I know this isn’t much and it’s certainly not enough to make you understand, but I want you to know that I still believe in the gift of love. I want you to believe in it, too. You deserve that in your life, for nothing is more fulfilling than love itself.
I hope that in your heart, you’ll find some way to forgive me for leaving. It doesn’t have to be now, or even soon. But I want you to know this: When you’re finally ready, I’ll be waiting with open arms on what will be the happiest day of my life.
I love you,
Dad
“I feel like I should be doing more for him,” Ronnie said.
She was sitting on the back porch across from Pastor Harris. Her dad was inside sleeping, and Pastor Harris had come by with a pan of vegetable lasagna that his wife had made. It was mid-September and still hot during the day, though there’d been an evening a couple of days earlier that hinted at the crispness of autumn. It lasted only a single night; in the morning the sun was hot, and Ronnie had found herself strolling the beach and wondering whether the night before had been an illusion.
“You’re doing all you can,” he said. “I don’t know that there’s anything more you could be doing.”
“I’m not talking about taking care of him. Right now, he doesn’t even need me that much. He still insists on cooking, and we go for walks on the beach. We even flew kites yesterday. Aside from the pain medication, which makes him really tired, he’s pretty much the same as before he went to the hospital. It’s just…”
Pastor Harris’s gaze was full of understanding. “You want to do something special. Something that means a lot to him.”
She nodded, glad that he was here. In the past few weeks, Pastor Harris had become not only her friend, but the only person she could really talk to.
“I have faith that God will show you the answer. But you have to understand that sometimes it takes a while to be able to recognize what God wants you to do. That’s how it often is. God’s voice is usually nothing more than a whisper, and you have to listen very carefully to hear it. But other times, in those rarest of moments, the answer is obvious and rings as loud as a church bell.”
She smiled, thinking she’d grown fond of their conversations. “You sound like you talk from experience.”
“I love your dad, too. And like you, I wanted to do something special for him.”
“And God answered?”
“God always answers.”
“Was it a whisper or a church bell?”
For the first time in a long while, she saw a touch of mirth in his eyes. “A church bell, of course. God knows I’m hard of hearing these days.”
“What are you going to do?”
He sat up straighter in his chair. “I’m going to install the window in the church,” he said. “A benefactor showed up out of the blue last week, and not only offered to cover the rest of the repairs in full, but already had all the work crews lined up. They start work again tomorrow morning.”
Over the next couple of days, Ronnie listened for church bells, but all she heard were seagulls. When listening for whispers, she heard nothing at all. It didn’t necessarily surprise her-the answer hadn’t come to Pastor Harris right away, either-but she hoped the answer would come before it was too late.
Instead, she simply continued on as she had before. She helped her dad when he needed help, let him be when he didn’t, and tried to make the most of the remaining time they had together. That weekend, because her dad was feeling stronger, they made an outing to Orton Plantation Gardens, near Southport. It wasn’t far from Wilmington and Ronnie had never been before, but as they pulled onto the graveled road that led to the original mansion, built in 1735, she already knew it was going to be a memorable day. It was the kind of place that seemed lost in time. The flowers were no longer in bloom, but as they walked among the giant oaks with their low-slung branches draped in Spanish moss, Ronnie thought that she’d never been anywhere more beautiful.
Strolling under the trees, her arm looped through her father’s, they talked about the summer. For the first time, Ronnie told her dad about her relationship with Will; she told him about the first time they went fishing and the times they went mudding, she described his fancy dive from the cabana roof, and she told him all about the fiasco at the wedding. She didn’t, however, tell him what happened on the day before he left for Vanderbilt or the things she’d said to him. She wasn’t ready for that; the wound was still too raw. And as always when she talked, her dad listened quietly, rarely interjecting, even when she trailed off. She liked that about him. No, change that, she thought. She loved that about him, and she found herself wondering who she would have become had she never come down for the summer.
Afterward, they drove into Southport and had dinner at one of the small restaurants overlooking the harbor. She knew her dad was getting tired, but the food was good and they split a hot-fudge brownie at the end of the meal.
It was a good day, a day she knew she’d always remember. But as she sat alone in the living room after her dad had gone to bed, she once again found herself thinking that there was something more she could do for him.
The following week, the third week of September, she began to notice that her dad was getting worse. He now slept until midmorning and took another nap in the afternoon. Though he’d been taking naps regularly, the naps began to lengthen, and he went to bed earlier in the evenings. As she cleaned the kitchen for want of anything better to do, she realized after adding it all up that he was now sleeping more than half the day.
It only got worse after that. With every passing day, he slept a little longer. He also wasn’t eating enough. Instead, he moved his food around the plate and made a show of eating; when she scraped the remains into the garbage, she realized he’d only been nibbling. He was losing weight steadily now, and every time she blinked, she had the sense that her dad was getting smaller. Sometimes she was frightened by the thought that one day there would be nothing left of him at all.
September came to an end. In the mornings, the salty smell of the ocean was kept at bay by the winds from the mountains in the eastern part of the state. It was still hot, high season for hurricanes, but as yet the coast of North Carolina had been spared.
The day before, her dad had slept for fourteen hours. She knew he couldn’t help it, that his body gave him no choice, but she ached at the thought that he was sleeping through most of the little time he had left. When her dad was awake, he was quieter now, content to read the Bible or walk slowly with her in silence.
More often than she expected, she found herself thinking about Will. She still wore the macramé bracelet he had given her, and as she ran her finger over its intricate weave, she wondered what classes he was taking, whom he walked beside on the greens as he moved from one building to the next. She was curious whom he sat next to when he ate in the cafeteria and whether he ever thought of her as he got ready to go out on a Friday or Saturday night. Perhaps, she thought in her lowest moments, he’d already met someone new.
“Do you want to talk about it?” her dad asked one day as they strolled along the beach. They were making their way toward the church. Since the construction had started up again, things were moving fast. The crew was massive: framers, electricians, men who specialized in trim carpentry or drywall. There were at least forty trucks on the work site, and people flowed in and out of the building constantly.
“About what?” she asked carefully.
“About Will,” he said. “The way it ended between the two of you.”