved difficult. Leaving behind the good memories she’d shared with Greg was just as painful as the spear of longing that had been lodged in her heart since the day she’d left him.
Chapter 24
Greg’s life for the minutes, hours, days, and weeks that followed Sarah’s departure from the hospital had been hell on earth. When he thought he’d hit rock bottom, more problems came his way.
When Sarah left his hospital room, his life had turned into a nightmare—except he had been awake through it all.
“I’m not putting up with your attitude anymore!” Greg Jr. shouted at the top of his lungs before he pushed Greg onto the floor, without considering his injury or that his mother was trying to support his weight. When they fell to the ground, Greg screamed one obscenity after another at the hellish pain that radiated everywhere. “You bastard.” Greg lashed out, his voice dripping with hatred. “Get out of my room.”
“Stop fighting!” Chelsea cried. They continued their tirade as if she didn’t speak.
“You’re calling me a bastard? Haven’t you looked in the mirror and wondered why you and I bear no resemblance to each other?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” With of the little energy he had left, Greg cr
awled to his mother and held her in his arms.
“Your whore of a mother had an affair with a loser and came home pregnant with you. That makes you a bastard in the fullest definition of the word, don’t you think?”
Greg glanced at his mother and saw the answer in her eyes. “It’s true,” she said in a small voice.
The shocking disclosure was like a falling domino, setting off a chain reaction that toppled the rest in succession. With startling clarity, Greg found the answers to the questions that had haunted him all his life. He wasn’t his father’s son. No wonder love had been hard to come by. His father couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive his wife for her indiscretion, but he’d loved her enough to give her bastard son a name.
Although the truth hurt, Greg now understood his father’s misgivings, realizing that, in many ways, Greg Jr. had been a slave to his love for Chelsea. It was time to free them both from the shackles of their unfortunate connection.
“Yes, I guess you’re right.” The admission stung, piercing through the recesses of his entire being. Everything he had known and believed in just disappeared in a cloud of smoke. “I will make it easy on you and Mom. Forget about me, and I will leave you alone. I’ll resign my position in the company. You won’t have to worry about me taking your money. It’ll be an amicable separation. Let’s relieve each other of any further emotional burdens and social ties.”
As easy as that, Greg walked away from everything he’d ever known despite his mother’s pleas. The freedom should’ve made him feel better, but the ache remained long after his parents walked out of his life. It was better this way, he tried to convince himself.
When Sarah left, Greg finally got a glimpse of his life’s reality: past, present, and—if he dared hope—the future. With startling clarity, he found nothing was carved in stone, and he still held the key to his own happiness. If he tried harder, the possibility of stirring his destiny was still well within striking distance. He must figure out a way to start anew, to cut the bad memories from his past and forge ahead to replace them with new and shining experiences.
He had nothing to offer Sarah—not a name, not even the freedom to offer his hand in marriage. Even his body had rebelled against him. Bruised and battered, he’d be more of a liability than an asset for any young woman. Greg took steady breaths in order to calm himself. It was time to right all his past mistakes, and he needed to move forward with an untarnished slate. In order to move on with the future, he’d have to change.
It had been six months, ten days, thirty-four minutes, and forgotten seconds since she’d last seen or spoken with Greg. Who was counting, anyway? One sniff of her runny nose gave her away, and Ahila got to his feet, disappeared down the hallway, and came back with a roll of toilet paper. Yeah, it was toilet paper for them, not the soft tissues that the well-to-do used. He handed the roll to her without a word, running his fingers through her hair and kissing her forehead before he lowered his body back into the chair.
Staying silent, Sarah watched the magnificent view of the sun setting behind the icy mountaintops from their favorite perch on the porch. Winter had made an early entrance this year, and the weather had been unpredictable. The hunting and tourism, on the other hand, was in high gear, with most visitors looking to find some brown bears.
She and her father had fallen into the habit of ending each day there. They would sit next to each other and gaze at the wondrous sight. It was the highlight of their day. Ever since Ahila had stepped down from his position as chief, he’d had more time to spend with Sarah, and they’d been inseparable since her return.
To Sarah’s sorrow, Ahila’s health condition continued to deteriorate, although she’d known not to expect a miracle. She had still hoped that somehow, with enough rest, the medication would improve his condition without surgery and they could delay the inevitable. The changes had been subtle at first—the loss of appetite, spending more time in bed, and the recurrent shortness of breath. However, as the days passed, his gaunt features and his thinning body told her he was losing the battle.
She agonized over his refusal to visit the hospital, even for further testing and checkups. His acceptance of his condition and his resignation to his ultimate destiny infuriated Sarah more than anything, but there was nothing she could do about it. It had been a devastating experience to watch someone waiting for death the way her father did, but it was even more terrifying when your hands were tied. Helplessness and fear went hand-in-hand, and for the most part, Sarah couldn’t do more than sit, watch, and cry.
Ahila passed away in his sleep on a Friday morning, three weeks before Christmas and almost eight months since he’d welcomed Sarah back home. It was a silent, gentle death, devoid of the physical suffering associated with the disease. Despite the heartbreak that rammed into her at the discovery of her father’s lifeless body, Sarah found comfort in the belief that Ahila had found peace and everlasting glory in his reunion with her mother. He was now enjoying his afterlife after a fruitful existence here on earth.
When burial arrangements were underway, Sarah wandered into her father’s bedroom a day later, feeling the full brunt of his loss for the first time since his body was removed from the house. Lily’s voice and continued chatter came from the kitchen, where she was busy whipping up meals for Sarah to last the next few days. Trimble and Mr. V were in the living room, discussing the services before internment.
Sarah took stock of her father’s desk. A few parchments with his messy scribbles sat in a neat stack to one side. A Gwich’in book written by one of his friends lay open on the desk, its spine showing years of wear and tear. A picture of Sarah taken at her high school graduation had pride of place next to the penholder.
She sat down in his chair, catching the remnants of his scent. Sarah closed her eyes, letting the memory of his warmth caress her. Pushing past the anguish sweeping through her, she picked up the book and closed it, revealing an envelope that had lain underneath it. Her name was written on its surface in Ahila’s handwriting.
With shaking hands, she lifted the envelope and held it close to her heart. Sarah stared at it for what seemed like forever. Once her tears had waned, she pried open the flap and stared at her father’s handwriting. It took a monumental effort to make herself read his final words to her.
My dearest Vichi’,
The days following your return have been some of the happiest moments of my life. You have returned to our native soil as a matured human being and a changed woman. I know the strength you possess will carry you through the most difficult times to come, and you will always prevail.
I say this because I have always believed in you. I am a better man and father because of you. Your forgiveness enabled me to live the last of my days feeling like I hadn’t been a total failure as a father.
It hurts me to write this letter because I know that I won’t be around to hold your hand in your darkest hours. Believe me when I say that each one of these trials shall pass, and the days of smiles and happiness will soon be knocking on your door.
I love you, my dearest daughter. I love you so very much. When I meet our creator and he asks me if I have any regrets, the one thing I could say is that I wish I’d said those words more often. But know in your heart that I do love you and forever will.
Take good care of yourself. Live your life in joy, love, and tranquility. But most of all, live it as you see fit.
I shall see you in the afterlife.
Much love,
Papa
P.S. This check is my last gift to you. Excel in your chosen endeavor, and help whomever you deem worthy. Remember, we are all equal in the eyes of our maker.
Through her tears, Sarah stared at the enclosed cashier’s check and the staggering amount written across it in big, bold numbers. She gasped at the enormity of the gift. Another succession of tears dripped from her eyelashes and made their way down her cheeks. She clung to the crumpled paper as she would have her father if he were still around.
“I love you, too, Papa,” she whispered.
A gentle knock came at the door. Sarah stood and turned around, wiping the tears from her puffy eyes. “Come in.” Her voice sounded hoarse and foreign to her ears.
The door squeaked open, and Greg stood in the doorway.
“Hello, Sarah.”
Her hand shot up to stop her loud cry from escaping from her mouth. Had Ahila known this was coming? She turned the paper and read the portion again. The days of smiles and happiness will soon be knocking at your door.
Sarah folded the letter and stared at Greg, who remained on the threshold, watching her with sad, blue eyes. She noticed his hollow cheeks, his gaunt jaw, and the slumped shoulders underneath the blazer he wore.
“Greg, what are you doing here?” She choked back the sob in her throat.
“May I come in?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her face.
Sarah gestured for him to enter and placed the check and letter on her father’s desk. From the corner of her eye, she caught the sight of Greg walking in her direction with the aid of a cane. He leaned on the device as if he would stumble without it.
He stopped a few feet away. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.” Greg leaned against the wall and watched her with a somber expression.
“He led a full life.” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.
“I want to—”
“Greg, why aren’t you walking better?” she interrupted. “Rehab should have done wonders for your gait by now.” Sarah couldn’t tear her eyes away from his leg.
He looked down at the floor. “I had better things to do.”