by Jamie Beck
“Ah.” Sara tugged the small blanket over her knees. “Perhaps Smith’s arrival nudged him along.”
Hunter returned with some glasses and an open bottle of cabernet, which he proceeded to pour, giving himself the largest glass. He sat on the arm of the sofa nearest his wife and stared at Gentry. She knew he meant to be supportive, but he had a way of making her feel interrogated.
“Smith didn’t help things, that’s for sure.” She focused on Sara, who’d repositioned herself to face Gentry more directly. “My mom’s pushing me to make us a ‘real’ family so I don’t have to share custody. Apparently now Ian agrees. It’s like he doesn’t even care . . .”
“He cares.” Hunter chugged a bit of his wine.
Gentry shot him a questioning look, doubting Ian had confided anything in her brother.
“I watched him during dinner. He bristled anytime Smith opened his mouth, but his hands are tied, Gentry.” Hunter tugged one foot across the opposite knee. “Biology aside, Ian’s got his plans. You and I already discussed why that drive isn’t going anywhere.”
“What are you talking about?” Sara asked him.
Gentry waved a hand in the air. “Ian’s insane commitment to building an EMT training center in Jacmel.”
“Why do you think it’s insane?” Sara pressed.
Gentry set down her glass so she could tick her fingers. “Because the living conditions sound abysmal. Because he could be kidnapped. Because getting the money and supplies and expertise together isn’t the same as keeping them in play year after year. And most importantly, because I don’t think this is his dream. He’s giving up a chance at happiness here in order to chase a ghost.”
“Careful, sis. Given some of our family’s issues, I get why you might question Ian’s motives. But his family was intact. He’s an only child. He’s got a real interest in keeping his father’s memory and name alive. That’s powerful stuff.”
“Why can’t he do it like a normal person—get married, have kids, do good works around here?” Gentry grabbed her wine a bit too hard, so it sloshed over the rim.
“Maybe what makes him so appealing to you is that he isn’t normal.” Sara smoothed the blanket, her voice soft but knowing. “You never did like anyone or anything traditional.”
Leave it to Sara to stop Gentry’s rant cold. Some truths could not be denied.
“Let’s step back a second and talk about Smith.” Hunter leaned forward to set his now-empty glass on the coffee table. “You two were joking around like old buddies tonight. He got along well with everyone, including your mom. Is there any chance that you two might turn coparenting into something more?”
“Oh God, Hunter.” Gentry slapped her forehead. “If you agree with my mom, we all better head underground because the apocalypse is nigh.”
“I’m not suggesting you force it, but it would be convenient if it worked out, wouldn’t it?” He crossed his arms with a shrug.
Gentry wrinkled her nose. “I can’t go there mentally. I like the way things are now, with Ian.” I’m in love, you fools! Can’t you tell? Don’t I look different?
“But he’s leaving.” Sara folded her hands in her lap.
“I know that. It’s why I’m here. I need advice, not a blow-by-blow of the obvious.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and buried her head in her hands. “Sorry. I’m a wreck.”
“Do you honestly want my advice?” Sara asked, unfazed by Gentry’s mood.
Gentry and Hunter both stared at Sara, and Gentry swallowed her dread. “Yes, please.”
“Do you care about Ian . . . maybe even love him a little?” Sara leaned closer now.
Love! Yes, now you see. Now we’re on the right track.
Cold sweat broke out along Gentry’s hairline and forearms. She couldn’t quite handle this much intimacy filling the space between them, so she nodded, eyes downcast.
“Then let him go.”
Gentry shivered from the ice-water effect of Sara’s words.
Still, Sara continued. “Guilt or manipulation won’t make him care more, and either one could backfire. And even if you succeeded in convincing him to stay, he’d end up wrestling with doubts about that choice forever. Find the grace to let him go with love. What’s meant to be will be, Gentry. Have faith in that and in yourself.”
Hunter laid his hand on Sara’s shoulder and kissed her head. “She knows what she’s talking about. I almost lost everything before I figured out that I couldn’t control fate. I can only control myself.” Then he grinned like an imp—unusual for him. “Not that I don’t still sometimes think the world would be better off if I could control everything.”
Sara chuckled, stretching up to pat his cheek. “More efficient, maybe, but not necessarily better.”
Gentry chugged what remained of her wine, mulling over Sara’s so-called wisdom.
“Adulting” sucked.
Life before Colt had been simple. Gentry missed the freedom to run off, rant, make mistakes, and generally start fresh every morning. Now she had to be accountable. Her decisions all affected her son. Her reputation mattered because it would affect him, too.
Losing Ian before they’d had time to cement their relationship was a cruel joke. Who needed to feel this way? Maybe her mother was right. A pragmatic relationship with a relaxed, easy-on-the-eyes man like Smith would never hurt this much. It could be comfortable and fun, and provide Colt with stability. And everyone, including Ian and her, agreed Colt should be the priority.
Smith wouldn’t be killed or kidnapped on the job. They’d have an endless supply of good wine, clean water, and laughter. Her son could have his father in his life on a regular basis. Would that all be better in the long run?
“Gentry?” Hunter asked.
“Hm?” The effect of the wine wound its way through her limbs.
“I have one last suggestion.” He looked so serious, her stomach dropped.
“Hit me . . .” Gentry held her breath.
“Focus on Colt and work, and let everything else sort itself out. We need you to be on top of your end of the marketing campaign. The launch is literally around the corner. Its success or failure will have a huge impact on our kids’ lives, too.”
Work. She’d let that fall to the bottom of her to-do list. Unlike Hunter—and Ian—she didn’t consider her job a legacy. It didn’t give her a sense of identity. Her photography and blog better represented who she was and what mattered to her, but that seemed frivolous. Maybe that’s, in essence, who or what she still was despite months of trying to be more. Frivolous.
No wonder Ian was leaving, like she’d always known he would.
Two hours ago, she’d been optimistic. Now everything seemed upside down and inside out.
She looked at her brother and Sara. They had it all: professional drive and respect, a lovely family and home, confidence and security. Everything she wanted.
“I’m going to do exactly what you say. I’ve got all afternoon tomorrow to address what I didn’t quite finish last week. Monday morning, I’ll hit the ground running. If Ian can walk away so easily, then he isn’t worth waiting for anyhow.”
That sounded more convincing than it felt, but she’d always subscribed to the “Fake it till you make it” theory.
Newly determined, Gentry stood. “Sorry I dropped in unexpectedly, but thanks for listening. I’ll be seeing Smith off in the morning. What’d you all think of him, by the way?”
“Very amiable.” Sara nodded, although her glum expression proved that she empathized with Gentry’s struggle.
“He handled himself well under the circumstances. And he’s not holding a grudge, which means he’s more than fair.” Hunter nodded thoughtfully. “He could be good for you and Colt. In any case, you’ll have help with parenting now, which is huge.”
Not as huge as having Ian’s help, but still, in the long run, who knew? Who knew anything, really?
“All things considered, I lucked out with Smith’s attitude. I guess I’ll be g
etting on a plane soon to take Colt to meet his family. I wonder what they’ll think of me?” Gentry picked up her empty glass to take it to the kitchen.
“Depends on your mood . . . and your outfit,” Hunter teased. His comment was met with a gentle backhand from Sara. “She knows I’m kidding . . . sort of.”
“Just for that, you can put this in the dishwasher for me.” Gentry handed Hunter her glass. “I’m outta here.”
She kissed him goodbye and returned to her car.
Thousands of stars lit up the black sky, as if the whole galaxy had shown up for a concert. An hour ago those stars had promised a connection to Ian, but now they were nothing more than a reminder of a magnificent dream that hadn’t come true.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join me at the diner for lunch?” Ian’s mother asked as they exited church.
“Not today.” He squinted into the sunlight, watching dozens of parents wrangle their kids into their cars. Families bound for baseball games or birthday parties.
Last night after Gentry had run off to cool down, Ian had sat in the nursery, staring at Colt and thinking about his life. Before Gentry returned, he’d gone back to his room. From there, he heard her check on Colt, but she didn’t come to Ian, and he didn’t push himself on her.
This morning, she’d been quiet and polite, resolved to accept his decision. He’d left the house before Smith arrived, mostly because he didn’t want to see that guy again. It had been hard enough to let go of Gentry, and harder to suggest that she be open to a relationship with Smith. He didn’t need to torture himself by standing on the sidelines to watch that happen.
His mother squeezed his arm. “I’ve never known you to pass up apple pie.”
“I’m not good company today.” He’d barely mustered the energy to shave. Not even the thought of fries and pie made him happy.
“You’re usually riding a high before you take off for Haiti.” Her tone held no judgment, only a question.
“I know.” He let out a sigh, wishing he could be carried away with that breath.
His mother’s eyes looked older today. Tired. Even a little sad. “Care to tell me why you aren’t more excited?”
He patted her arm and kissed her cheek. “Not at the moment, Mom. My flight leaves in forty-two hours. I’ll swing by to say goodbye before I go. Right now I need some space.”
She wrapped him in a hug. He held her and rested his cheek on her head.
“I love you, Ian,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by his body. “You are your father’s son. A man with a heart bigger than the earth itself. I’m proud of you, and I know your father would be, too.”
His nose tingled, but he didn’t cry. He didn’t do anything other than give his mom an extratight squeeze and choke out a thank-you. A month ago that sentiment would’ve fed his pride. This morning he was too aware that being like his father might not be quite as wonderful as he’d always thought.
He released her and walked her to her car.
“Don’t you want a ride?” she asked when he didn’t walk to the passenger side.
“I think I’ll walk a bit.”
“You can’t walk to Lake Sandy from here!”
He’d walked much farther, and under more harsh conditions, in his life. “I’ll figure it out, Mom.”
She nodded, taking the hint. “I’ll take you to the airport on Tuesday. Let me know what time to pick you up.”
“I can grab an Uber.”
She went still, her eyes growing misty. “Ian, when you go off to these places, I never know if it’s the last time I’ll see you. Let me take you to the airport.”
He stared at her, having never given any thought to the stress his choices forced on his mother. She’d already lost a husband to Haiti, and Ian was her only child. God, he could be stupid. “Of course, Mom. But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m careful.”
So had his father been, until he hadn’t. Of course, people died every day in every imaginable way. Bizarre accidents and terrible violence occurred around the corner just as often as they did around the world. He wouldn’t live his life in fear of danger that “might” happen. Having goals, experiencing new things, being grateful. Those made for a good life, no matter how long it lasted.
He kissed his mother’s cheek and then closed her car door once she was seated behind the wheel. After she drove away, he walked back into the now-empty church and sat in a pew.
Eyes closed, head bent, he sought reassurance about the path he’d chosen. He sought strength to be able to do the right thing for Gentry, Colt, and those he, Stanley, and Archer hoped to help. He sought peace, too, but that one eluded him.
Tuesday morning, Ian rose before the sun and packed his duffel. He gathered his towels for the laundry. Before leaving the room, he stood in its center, committing its details to memory. Not just the color of the paint, or the shimmer of the gauze curtain, but the memories it held. The first impression he’d had, the first time Gentry had kissed him, the restless nights he’d spent fighting his feelings for her, the afternoon he’d fallen asleep with Colt in this bed. A lifetime lived out in less than a month.
He wished things had been warmer between Gentry and him these past two days, but he respected her need for distance. Last night he’d almost gone to her room to satisfy the overwhelming need to be close to her, but that would’ve been another mistake and made things even harder today.
He left his things in the hallway and crept into Colt’s dark room. Babies looked angelic in their sleep, arms overhead, faces turned to one side, features relaxed and peaceful. For Colt, that was a rarity.
Colt’s slumber gave Ian an excuse to remain silent. Not that he could have found the words to describe the difficulty of leaving this young child behind or the hopes he had for Colt’s future.
Ian had saved many lives. Befriended and assisted many children. But nothing compared with the awesome responsibility of having an infant depend on him for everything, day after day. Or seeing those dark-blue eyes drinking in every new experience. Or feeling the trusting weight of this baby against his chest each day.
These past several weeks had given him a taste of fatherhood. Some days he’d caught himself projecting ahead. Thinking about whether Colt would like baseball or football. Whether he’d be a good student. Whether he’d be artistic. In those daydreams Ian had been there by Colt’s side, at a game or recital or spelling bee. Fanciful notions that came from a corner of his soul Ian had never explored.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his wet eyes and whispered, “Love you,” before walking away and closing the nursery door. His mother would be arriving in fifteen minutes to whisk him off to the airport.
He heaved his duffel over one shoulder and gathered the towels. When he got down to the living room, he found Gentry in her robe, seated on the sofa, hair pinned up in some knot. It reminded him a bit of the first time he’d shown up here, when she’d been in that same robe—frazzled and overwhelmed.
“Good morning.” She stood, hands buried in her robe’s pockets. The first hint of sun peeked through the trees behind her, glinting off the gold highlights in her red hair.
“Good morning.” Ian set the duffel on the floor and placed the bundle of linens on the sofa. “Didn’t expect to see you this early.”
“Thought you’d make a clean getaway, did you?” Her sly smile popped into place for a flash; then she dropped her gaze to the ground. Within another second, she recovered and raised her chin.
“I planned to leave a note.” Ian took a few steps closer. “You’ve been quiet these past two days. I wanted to respect your space.”
She nodded, blinking as if to stave off tears, and attempted another smile. “I’ve been thinking a lot, so it’s no wonder if you’ve been confused.”
Whenever she derided herself, it cut him up. He wanted to hold her, but he didn’t think it’d be welcome. “I like your spontaneity. I hope this change isn’t permanent.”
Gentry shrugged. “I�
�d hoped to find brilliant words—or at least eloquent ones—to sum up all of my feelings. But I’m not Sara or Colby. I’m not good at it, so you’re stuck settling for this.” She walked to him, pulling Quackers out of her pocket.
He frowned, puzzled, as he looked at the matted toy she held out. “And what, exactly, can he say to me that you can’t?”
“Everything.” She pressed the plush toy to his chest. “I want you to have him, Ian. He’s pretty good company when you feel alone . . .” Her voice was strained now, so she forced him to take hold of the duck and then dropped her arms.
He trembled. Of all the expensive and extravagant things Gentry owned, Quackers was, by far, her most precious. He thrust it back at her. “I can’t take this, Gentry. It means so much to you.”
Twenty-plus years of love, to be precise.
She shook her head. “Please take him. I want you to have him. I want you to know . . . just that. Just know . . .”
His phone pinged. No doubt his mother was outside in her car, waiting to drive him to the airport. He cursed under his breath. Gentry sucked her lips inward, biting down hard to keep from speaking or crying or both.
Unable to resist any longer, he grabbed her into a hug and squeezed her so tight she coughed. “If I didn’t love you, this would be much easier,” he said, right before he kissed her. He cupped her wet cheeks, and she wiped at his as he stared into her eyes. “Be happy. Don’t doubt yourself. Don’t settle for less than you want. And don’t forget to wish on those stars, Gentry.”
She sniffled and kissed him again, then pushed him away and touched her fingers to her mouth. “Don’t take this wrong, but I’m going to try to forget all about you, Ian Crawford.”
She would, too, of that he was sure. She’d spent a lifetime building that defense mechanism, and he could hardly begrudge her whatever she needed in order to ease her pain.
His phone pinged again. “I have to go.”
“I know.” Her chin wobbled, and new tears fell from her eyes. She followed him to the door. He’d gotten a few steps down the walkway when he heard her call out, “I love you, too.”