My Cami? Yes, you are. My email access is limited, so feel free to flood my inbox but know I’ll only be able to email once a week.

I miss you more than words can say and more than my fingers can type. The taste of you still lingers on my tongue, and your scent is faint, but it still covers me completely. I’m hungry for you, and I know that nothing will satisfy my craving for you until I’m back home.

I’m finally on base and safe, for now. I’ll be here for a few weeks before going out on patrol. When I have that information, I’ll try to tell you, so you don’t worry.

How is your dad? More importantly, how are you? I know this can’t be easy, and I wish more than anything that I was there to take away some of your pain.

Stay strong.

Yours, G

It took forever to get that first email from Garrett. Almost two days after I sent my email I finally received his, and I was positively giddy. Not even a run-in with my mother could ruin my mood.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” she scolded me when we met in the driveway. I was headed out to meet Palmer and discuss selling my condo.

“I’m going to try,” I replied coldly.

“Cami,” she said, clearly frustrated. “Will you just stop and talk to me?”

“Fine. One question. Why did you have to leave on my birthday?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry for leaving on your birthday. That was wrong of me. The day you turned eighteen, all I could think about was my own freedom. I was selfish.”

“Do you even realize that I haven’t been able to celebrate my birthday for almost eight years? This was the first year.”

“I don’t know what else to say, but I’m sorry.”

“Well, unfortunately, that’s not good enough for me.” She had enough of my time for now. I got in my car and left to meet Palmer.

It was hard for me not to get stuck in my own head and start to wonder if I was being too harsh, too unforgiving. Maybe I shouldn’t let eighteen years of wonderful memories be erased by one life-changing decision.

My foul mood carried over into my meeting with Palmer and the real estate agent that he found to help me sell my condo. The agent, Miranda, was a perfect fit. I liked her immediately and felt confident in my decision to have her list the condo.

Before I left the restaurant where I’d met up with them, Palmer stopped me. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, his concern etched on his face.

“My mom cornered me in the driveway,” I told him, my voice filled with irritation. We were standing outside on the patio of the restaurant, but I had a feeling the conversation was going to last a bit longer, so I sat back down. “She wants me to talk to her.”

“And you don’t want to?”

“No. I want to be angry.”

“But haven’t you been angry for eight years?”

I balled up a napkin and threw it at him. “Stop being logical, Palmer! Yes, I have been angry with her for eight years, but it was easy to ignore because she was gone. Now she’s right there, in my face, asking for forgiveness.”

“You’re losing one parent, Cami. Is it really worth it to lose both of them? Wouldn’t you rather have your mother back in your life?”

“Of course, I want that! What daughter doesn’t want a mother? But what mother leaves her daughters behind for selfish pursuits? You don’t just abandon your family like that.”

“I understand exactly what you’re saying, but maybe you should at least let her talk? Give her the chance to explain first before you decide that forgiveness isn’t an option.”

I gritted my teeth and groaned in frustration. “Stop it, Palmer. Just stop being so damned reasonable! Fine, I’ll give her a chance … when Garrett comes home.”

“Cami,” he admonished me.

“Okay. I’ll consider doing it sooner.”

When Palmer dropped me off, I retreated to the guest house and to my laptop. Sending Garrett daily emails was my thing now. It made me feel connected to him even though his responses weren’t always quick.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: One Week

If I only get to hear from you once a week, then that day will be my favorite. I’ll try to not stuff your inbox now that I know how often we can communicate. Can we Skype or FaceTime at all? I’d give anything to not only hear your voice but also see your face.

Palmer and I met with a real estate agent today. Her name is Miranda, and she’s absolutely perfect. I totally trust her to help sell the condo, and I’m planning to meet with her at the end of the week to list it. Maybe I should ask her about buying a winery?

My mom also kind of cornered me today. She wants to talk, and she wants forgiveness. I just don’t know if I’m ready to listen and to grant it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to forgive her. Palmer was being unreasonably logical and told me that I should at least listen to what she has to say before I decide that forgiveness isn’t an option. He’s completely right, but the hurt she caused is so deep that … I just don’t know, Garrett. I just don’t know if it’s possible. And then I think about getting married and a wedding without either my dad or my mom, and it makes the hurt worse. Could I really get married without her?

I’m grateful for all of Palmer’s help and advice, but I can’t help but wish it was you. I don’t want to burden you with all of this; I’m sorry. I’m trying to stay strong.

Stay safe,

Your Cami

His response came a day later, quicker than I expected. My heart pounded in my chest when my phone pinged, and I saw his email waiting in my inbox. Eagerly, I swiped my phone and let his message fill the tiny screen. His words and response and opinions meant more to me than I wanted to say, and I hated that I was almost dependent upon him to make such a monumental decision.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: One Week

I’m sorry I can’t be there with you. I wish that more than anything. This is the worst moment of your life, and you’re dealing with so much. I’m grateful that Palmer is there to help you through it all, but I’m a little jealous too. I hope his shoulders aren’t too comfortable. Please don’t ever think that you’re a burden to me. I want to know what you’re thinking and feeling because it helps me feel connected to you while we’re so far apart.

I know you don’t want to hear this, but Palmer is right. You should listen to what your mother has to say. If you make a decision now without listening to her side, you might regret it for the rest of your life.

I want nothing more than to see your face and hear your voice. I’ll try to arrange something, but I can’t guarantee anything will happen. Patrols have started, and it’s not exactly paradise around here. I’m waiting for my orders to come any day. When they come, it might be more than a week before you hear from me again. I don’t want you to worry. Until then …

Stay strong.

Yours, G.

His advice was the same as Palmer’s—listen to her, talk with her, and then decide. Fine. I didn’t have to like it, but I could still do it. Luckily, Garrett left half a case of Hammond Wine in the guest house. Clutching a bottle of red wine, I walked across the driveway and into the main house. Valerie was still at work, but my mother was in the kitchen cooking. It bothered me because she was part of the reason I loved baking. Suddenly, I pictured all of the Christmases we’d spent together baking and elaborately decorating cookies.

“This is your time to explain,” I said coolly, walking into the kitchen. I set the bottle of wine on the table and went in search of a corkscrew. Once I managed to open the bottle, I poured myself a glass and sat at the kitchen island.

My mom turned and nodded toward my bottle. “Can I have some of that?”

“Nope.” It was childish to be selfish with the wine, but I was already giving her my time.

“Fine.” She sat down across from me and let out a heavy breath. “What do you want to know?”

“Where have you been for the past eight years?”

“Oh, well, I’ve been all over. For the first two years, I lived out of a suitcase and just traveled, searching for a place to settle down.”

“And then?”

“Well, then I got bored. So I came home.”

“What do you mean home? Home like Seattle or home like Washington?”

“Well, I lived in New York City for two years, but it was so cramped there.” She seemed evasive, and I didn’t like what I heard next. “And then I came back west three years ago.”

“Where have you been living?”

“Orcas Island.”

I did my best not to crack the stem of my wine glass between my fingers. My fear had become fact. She’d been so close the past three years.

“Why did you stay away then?”

She sighed heavily. “I don’t have an answer to that. Guilt, maybe?”

“That’s not good enough for me.” I took a large sip of my wine and looked away.

“Fine. I was scared to find that you all had moved on without me; that you and your sister and your father had completely forgotten about me.”

“That sounds like a better answer. We never forgot about you. You were the giant invisible elephant in the room. And when Dad got sick, it got harder to think about you. You should have been here from the beginning, not shown up right when he’s about to die.”

“You’re right, and that’s a regret I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.”

I sat back in my chair and fiddled with my wine glass, twirling it slightly. “Listen,” I said, resigned. “I can’t promise you forgiveness. If it happens, it’s going to take a long time. I can’t just forgive and forget the past eight years. But Dad is coming home tomorrow, and he needs all of us. It’s not going to do him any good to see us arguing. So, I’m calling a truce.”

“Thank you, Cami.”

I finished my wine and then headed back to the guest house. I was proud of myself, and the only person I wanted to talk to was Garrett.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: The Bigger Person

I took your advice (and Palmer’s too) and talked to my mother. I guess it helped that I had a bottle of Hammond Wine liquid courage to assist. Nothing was decided, and I didn’t forgive her. We called a truce, for Dad’s sake. I don’t want him to be surrounded by negativity. I just can’t forgive her after eight years, especially after she told me that for the past three years she’s been living on Orcas Island.

Tomorrow, my dad comes home. Hospice care is delivering his bed and all of the equipment today, and we’ll have a nurse around the clock. I guess the clock is officially ticking now … I wonder how long it will take for the end to come.

How are you doing? There’s not much on the news, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Something is always happening in the world somewhere, right?

Wherever you are, stay safe. I love you.

Yours, Cami