by Tara Sivec
Jefferson hands the hammer back to me and shoves his hands into the front pocket of his pants.
“Did you know Papa owns a bank?” Jefferson asks with a huge, excited smile on his face. “He takes me there almost every day. I get to count money and go into the big vault and look at all the coins. I like going to the bank.”
I try to smile at the happiness in his voice, but it’s hard. I know he’s only a child and it’s not like I’ve made any effort to steer my son towards the craft that I love, but hearing him talk about having fun at the damn bank almost breaks my heart. It’s my own fault for not bringing him to a construction site or letting him play with my tools. It was my job to teach him how amazing it is to build something with your own two hands. I’m happy that my father dotes on him and teaches him things, but I’m sad that my son doesn’t share the same enthusiasm for my work.
“Did you know I’m the manager for the construction of this building?” I ask him as we turn and look at the structure behind us. “I’ve told everyone where each and every board goes and where all the nails need to be hammered. I get to be outside in the sun every day, building something.”
Jefferson shields his eyes from the sun as he stares up at the inn with a bored expression on his face.
“Your hands and your shirt are dirty,” he suddenly says.
I look down at myself, feeling a little ashamed that I’m covered in dirt and sweat the first time my son is seeing me in almost a year.
“Yep, that’s what happens when you do what I do. You never stay clean,” I tell him with a shrug.
“I get to dress up when I go to the bank with Papa. Nana bought me a new suit and a bunch of different colored ties and she even taught me how to tie them. Papa said when I’m older, I can have my very own office with a desk and a secretary who will get me coffee.”
I laugh out loud at his exuberance in spite of my jealousy.
“My birthday was last week. I’m seven now.”
My laughter dies quickly in my throat and tears prickle the back of my eyes. “I know, buddy. I’m so sorry I missed it.”
Resting my hand on his tiny shoulder, I bend back down so I’m eye-level with him. “How about we take a break and go into town for some ice cream to celebrate. Do you want chocolate chip or strawberry?”
Jefferson’s eyes light up and he smiles the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. “I LOVE chocolate chip! But I have to make sure to use napkins and not wipe my face on my sleeve. I’m going to the bank with Papa later, and I don’t want to be dirty.”
I choke back my tears and nod at him before taking his hand in mine again.
Chapter 18
I tried, but by that point it was too late. One year of absence from my son’s life was enough for another man to come in and be a better father figure to him than I could ever hope to be. The relationship with my parents became strained after that. I wanted my son back home with me, but he didn’t want to come. In the end, I chose to do what was best for him. After that day at Butler House Inn, I went to see him as often as I could and I tried to show him how fun it was to use tools and work with your hands, but I eventually had to accept the fact that my son would never be a craftsman. Jefferson’s heart and mind were set on a fancy office where a pretty woman brought you coffee and where you never got dirty or sweaty.
My son wasn’t always a pompous ass with nothing but money on the brain. Once upon a time, he was a sweet, innocent little boy whose father abandoned him. Over the years, even though he didn’t want to live with me, he grew to resent the fact that I didn’t come for him right after Bevy died. He hated me a little more each time I refused to talk about his mother or answer questions about our life together. Before I could even blink, he was a grown man, getting married and starting a family of his own.
The day my grandson was born was one of the most bittersweet days of my life. The sweet woman Jefferson married is the only reason I was allowed to have a relationship with Fisher. She knew Jefferson and I had a strained relationship and she didn’t want any part of that to touch her son. In a way, Fisher became more like a son to me than my own. I gave all of my love and attention to him as a way to make up for not giving it to his father. I taught him how to work with wood and instilled in him a love of creating something out of nothing. I made him see that doing what made him happy was the only way to live.
Fisher was a way for me to make amends for my past and maybe doting on him more than I did my own son was the wrong thing to do, but it was the only thing I could do. He was my second chance at getting it right and I vowed not to screw things up with him. Seeing my son repeat my mistakes with Fisher made me angry, though I certainly had no right to be. Jefferson doesn’t understand unconditional love for his child and only wanting what’s best for him because I never gave that to him. I was the catalyst to all of the things that went wrong with this family and I will bear that guilt forever.
I want Jefferson to understand. I NEED him to understand. I wanted to be a better father, I wanted to love him to distraction like Bevy did, just as she’d made me promise before she died, but I didn’t know how. I wasted an entire year of his life so lost in my own sadness and figuring out how I was going to go on that I didn’t consider how it might be affecting him.
A gust of wind blows around the house and I hear it creak and moan in protest. Looking out the window, I see that the dark clouds hovering overhead have opened up and it looks like something bad has arrived on Fisher’s Island. Leaning over to the transistor radio sitting on the end table next to the couch, I flip it on and listen to the warnings of an approaching hurricane. I can barely feel my left arm now. It’s grown numb over last few hours and I’m thankful that I’m right-handed and don’t need it to write. There’s one last thing I have to take care of.
Tearing off a clean sheet of paper while the wind howls and the rain beats against the windows, I compose a letter to my son, telling him everything he deserved to know years ago. I speak from the heart and I hope that he’ll read it and understand. I hope that he’ll forgive me.
Chapter 19
Dear Jefferson:
By the time you read this, I’ll probably be gone. I’m not feeling so well and I know my time is coming. I should be afraid because of all the things I’ve done and all the things I’ve left unsaid, but I’m not. I hope you’ve read the words I’ve written down in these pages. I’m sorry I never shared these things with you before now. I should have been a better man. I should have been a better father. There are a lot of things I should have done differently where you were concerned and I hope you can understand, even if you can’t forgive me.
You don’t always get everything you want out of life. Sometimes you do, but then they’re ripped out of your hands before you’re ready. I wasn’t ready to lose your mother. I don’t think I ever would have been ready, even if she’d lived to be a hundred years old. She was my light in the darkness, my reason for living and my best friend. I should have taken a page out of her book and realized that there was enough love in my heart for more than just her. I did love you, son. I DO love you. I’m proud of you, even though I think you’re being a complete ass where Fisher is concerned. I’m going to tell you what your grandmother said to me a long time ago: Get your head out of your ass and look at what’s right in front of you.
Okay, so she didn’t use those exact words, but you catch my drift.
Jefferson, you have an amazing son. A son who is a hero and a fighter and loves with everything inside of him. Cherish that boy and be thankful that you created such an amazing man. He’s a part of you, and you should be proud of who he’s become. Stop being hung up on the fact that he didn’t want to follow in your footsteps. I didn’t follow in my father’s and you certainly didn’t follow in mine. We all have to make our own paths in life and the only thing that matters is that we’re happy with the trail we walk. Fisher is happy, can you see that? Lucy makes him happy, building things makes him happy, living each day to the fullest makes him happy. Be
happy for him, Jefferson. Embrace the daughter-in-law that gives light to his darkness, just as your mother did for me. I promise, you don’t want to realize too late that you’ve made mistakes. There’s no going back, no matter how hard you try. I made so many mistakes with you and I wish every day that I could fix them. Be the father that I never knew how to be. Love your son like I never knew how to love you until it was too late and you didn’t need me anymore.
The only thing that scares me about dying is going to my grave with a son who hates me. I hope you understand the things I did more clearly now. I have to accept the path that I chose and I have to walk this final trail alone, and that’s on me, not you. The best parts of you, the thoughtful, sweet, beautiful, kindhearted parts that I know are in there somewhere – those are all your mother. Honor her memory by finding those parts. Share those parts with your wife and your son and your daughter-in-law and the grandchildren that I know they’ll give you. Lucy and Fisher remind me so much of your mother and I. They love each other to distraction. It’s the only way to love, my son. Love them to distraction. Love every part of them and don’t go another day without telling them that. Be kind, be happy and be thankful for the blessings you’ve been given in life.
I love you, Jefferson. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.
Your Father
Chapter 20
My brain is fuzzy and everything hurts. I know I’m lying on the floor, but I can’t seem to open my eyes to figure out why. I can hear people shouting, someone crying and screaming for a doctor, and the wind and rain battering the house. I want to tell them to stop worrying and that everything is okay. The pain is so bad that I don’t even care what happens to me now. I just want to go. I want to go where there is no pain, where my heart no longer hurts and I can live without regret. Someone is clutching my hand and telling me to hang on just a little bit longer. I open my mouth to tell them I just can’t do it anymore. I’ve hung on far longer than I wanted to. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m ready. I want to be free. Please, just let me be free.
I slowly open my eyes and the first thing I notice is how bright it is. I squint until I get used to the light and then blink a few times to bring my eyes into focus. Reaching up, I rest my hand against my chest and realize it doesn’t hurt any longer. As a matter of fact, nothing hurts. I feel like I could run a hundred miles, I have so much energy. I want to jump up and down, but an eighty-three-year old man can still break a hip, no matter how good he feels. Looking around me, I realize I’m on the beach, down by the lighthouse, and I have no idea how I got here. The last thing I remember was going over to Butler House to check on Lucy and her guests. She ran out of the house into the storm to go find Fisher and while I was screaming after her to get her ass back inside, I felt myself falling.
When the hell did I wake up and walk down to the lighthouse?
The sun is shining bright and the waves gently roll up onto the shore. There are no signs of the horrible storm that came to the island earlier and it makes me wonder what’s going on. I look up and I don’t find a cloud in the sky for as far as the eye can see. The sand is dry as a bone and there isn’t any debris littering the beach like there should be after a hurricane.
Jesus, how long was I out?
I start strolling along the beach, enjoying the nice weather and trying to get my jumbled thoughts in order, when I hear a voice in the distance. I stop walking and tilt my head to the side to try and hear better. The voice sounds again and chills skate up my spine. I know that voice. That soft, sweet, melodic voice that has filled my dreams for too many years to count. I must have hit my head when I fell, that’s the only explanation. I hit my head and now I’ve lost my damn mind. I squeeze my eyes closed and will that voice away, even though it’s the only sound I want to hear.
“Trip. Trip, over here!”
I try not to cry when the voice sounds like it’s coming from right behind me, so close I could reach out and touch the person it belongs to.
“Open your eyes, my love.”
I let out a sob as I open my eyes to a sight I refuse to believe. She’s not really here. She’s not standing right in front of me with her long, curly hair and big blue eyes and a beautiful smile on her face as she looks up at me.
“It’s about damn time, Trip Fisher,” she says with a laugh.
I let out a shaky breath and slowly reach my hand out towards her.
“Are you real?” I ask in a whisper.
She grabs my hand and presses it to her cheek. “As real as the sand you’re standing on and the ocean at our backs.”
Bevy gives me another big smile and I shake my head back and forth in denial.
“How is this happening? How are you here?”
She drops my hand, takes a step towards me and cups my face in her hands. “We’re here together, Trip. We’re finally here together.”
She looks exactly like she did fifty years ago. Her skin is smooth and young and her hair is the same chocolate brown shade it had been since it darkened up when she was a teenager. There aren’t any wrinkles around her eyes, there aren’t any age spots on her hands and she moves with fluidity and grace, unlike my old, decrepit self. I suddenly feel self-conscious, and as much as I want to pull her into my arms and never let go, I take a step back. I’m an old man now, an old man who’s lived fifty years without her. I’ve aged and I’ve changed. I’m not the same handsome young man she fell in love with. I look every bit my eight-three-years of age when she doesn’t look a day over thirty-one, the age she was when she died.
“Trip, what’s wrong?” she asks.
I shake my head back and forth in shame for being so vain. “You’re so young and beautiful. You’re exactly how I remembered you, how I’ve dreamed of you. I’m not…I don’t…”
I trail off and tear my gaze away from hers so she doesn’t see the tears pooling in my eyes. It’s not fair that the first time I get to see her again, it has to be like this. At the end of my life as an old man.
Bevy suddenly laughs, and even though I’m sad, it’s like music to my ears. My eyes find hers and she shakes her head at me.
“Oh, Trip, you silly man. Look. Turn around,” she instructs me as she grabs onto my shoulders and turns me away from her.
Standing in the sand right behind us is a huge mirror. I have no idea how it got there and I don’t care because the reflection in front of me takes my breath away. It’s me, but it’s not me. The man in the mirror can’t be more than thirty-something. He’s got brown, slicked back hair instead of a head of white, old man hair. He’s got smooth skin and muscles under his t-shirt that haven’t withered away. I tear my gaze away from the mirror to look down at my hands. The age spots and wrinkles have been replaced with strong, young hands. I run those young hands over my face and find the same results. I quickly turn away from the mirror to look at Bevy in confusion.
“I’m not old. How am I not old?” I ask her.
She smiles again and runs her hand down the side of my face. “There’s no age here, Trip. There’s nothing but happiness. You can be whoever you want to be. You can be whatever age you want to be. When you got here, you must have been thinking about this age and that’s why it happened. You’re still just as handsome as ever.”
I laugh through my tears and finally pull her into my arms. She still smells like flowers and my heart still beats in triple time when I feel her this close to me.
“I’m sorry, Bevy. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” I whisper in her ear.
She pulls back and looks into my eyes. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Trip. Time here, it’s different than anywhere else. For me, it was only a blink of an eye before you were here. You’re the one who had to go through all that time on your own. I’m sorry I left you.”
“I’m sorry for so many things, Bevy. I’m sorry for all the time I wasted before I realized I loved you, I’m sorry for not being a better father to our son, I’m sorry for missing you so much that I didn’t want to live anymore, I�
��m sorry–”
Her hand comes up to my mouth and she silences me.
“Shhhh, Trip, it’s okay. None of that matters now. You haven’t had it easy, my love, and there’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re here now, we’re together and nothing else matters.”
Leaning forward, I rest my forehead against hers and sigh contentedly.
“There are so many things I need to tell you. So much has happened, Bevy.”
She turns her face up to mine and kisses me softly on the lips. “We have plenty of time for all of that. We have eternity, Trip.”
Bevy pulls away and grabs onto my hand, leading me down the beach. “I have something I want to show you.”
The smile on her face is contagious and I find myself smiling and laughing right along with her as we race across the sand. I didn’t know my legs could still work like this and I feel happier than I’ve ever been with the ocean breeze rushing through my hair and Bevy’s hand in my own.
We get to the end of the beach and begin to climb up a rocky hill. When we get to the top, Bevy points down on the other side. “Look. Look at what you’ve made possible.”
I turn away from her and stare in wonder at the scene at the bottom of the hill. A little boy and a little girl sit side-by-side, playing in the sand together. The little girl looks so much like Bevy with her long, curly hair and blue eyes that I almost think I’m looking into the past at the two of us playing together when we were children. The little boy turns his face, however, and even though he looks familiar, I know it’s not me.
“Who are they?” I whisper.
“Just watch,” Bevy tells me.
We stand together hand-in-hand, watching the children play. A few minutes later, someone comes up behind them and I smile.
“Little Miss Beverly, look at how dirty your dress is!”
The little girl looks up at Jefferson with his hands on his hips, trying to look stern, but unable to hide the grin on his face.