Chapter Nineteen
SAWYER TRAINED HARDER than he ever had for the next week. He decreased his running, increased sparring times, and Roach brought in incrementally harder sparring partners, all leading up to next week’s heavyweight sparring match, which Sky’s friends were coming to watch.
Sawyer had been spending nights at Sky’s cottage since the evening of the sex-toy prank, which her friends were still laughing over—and Bella was still stewing over. The more time he spent with Sky and her friends, the more he felt like part of their group. He and the guys had gone for several morning runs together, and he’d gotten to know Tony, Pete, and Caden well. They were all so in love with their wives that they talked about them even while they ran. That had made Sawyer feel even more at ease, as Sky was always on his mind, and it would have been hard trying to cover that up.
He’d come back to his house this afternoon to oversee the final painting of the interior and to pack for their overnight on Pete’s boat. The ramp to the skycap had finally been installed. He assessed the wheelchair ramp that ran up the center of the house. The ramp led up to a landing on the second floor, where there was enough room to turn a wheelchair around safely, and then continued up to the skycap. The painters had left an hour ago, and once the paint dried, the house would be presentable before his father’s return after Sawyer’s title fight—to celebrate Sawyer’s win. He had no doubt that he’d win his title fight. He was ready.
Sawyer went up to the bedroom and packed a duffel bag with enough clothes for the week, knowing that he and Sky would rather spend time at Seaside than here, and there was no longer a question of if they would stay together. Their coupledom was a given, and that was something he’d not only never had before, but he’d never imagined wanting. And now he couldn’t imagine a life without Sky.
He set his duffel bag out in the hall and went up to the skycap one last time before heading over to pick up Sky. It was a clear afternoon, and from the third-floor room he had a clear view of Provincetown curling out to sea, like a protective arm around the bay. He remembered the stories his father had told him about the walks he’d taken along the shore with Sawyer’s great-grandfather and the bike paths they’d ridden on, and how they would always return to the skycap and drink iced tea as they admired the distance they’d gone. Sawyer had taken numerous walks with his father before they’d sold the house. As he looked out over the land his family had called their own for so many generations, he thought about one day taking those walks with his own son or daughter. He chewed on that thought for a few minutes, having never gone there before. It had always been just Sawyer, and then his thoughts had become about him and caring for his father, and in turn, caring for his mother’s emotional well-being, too.
Now there was Sky.
Now there was us.
He glanced back at the pillows on the floor where he and Sky had first made love in the room his great-grandfather built, and he realized that she was the first and only woman he’d ever made love to in that house. He glanced up at the rafters, smiling as his parents’ initials came into view, and when he crossed the floor and found his grandparents’ initials, a whole new warmth filled him. He wanted that permanence. He wanted to look back thirty years from now and see his and Sky’s initials and remember the very first time they made love.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and read a text from Sky he must have missed earlier. Can’t wait until tonight!
They still hadn’t said the three sacred words that felt like they’d been kept behind bars since the night at the pool, when he’d heard her admit that she thought she loved him. He was waiting for the right moment to tell Sky how he felt.
He typed in a response. Every second we’re apart feels like a lifetime. Having 48 hours together will feel like an eternity. One I never want to end. Xox. He sent it off, then sank down to the pillows on the floor, thinking about the text he’d just sent.
A lifetime with Sky was exactly what he wanted, but that wasn’t the only thought heavy on his mind as he sat in the skycap of his family home thinking about the future. The completion of the ramp loosened all the things he’d been keeping tied down in the back of his mind. How many years did his father have ahead of him bound to a walker or a wheelchair, with slowed speech and tremors? Had his father ever imagined such a future for himself? When he was fighting in the war, praying every moment to make it out alive, did he ever dream that living out his years with this horrible disease would be his fate? Sawyer’s chest tightened with the painful thoughts.
What hopes and dreams had his parents made that they were missing out on? Sawyer had another few weeks until he could retire, and then he would have forever with Sky, or so he hoped. But hadn’t his parents counted on the same thing?
Words began to sail into his mind—moonlight, sunlight, cloudy days—shifting quickly from light to dark. Fissures of love. Struggle and stretch. He tried to ignore the persistence of them, but they kept coming, one after another. Bonds fraying, years ending. Like the night he met Sky, he knew these weren’t passing thoughts and there was a song in there somewhere. He grabbed a pen from the floor, and at a loss for paper, he scrawled the words on his forearm.
Silence. Pleas.
Strength. Forgiveness.
More. Always more.
Tenuous days. Harsh endings.
He sucked in air, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. He rose to his feet and paced the hardwood floor, fighting against the song he didn’t want to write. It was one thing to keep himself so focused on winning the fight that he separated his father’s illness from the truth of where it was headed. But now it was staring him in the face—and all the fighting in the world couldn’t shelter him from it. He let out a tortured groan as more words coursed through his mind.
Like the wind in the night, shifting, stealing, paving the way. There will come a day, come a day.
The pen fell from his hands.
Sawyer lifted his eyes to the window, thinking about history and family and all the things that mattered. Love and honor, trust and commitment. Those were things that could never be taken away, no matter how much of his father was stolen by the disease. Memories. His father would never have a chance to create the same kinds of memories with Sawyer’s children as Sawyer had of his grandfather, but that didn’t mean that Sawyer and his father couldn’t create other types of memories that could be carried forward and shared for generations to come.
With his hands fisting at his sides and his chest swelling with every inhalation, he pushed past the urge to ignore the future of his father’s disease and grasped at the now.
He pulled out his phone and called his parents.
“Hi, honey.” His mother answered on the second ring, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you. Don’t you and Sky leave today?”
“Hi, Mom. Yeah, we’re leaving shortly. I wanted to check on you and Dad before we take off.” He hadn’t gotten down to see them this week, with the ramp renovations taking precedence, and even though he’d called twice, he felt a little guilty.
“We’re fine, honey. You go and enjoy your time off. Maybe when you come back you can bring Sky to meet us?”
The hope in her voice made him smile. “I will. I know she’d like that. She’s one of Dad’s biggest fans. Actually, I wanted to talk to him about something. Is he around?”
“He’s right here. Hold on.”
He heard his mother try to hand the phone to his father.
“Hold on, honey,” his mother said into the phone again. “I’m going to put you on speakerphone and hold it up so it’s easier for your father.”
“Okay,” Sawyer answered, hoping she couldn’t hear the tug of his heartstrings as loudly as he felt them.
“Son,” his father said in his slow drawl.
“Hi, Dad. Guess where I am?” The silence stretched so long that Sawyer wondered if his father had heard him. He was used to long stretches of silence, but this one felt interminable—he realized that it probably felt that way because he was bursting at the seams to get his thoughts out.
“The…gym?” his father finally answered.
“No, Dad. The skycap. The ramp is done. It’s beautiful, and I can’t wait to bring you up here to look out over the water. I was thinking about the times you brought me up here and told me about the walks you took with your father and grandfather.”
“Good…times.”
Sawyer smiled. “Yes, they were.” His throat swelled with the reality that one day these phone calls might be impossible, too. “Dad, I’m sitting here looking out over the bay, and I’m thinking about the future—and the past. I want to do something with you, Dad. Something of our own.”
“Anything…son.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes tightly shut against the tears that threatened. “Thank you, Dad.” His voice was so thick with emotion he didn’t recognize it. He cleared his throat to try to regain control of his emotions and said, “I want to write with you, Dad. I know you haven’t written in years, and I know you don’t want to write and that I’m not as good with words as you are. But, Dad, I want to bring our voices together in a poem, or a song, or both. Whatever you’re willing to do, I want to do this together. I want something that we can have forever, that I can share with my children, and…” He realized he was rambling and paused again to regain control. “Dad, it would mean the world to me if you would consider doing this with me. For me.”
His father was quiet for so long he wondered if he’d pissed him off. A full minute or two later he heard the speakerphone click off, and his mother’s emotional voice came on the line.
“Honey?”
“Mom, did I push him too hard? Is he upset with me?”
“No, honey. He’s just too overcome with emotion to talk.”
Sawyer closed his eyes against new tears vying for release.
“Sawyer?”
“Yes, Mom?”
She lowered her voice and said, “Thank you. Thank you so very much.”