by Anne Jolin
He had to know my parents wouldn’t be happy to see him.
He had known that, but he offered to take me anyway.
Dean the boy had made a lot of mistakes, but Dean the man seemed like he was making up for them.
We all had a past though, didn’t we? I knew I did.
The truck wound along the shore and he spoke. “I forgot how beautiful it was down here.”
I wasn’t sure if he was speaking to me, or if perhaps he was just thinking out loud, but I decided to answer him anyways. “It’s my favourite place on Earth.”
“Me too.” He reached across the bench of his truck and squeezed my thigh.
I gave him a half smile in return as he pulled into my parents’ driveway.
He parked, but when he turned the engine off, I reached across and grabbed his bicep. “You don’t have to come in, Dean.”
“I owe them enough to at least walk their daughter to their door.” He smiled. “I haven’t done a lot for you, Charlie, but that I can do.”
“Okay.”
I let go of his arm, and he rounded the front before helping me down with the flowers.
“What the hell is he doing here?” My dad slammed the porch door against the wall, with my mother on his heels.
“Jon, stop it,” she warned.
Dad growled, and I stepped in front of Dean as we approached the staircase. They knew he’d come back into my life eight months ago, but hearing it and seeing it were two very different things.
“Daddy, please.” My voice was a plea. “I was too sad, so Dean offered to drive me.”
He stayed put and didn’t say another word, and I mouthed the words, Thank you.
My mother kept one of her hands on my dad, but leaned forward to kiss my cheek. “There’s my girl.” She smiled. It was a sad smile, but still a smile, and turned her head to the man beside me. “Hello, Dean.”
“Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” Dean politely acknowledged them.
He seemed uncomfortable, and I didn’t blame him.
“Mary, dear,” she corrected him.
He smiled. “Well, I better go,” he said, and turned to me. “If you need a ride home, I can come get you,” he offered, but Dad shut him down.
“I can drive my own daughter home,” he barked, and my mom scolded him.
I winced, looking at Dean’s reaction.
This was hurting him, to be here.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He shrugged and shook his head. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
I watched him start to move, but I didn’t want him to leave this way.
Not like this.
“Do you want to see him before you go?” I asked.
Dean turned around and shifted on his feet, uncertain. “Are you sure?”
“There was a time when you loved him too,” I said. As I held my hand out to him, he took it.
“Your father and I will be in the house when you’re ready, sweetheart,” Mom said, ushering my dad inside. “You two take your time.”
“It was nice to see you, Mary.” Dean looked to my dad. “Jon.”
My dad just nodded, but mom smiled. “You too, honey.”
We waited until the front door closed behind them.
We walked hand-in-hand around the porch and down onto the beach.
The weather had gotten warmer, but the water was still cold and the breeze gave a chill.
“Do you visit him often?” Dean asked.
I nodded. “Whenever I come home.”
He was quiet for a minute or two before speaking again. “It was hard leaving your family when I left. They were good to me. I loved them.”
“I know.” I squeezed his hand. “They know that too.”
He sighed.
Dean’s soul was wrecked with guilt, much in the way my father's was.
Such heavy burdens on the shoulders of great men.
“I told them about Alycia,” I said, and he smiled.
He loved his daughter.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
We walked in silence the rest of the way down the beach.
The waves lapped against the shore, their steady sound soothing my wounded heart.
We turned down the path, eventually appearing at the willow tree.
Letting go of Dean’s hand, I wandered to the base and knelt in the grass. “I brought someone to see you today,” I whispered.
I felt Dean come up behind me, his hand on my shoulder.
“Be nice to him, okay?” I kissed the flowers in my hands and placed them on the grass. “I love you, Henry.”
“I love you too, Charlie bear.”
Standing, I stepped backwards and watched as Dean approached the spot where I’d just been.
He seemed so unsure.
“Do I just talk?” He looked over his shoulder at me, and I nodded.
“Yeah.” I smiled. “Or you can say nothing.”
“I want to say something,” he said, facing away from me again.
Moving backwards a few paces, I gave them some space.
“Hey, Henry,” he spoke quietly, pressing the palm of his right hand against the willow tree. “It’s Dean.”
I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear him, but the wind carried sound and I listened.
“I don’t know if you remember me, and if you do, I’m not sure you like me much now, but that’s okay. I wouldn’t like me much anymore if I were you either.”
Grief squeezed her talons around my heart.
“Thanks for being there for her when I wasn’t.” He paused. “I know you must miss her… I sure did.” I watched as the back of his hand wiped tears from his face. “You’d be proud of her. You should know she has all the best parts of you.”
My throat started to burn.
“It’s been a long time since we talked, just you and me.” His shoulders shook a little. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to say goodbye.”
I hiccupped.
“I should have been here for her that day. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
My chest broke open, some of the pressure escaping.
“I just wanted to say I’ve missed you too, Henry.”
A sob tore through him, and my knees threatened to buckle.
“I know you’re looking after our girl from up there, but just in case you were wondering, I’m keeping that promise I made you.” He choked. “Ten years too late, but I’m here now.”
I gripped the back of the bench as I watched him fall apart.
“She will… she will feel loved… H-Henry…” He cried, “I promise.”
Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled towards him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
We sunk into the grass and held each other as we cried.
I lost a brother.
He lost a friend.
We both had lost each other.
He unwound himself from me, cupping my wet face in his hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Charlie.”
I placed my hands on his face in the same fashion he’d done to me, resting my forehead on his. “I forgive you, Dean.”
He leaned forward, pressing our lips together.
I tasted his tears and he tasted mine as we kissed.
Our lips held so many memories, so much heartache.
He needed me in a way that broke his own heart.
He loved me in a way that put it back together again.
He taught me that you didn’t need to be whole to forgive.
You just needed to be brave.
He trusted me to forgive him, and in my own time, I’d found the courage to do just that.
We lay in the grass under Henry’s tree for hours.
Old memories found their way back into the cherished parts of my heart.
Forgiveness was a powerful thing.
And on that day, under that tree, lying next to my first love, I forgave myself too.
May
“What are you working on?”
I looked up from my notebook. “Just a letter.”
His beautiful face pinched together in a frown.
He stood from the wooden Adirondack chair next to mine and kneeled down in front of me.
“It feels like you’ve been distant.” He put both his hands on my thighs.
I had been.
Today was Henry’s birthday.
Putting my pen down on my notebook, I ran a hand through his brilliant blond hair. “I’m sorry.”
He ran one hand up my thigh and settled it on my hip. “You never have to apologize to me, Charleston.”
I heard the waves crash along the shoreline and I smiled.
That was this man, so perfect.
We’d driven to Oregon for the weekend. Beau had rented us a small cottage on Cannon Beach.
“I just wish you’d talk to me.” He sighed. “Let me in.
I’d spent a decade keeping people, mostly men, at arm’s length, keeping genuine connection at bay. To be capable of that, you learned how to shut people out, you learned how not to ask for help.
“Do you want to feel me?” I asked, leaning forward to brush my lips over his.
It was a beautiful day in May. The sun was shining and you could feel the first bit of heat behind its rays.
“Always.” Beau kissed my lips.
My jaw.
My collarbone.
The inside of my left wrist, and the bare knee exposed by my sundress.
“Really?” I cupped his cheek with one of my hands and he leaned into my affection. “Be sure, Beau,” I whispered. “Because the entirety of my mind, it could suffocate you.”
“I’m sure, Charleston.”
I took my notepad, rested it on the wide arm of the chair, and motioned towards the beach. “Let’s take a walk then?”
He stood and held out his hand. “Shall we?”
I smiled.
He knew I loved that.
Taking his hand, I let him lead us onto the beach, feeling our toes in the sand.
I watched him as we walked.
He was so beautiful.
Today, he was wearing white shorts with a buttoned down pink dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a pair of black Ray-Bans.
“It’s Henry’s birthday today,” I told him, feeling the sun on my face. “He would have been thirty-four today.”
Beau squeezed my hand. “I bet you miss him.”
“I do.” I smiled as we passed children making castles in the wet sand.
Our hands swung in that natural way that people in sync with each other did.
I liked that, too.
“He sounded like a wonderful person.” Beau’s smooth voice took over the air.
“It’s my birthday, Charlie bear. You have to play with me.”
“I’ll get my dress dirty, Henry,” I whined.
He laughed. “You’re such girl, Charlie bear.”
“He was the best,” I whispered, as we bumped shoulders.
It felt nice to talk about Henry this way.
We had so many happy moments that became overshadowed with our loss.
Sometimes we were so consumed with missing him we forgot to remember how he was.
I didn’t want to forget how Henry was, not ever.
“This is the first of his birthday’s I’ve spent away from home,” I confessed. “I don’t mean to be distant. I suppose I’ve just found myself in my head often as of late.”
Beau stopped and pulled me by the hand gently into his front. “I didn’t realize, Charleston.” His face was etched with concern. “I’m sorry to have taken you away from your family this weekend, of all weekends.”
I shook my head and pressed my palms against his chest. “Please don’t be sorry.” I smiled. “I need to find new ways to be happy.”
Beau swept my hair from my shoulder as the wind blew.
“And Henry.” I paused. “He would have loved it here. It was somewhere he always wanted to go, but never got the chance to.”
“Then I’m glad you could be here to experience it for him.” Beau pressed his lips to my forehead.
Wrapping my arms around his middle, I leaned into his kiss.
He was always so accepting of me, of my flaws.
He was a saint, through and through.
“Would you like to make a new tradition for Henry’s birthday?” he asked against my hair.
He was so warm.
Sometimes he even reminded me of Henry.
“I’d like that,” I whispered.
He twirled me in a circle like he often did, and then we continued walking down the beach.
“Did you have something in mind?”
I looked at the waves breaking and nodded. “Actually, that’s what I was working on.” I looked up at him. “On the porch, when you asked.”
“Oh?” He smiled.
I was letting him in and he didn’t take it for granted.
“I was writing him a letter,” I said. “I was thinking maybe I could put it the ocean the way they do in all the movies.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” he praised me. “I’ll find you a bottle when we get back.”
He draped our joined hands over my front, so that his arm was now also around my shoulders.
“Would you like to go back and work on it?”
I nodded. “Very much so.”
We took our time walking back up the beach to the cottage, where Beau doted on me for the afternoon as I poured over the short note I would write for Henry.
I was proud.
“All done?” He kissed my shoulder.
I nodded. “I think so.”
Setting the letter down on the small desk, I turned in his arms and kissed him.
It was slow, but full in the way that made you wish you could explode.
I worked the buttons on his dress shirt, and he lifted my dress over my head.
This was easy too.
Everything with him was.
He caressed me.
He worshipped me.
His touch was soft as I felt him on my skin.
We moved together like two souls in flight.
The breeze of the ocean on our sweat silken skin was a tease.
The heat of our bodies in the sheets built pressure enough to move mountains.
Everything about him was flawless.
His bones.
His heart.
His words.
I was a goddess in the arms of Beau Callaway.
He treasured me as we burned the evening light away.
“You’re beautiful.” Beau kissed my bare shoulder, as I lay face-down in our sheets.
Turning my head, I rested my cheek on the back of my hand and smiled. “So are you.”
“Will you read me your letter?” he asked.
My heart seized and he saw it in my eyes.
“I didn’t mean to intrude, Charleston. I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly.
I sat up, taking the sheets with me, and kissed his cheek.
“I think it might be nice to share it with someone,” I told him.
Wrapping the sheet around my body, I walked to the desk, grabbed the letter I’d written earlier today, and sat back down on the edge of the bed.
Ten years. My god, has it really been that long?
Some days, it feels like only yesterday since you’ve been gone.
I miss you.
I know you know that, but I will never tire of reminding you.
There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish you were here with me.
I think about you often.
I wonder what you would have been like now. Would you be married? Would you have children? You’d have been such a wonderful father.
I pray you’ve found peace. I know I am trying too.
It’s hard.
Some days, it’s harder than I could have ever imagined, but you never wanted me to be afraid of life. I see that now.
I want to live a life I would be proud of, that y
ou would be proud of.
You are still the best friend I’ve ever had, and I am the luckiest girl to have been blessed with twenty years on Earth with such an amazing big brother.
I love you.
Happy Birthday, Henry.
Yours Always,
Charlie bear.
When I finished reading it aloud, tears rolled down my cheeks and Beau kissed them away.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he whispered. “It was beautiful.”
I nodded.
“Are you ready?”
Standing up, I rolled the letter and pushed it inside the old bottle Beau had found.
“Yeah.”
We dressed and walked hand-in-hand to the water’s edge, where only the moonlight lit the waves.
Beau sealed the bottle with a cork and passed it back to me.
“Thank you for being here,” I said, and he kissed my forehead.
He gave me some space. Not a lot, but a few feet for me to be alone.
“Happy Birthday, Henry,” I whispered into the night air.
Then, with everything I could muster, I threw the bottle into the ocean.
It felt healing, the wounds in me closing a little.
I waited to see if I would catch a glimpse of it’s reflection, but it was gone.
“I’m proud of you.” Beau wrapped his arms around me from behind and rested his chin on the top of my head.
We watched for a while as the water ebbed and flowed, until finally turning back towards the cottage.
Hand-in-hand, I marvelled at how much a little really did go a long way.
I’d let him in a little, and in turn, he rewarded me with this.
Life really was a funny thing.
Beau stopped, bending over at the waist, and picked up a stick.
“What are you doing?” I laughed as he let go of my hand.
He knelt down in the wet sand and began dragging the stick through it, and after a minute, he stood, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side.
Looking down at the sand, I started to cry.
For there, lit only by the moonlight in Beau’s handwriting, was…
Happy Birthday, Henry.
“Now he’s been to Cannon Beach too.”
I think there comes a time in your life when you’re simply collecting lessons.
Not necessarily that you set out with the intent to, but simply somewhere or sometime when optimism and hope sit down at the table with reality and acceptance. We need these times, just as frequently as we need an array of amazing experiences, because what makes the good, great? Knowing the value of them, and that comes from seeing the bad, and occasionally, the ugly too.
