A Song for Rory

by Cerella Sechrist

  “Thank you,” she said, her tone genuine. “I appreciate that, but I think we have everything we need for the time being.”

  He nodded and reached for his tea again.

  “We’re going to miss you, you know.”

  He paused with the glass halfway to his lips, looking over its rim at Erin. Something in her tone said she wasn’t just referring to her and Kitt. There was a lot of emphasis on the we.

  “I’ll miss you guys, too,” he said.

  She watched him a bit too closely for his liking, but he ignored the look and concentrated on peeling the plastic wrap off the plate of cookies.

  “Rory’s been coming by. She was here this morning, playing with Kitt. She only left a short while ago. You just missed her.”

  “Hmm.” His heart sped up at the thought of how close he’d come to seeing her again. He told himself he’d made his peace without her because that’s what was best, but with his every breath, he knew that was a lie. But he wouldn’t burden Erin with any of this. She had enough to carry now.

  He expected her to press him about Rory, given his noncommittal response. To his surprise, she didn’t.

  “It’s been a rough month, hasn’t it?” Erin spoke the words as more statement than question, and they caused him to stop messing with the plastic wrap.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “It has.”

  They were silent for some time, each with their own thoughts.

  He finally found the courage, and asked, “Do you regret it? If you could go back, knowing that he would die and leave you a widow with a little boy...do you think you’d have made different choices, about marrying him? About falling in love?”

  Erin stared at him, her expression fierce. “No. No, I wouldn’t change a thing.” Her answer was so firm, so vehement, that it surprised him.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know you didn’t,” she interrupted. Her expression softened a little. “I would have had far more regrets if he had died, and I had never been with him. I will take every minute of the life we had together and treasure it.” Her eyes filled with tears as she held his eyes. “No one can take that away from me, Sawyer. No one. I will have the memory of every kiss, every dance, every joke to get me through this.”

  He was struck again with how selfish he’d been with Rory. Though he’d tried to break free of her for her own good, he was really only denying her the memories that he was so afraid to lose for himself. He never considered that those were the very memories that would sustain her, should the worst happen. He was the one who might develop Alzheimer’s. Not her.

  Erin wiped at the tears on her cheeks. Sawyer tugged a napkin free of the table’s holder and handed it to her. She took it and soaked up the tears.

  “You never know about death,” she murmured. “You can plan for it, try to prevent it and pray for it not to darken your door, but it has its own timetable, and none of us knows when that is. The only weapon we have against it is how well we live until it comes for us.”

  Her words buried themselves into his spirit. “Gavin was fearless in that regard,” he said. “He lived well.”

  “Yes, he did,” Erin agreed, still watching him closely. “And I think the best way we can honor his memory is to keep on living as well, as much as we can manage.”

  He recognized what she was trying to tell him, and he knew she was right. He hadn’t been living very well in the wake of all that he’d learned. He’d been running scared, letting fear dictate his choices. When would he stop and have a little more faith in himself?

  And in Rory?

  The first rays of hope began to break through. He could live his life, with or without Alzheimer’s. He could live right up until it broke down his last defense and dragged him under. He could live how Gavin had, as Chase had pointed out—never taking a minute for granted. He had the ability to turn this thing on its head and use it to his advantage. Let the disease make him more aware. Motivate him to do the things he might have put off otherwise. Remind him to tell the people he cared about just how much he loved them.

  He could make Rory his wife and fit a lifetime of loving her into whatever years he had left on this earth. And in that, he could honor his friend’s legacy.

  He raised his tea, holding it in the air until Erin lifted hers as well.

  “Here’s to Gavin. He was brave and true, a good friend, husband, father.”

  Erin tapped her glass to his, her lower lip trembling.

  “To Gavin,” she replied, “and to love.”

  Sawyer reached for her hand and squeezed it to let her know she wasn’t alone.

  “To love,” he repeated.

  * * *

  RORY DIDN’T KNOW what to make of the invitation. She’d heard Sawyer would be performing a benefit concert in town. It was the beginning of a partnership he’d formed with a national Alzheimer’s association, to be a spokesperson for funding efforts on their behalf. Or so she’d heard. Findlay Roads had been astir for the last two weeks with talk of the performances. Sawyer must have pulled in several favors because there were some pretty well-known acts being featured. The town had entered the height of the summer season, and the streets were filled with vacationers from DC, Baltimore, even New York and New Jersey. The concert was set to take place the following weekend, on the last Saturday in June. The event had been advertised everywhere, and Rory was pretty sure the tickets had sold out days ago.

  But she held in her hand a special VIP pass for a front row seat with a handwritten note attached.

  Please come.

  Two simple words, and he’d signed his name. It was cryptic, mysterious and, if she was honest, it left her a little breathless. He’d asked her to come to the concert, arranged a special seat.

  But why?

  He’d gone into radio silence ever since leaving town after the funeral. She hadn’t heard even a whisper from him, and when she casually asked Erin if she’d had word, her friend had only looked at her sadly and shaken her head. She didn’t want Erin’s pity, especially since her friend was going through the grieving process, so she hadn’t asked again.

  But she’d still wondered about him. There was little mention of Sawyer in the news at the moment. She’d broken down and started doing daily web searches on his name. He was back in the studio, from what she could tell. The most she found was information on his newly formed partnership with the Alzheimer’s organization. She was proud of him for that last bit, recognizing that stepping up and becoming a face for the disease had likely been a scary prospect. But he’d conquered that fear to do what he felt was right.

  She only wished he’d been able to do the same for the two of them. She shrugged off the thought and looked again at the invitation.

  Please come.

  Two little words, and he thought she’d come running? He didn’t know her so well after all. She tossed the invitation in the trash and walked away. She tidied the kitchen. She reorganized her closet. She picked up a magazine and then threw it back down.

  Then she went and retrieved the invitation from the trash, tacking it on the refrigerator along with his note.

  Please come.

  * * *

  THE ENTIRE PARK had been cordoned off for the benefit concert. Sawyer was both impressed and humbled by the efforts of every person involved. The Alzheimer’s association had organized the event, and the local chamber of commerce had assisted with the details of sectioning off the venue. There were rows of chairs, donated by various charities both in Findlay Roads and beyond, assembled to seat over two hundred people along with tickets sold for standing room only. Local police and firefighters were serving as security. Record label sponsors had assisted in providing the stage and equipment, and Sawyer was touched by how many of his musician friends had agreed to perform without commanding their usual fees.

&nbs
p; All in all, the event was already a success. It had generated a substantial amount of buzz, and the tickets had sold out quickly. He was moved by what had been accomplished in so short a time.

  “Looks like it’s going to be a promising turnout.”

  Sawyer shifted to look at his dad, who stood with him behind the stage, watching as the ticketholders began looking for their seats. The concert was set to begin in the next half hour. Interspersed with the music, patients with Alzheimer’s, both early onset and common, would be sharing their stories. His dad was scheduled as the first to speak.

  “Looks that way. You nervous?” Sawyer asked.

  His dad considered. “Ask me again in a half hour, when all those seats are filled.”

  Sawyer grinned. “You’re going to do great.”

  His dad paused. “If I forget my words up there, just promise you’ll come rescue me.”

  Sawyer grew serious. “It’s a deal.” He paused. “You know I’ve got your back, Dad, right? Always.”

  “I know it.”

  They stood in silence a moment more.

  “Sawyer... I have to tell you something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ve done good, son.”

  The words hadn’t been what he was expecting. “Well, I think we did pretty good, putting this all together.”

  “No.” Ford shook his head. “You did this. You took something dark, something you feared, and found a way to bring it into the light. No matter what this disease takes from us...you found your own way to fight back. Don’t ever underestimate that. You’re still a soldier, Sawyer. You’re just fighting a different war. I wish Gavin were here to see it.”

  Sawyer drew a breath, feeling the familiar sharp pain that he always did when Gavin’s name was mentioned. He didn’t think he deserved quite the credit his father had given him, but it was true—he’d found his own way to fight.

  Now all he needed was the one person who mattered most fighting beside him.

  He looked out into the growing audience, his eyes zeroing in on the empty chair in the front, with the special reserved sign and her name. What if she didn’t come?

  “She’ll be here.”

  Sawyer’s gaze slid back to his dad’s.

  “She’ll be here,” Ford repeated.

  Sawyer didn’t reply, but he turned his attention back to that single seat in the audience and willed Rory to appear.

  * * *

  SHE WAS LATER than she’d intended. Although she’d never been one to fuss over what she wore, she’d changed outfits no less than four times, and now she found herself running late. She cursed her indecision, especially since she’d ended up choosing the green sundress, paired with white strappy-heeled sandals. She never wore heels. And it was obvious why, as she rushed toward the park and nearly tripped. She could hear a crowd in the distance, applause and the rumble of conversation. There was the screech of a microphone, and she could tell the event had already started.

  She picked up her pace, still struggling in her heels, and finally grew so frustrated that she stopped and tugged them off, carrying them by the straps and ignoring the rough sidewalk beneath her feet.

  It was a relief to dig her toes into the grass when she reached the park. She approached the cordoned-off entrance and presented the special ticket. She expected the handler to simply wave her through, but he studied her ticket for a long minute before gesturing to someone else. They came over, and he spoke words that Rory didn’t hear.

  The next thing she knew, she had a personal escort into the venue. She felt herself blushing as her private usher led her up the main aisle. It felt as if two hundred pairs of eyes were watching as she took her seat in front of the stage.

  She turned to thank her escort, but he had already headed back up the aisle. Settling into her seat, she drew a breath, trying to still the rapid beating of her heart and enjoy the show.

  The man onstage was talking about Alzheimer’s and the program lineup for the evening. As far as she could tell, he was with the national Alzheimer’s organization that had helped put together the event. Her eyes scanned the stage, but she didn’t see a sign of Sawyer. She fought a little bubble of disappointment and had to remind herself that he’d make an appearance eventually.

  She did her best to concentrate on the speaker as he listed facts and statistics about Alzheimer’s. It seemed as if he would never cease speaking, and she tried to glance around to see if the rest of the crowd was growing as impatient as she was. Most people seemed to be listening with rapt attention, and Rory released a slow breath.

  Still, it took effort not to fidget until the introduction finished, and she heard the words she’d been waiting for.

  “And now, let me introduce the man who helped bring us all here tonight. Findlay Roads’s own Sawyer Landry.”

  Rory sat up straighter, her mouth going dry with the anticipation of seeing him again. When he finally stepped onstage, her breath caught in her throat. He was dressed in a T-shirt with the Alzheimer’s foundation logo and a pair of stonewashed jeans. He wore cowboy boots, and a white straw cowboy-style hat. The simple, casual look still left her breathless.

  How was it that it had only been a few weeks since she’d seen him last, and yet it felt like an eternity? And then, her heartbeat sped up as Sawyer looked out into the audience...straight at her. His eyes fell on her face, and his entire expression brightened with a grin. For the space of a few heartbeats, it was just the two of them as the rest of the world fell away. And then, from her position in the front row, she heard the introductory speaker clear his throat, pulling Sawyer back into the present. He faced the rest of the crowd and introduced himself to a round of wild applause.

  Sawyer didn’t look at her again before he introduced the opening performer. But she soon found herself caught up in the music and the stories that were being told. After the first artist performed a couple of songs, Sawyer stepped back out onto the stage. Grabbing the mic, he held it for a long moment, as if struggling to find the words to begin. The crowd waited patiently, the atmosphere growing hushed as they anticipated what Sawyer had to say.

  At last, he cleared his throat and began. “I have the extraordinary privilege of introducing our first speaker this evening. He is a man of wisdom, and someone I’ve admired my whole life. I could tell you some of his story myself, about the struggles of an Alzheimer’s diagnosis, especially when you’re young enough not to expect it. But he puts it into words so much better than I ever could, and I just hope that one day...” Sawyer broke off and turned away from the mic, and the muffled sound of him clearing the emotion from his throat could be heard. Rory clenched her hands in her lap, feeling his struggle as if it was her own. She wondered if that would ever change. Would there ever come a day she felt disconnected from him? Or would it always be like this, an invisible cord that bound them together, despite time, distance and silence?

  Sawyer faced the mic once more.

  “If the time comes when I’m facing what he’s up against, I hope I can do it with half the grace and determination I’ve seen him exhibit. I’d appreciate it if you’d all give a huge round of applause to my dad, Ford Landry.”

  The crowd went wild, and Rory found herself whistling and cheering along. As Ford took the stage, he didn’t head straight for the microphone, but rather for his son, engulfing Sawyer in a long hug. The sight moved the audience so much that almost as one, they stood to their feet, still applauding for the obvious bond between father and son. Rory was as moved as the rest of them, thinking that love like this was something Alzheimer’s could never really destroy. It might take recognition, the ability to remember the simplest of skills and family memories, but it couldn’t change how a person felt. And Rory felt certain that even once Ford no longer remembered the things that mattered most, he’d still be able to recognize the love his family f
elt for him.

  It was several long minutes before the audience took their seats once more, and Ford began speaking.

  Rory listened with rapt attention as Ford talked about what it was like when he first began experiencing symptoms. How at first, he chalked it up to forgetfulness, but then how he soon began to realize there was something more going on. She brushed tears from her eyes when he revealed how he’d started to keep notes to remind himself of people, places, everyday tasks or directions. And then he talked about his family, and Rory realized, with more clarity than she had before, exactly why Sawyer had held so much back from her.

  “I’ve come to think of my Alzheimer’s as a thief,” Ford explained. “It’s stolen its way into my life, into my house, into my marriage, and all my relationships. It plans to take whatever it can, and no matter how vigilant I am, I know that it will succeed.” He drew a long breath, and the crowd sat, listening intently. Rory couldn’t hear a single sound other than the distant lapping of waves on the bay, the rattle of the metal flagpole and the flapping of the American flag that stood in the center of the park.

  “I wake up every morning now, and the first thing I do is seek out my wife. I look at her face, trying to etch it into my memory. And she looks back at me, unflinchingly, because she understands that she is my strongest weapon against this. I am using her to keep myself tethered to my mind and my memories for as long as I can. But as in any war, there are casualties, and I fear she will be the greatest. Because we both know that one day, I will look at her and not know who she is. On that day, I fear she will think we’ve lost.”

  There was a lump in Rory’s throat. This was what Sawyer feared. Not only that he would lose her, but that she might one day also face life without him, long before either of them had intended. So he’d tried to cut things short, spare them both as much pain as possible.

  Tears filled her eyes. Stupid, stupid man. Did he not know? She would rather take one day with him than a lifetime without him. She wasn’t naive. This journey might be the most difficult they would ever make together. But all she had ever wanted was to be with him, no matter how short or how long that time might be. Look at Erin and Gavin. She doubted they’d expected to be severed from each other so soon. But she also knew that Erin had no regrets for loving Gavin as she had.