Page 22 of Come to Me

Her father showed a rare sign of frustration. “I can do it?—”

“You can’t hardly get out of the house, how are you going to get to nearly the other side of the lake?” Her mother let out an exasperated breath. Micki’s father’s growing troubles with mobility along with years of struggle to keep the resort afloat wore down on her. On all of them.

“I can?—”

“We don’t have to worry about it now.” Micki pushed a paper in front of them. “This is what I’m thinking for Fourth of July. Fireworks are expensive, but we can cut back on some of the other expenses.”

Her father ran his hands through his thinning hair. “Whatever you think, Mick.” Defeat was evident in his tone.

They continued their discussion as if they all hoped for a miracle to change things, knowing that one wasn’t likely to come. It was just past nine when Micki started down to her little apartment until she noticed Patrick lying on the dock outside his cabin. For a moment she watched him, first to make sure nothing was wrong, and second, in an attempt at figuring him out.

Unable to help herself, she made her way down the path toward him.

She reached the dock. “Everything alright here?”

“Yes.” He didn’t move to get up or look at her.

She watched him a moment longer. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at the stars. You can’t see them like this in New York. They’re bright and there’s so many of them.”

She smiled, glad that he was finally figuring out how to relax in the mountains. She sat down next to him and laid back to join him.

For a moment, she simply gazed up at the night sky. “It puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm.” His response was non-committal.

“You look at the night sky, the vastness, the infinite…it makes you feel like we’re part of something bigger than ourselves, don’t you think?”

Patrick let out a quiet sigh. "To me, it's more like a reminder of how insignificant we are."

A pang of sympathy fluttered in Micki's chest as she turned to look at him. She couldn’t see his face well, but he seemed to be lost in introspection that wasn’t helping him overcome what had brought him to Virginia.

She searched for words that might help him see the view differently. "It's all about perspective. You see insignificance; I see connection—a whole universe we're a part of."

He nodded but said nothing more, as he continued to stare up at the cosmos.

The silence stretched out. Micki respected his quietude, sensing that Patrick was wrestling with thoughts and feelings he didn’t want to share. She understood that sometimes people needed space to process life.

Yet beneath it all, Micki felt a pull toward him—an inexplicable need to help him find himself and his place in the universe. Her gaze lingered on his silhouette waiting for something poignant to come to her to tell him.

"I know it’s just been a day, but you really made an impression on Tate. I think it helped him to be with you. He's had it rough since his mom passed."

Patrick remained still, his gaze not leaving the heavens, as he gave her slight nod.

Inwardly she kicked herself. Earlier they were all riled by his intervention and here now she was telling him it helped Tate. Still, she wasn’t wrong. While Tate was still pushing the limits of acceptable behavior, he didn’t seem so angry after his time with Patrick.

"It's been tough on the family. To be honest, we never really thought Logan’s wife was right for him. Not that we wanted her to die, but he deserved better. It makes us feel a little guilty.”

“I know guilt.”

Okay, so now he was talking. “Today, when Tate mentioned he’d seen us kissing, he told me he’d caught his mom kissing someone who wasn't Logan. And when she died, she wasn't alone—she was with another man." A man that wasn’t Mr. Jones either.

Patrick didn’t respond. She wondered if she was annoying him. She probably was. Here he had his own problems, and she was burdening him with hers. That wasn’t what she wanted. She wasn’t looking for his professional help. She’d been hoping to show him that his time with Tate made a difference for the boy.

Patrick finally turned to face her; his expression somber in the dim light. "I'm sorry for Tate’s loss. Grief can be a difficult thing.”

“Are you talking professionally or personally.”

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