Page 124 of Waiting For Fate

Or worse, she’d slam it back in your face when she saw you.

“What are you doing, Sawyer?” Dad’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts.

“Sorry, zoned out I guess.” He snickers at that.

“With Leah. Why are you sitting on your ass when your girl is hurting?”

“She doesn’t want to see me, Dad.” I clench my jaw to keep from snapping at him. It’s not his fault no one really knows what happened between us.

“I doubt that’s true,” he says calmly, staring out the window at the house.

“Well, it is. She blames me. For not being here when it happened. For missing so many Sunday dinners because we were together,” my voice shakes. “She hates me, Dad, and honestly, I can’t even blame her. I consumed so much of her time, and I didn’t think twice about it.”

“When did she tell you this?” His face is pulled into a frown, and I can’t remember a time I ever saw my father look pained on my behalf.

“When we got back from the airport. I took her to her moms, and she said she couldn’t look at me without remembering why she wasn’t here with him. You asked how I am? I’m fucking miserable Dad. That’s how I am. All I want to do is be with her, but I’m the reason she’s hurting so damn bad, so what good would it do?” He sits back in his seat and is quiet a minute before he speaks again.

“Grief has a really ugly way of throwing people into the darkness. It eats you up and causes you to lash out. That’s why the first two stages are denial and anger. Do you love her, Sawyer?” I look at him in surprise. I thought it was painfully obvious to everyone how much I love her.

“More than anything.”

“Even after she said what she did, you still love her?” I know this is leading somewhere, but the insinuation that I would ever stop loving her still angers me.

“I would love her even if she lived her life loving someone else. She’s it for me, Dad. She’s always been it for me.” I try to swallow past the lump in my throat, fighting the pain that lives permanently in my chest at the thought of her.

“Then go get your girl, son. Because the fourth stage isn’t one she needs to go through alone and I have a feeling she might be in it. She may have given up, Sawyer—she’s allowed to feel hopeless after what’s happened—but you’re not. So go get her.”

“I will, Dad.” I shake my head and he pulls me into a hug. I hold onto him for dear life, knowing that what I’m doing right now isn’t something to be taken for granted.

“Don’t forget this.” Dad hands me my mail as I’m stepping out of the truck, and when I look down, my stomach hits the ground.

A letter from Allen? Why would he send me a letter?

Once my dad is gone, I sit on the front porch steps, staring at the envelope for what feels like forever before I finally get the guts to open it. When I do, I see another envelope enclosed—addressed to Leah. I set it to the side and unfold the paper that is addressed to me.

Sawyer,

You told me recently that you have plans to marry my daughter someday. In the event I am not here to tell her myself, I have written her a letter that I want her to read when you finally do pop the question. With the way you two look at each other, I feel confident I’ll be able to tell her all of these things myself because I don’t see you waiting much longer to put a ring on her finger, but just in case, I am leaving it in your care—just as I am leaving her. Take care of my baby girl, Clark. She is the single best thing to ever happen to me and Loretta, she shines brightest when she’s loved, as most women do, and I’ve never quite seen her shine the way she does when she’s with you. It’s not lost on me why you call her Dove, and I don’t think there’s anything more fitting you could have chosen to call her, but did you know that doves have an unnatural ability to find their way back home? No matter how far they get, they find their way back. I think that’s what happened with the two of you. She found her way back to the person who felt like home.

Alright, that’s enough of the mushy shit for me. Give my girl her letter when there’s a ring on her finger.

Allen.

P.s. - I’m not getting any younger here.

Tears are streaming down my face so fast I’m sure I’ll have stains on the paper I am holding, but I can’t hold it in anymore.

I miss my girl.

I hate that I’ve been sitting around here instead of being there for her—taking care of her, helping her through her grief.

As if the universe sent both of our dads to kick me in the ass, I dart into the house, tuck the letter from Al safely into my mail slot, then grab my keys before sprinting to my truck. My eyes are still misty from my tears, that I don’t even notice another vehicle in my driveway until I hear a door slam just as I open mine.

“Hey thirteen.” A cold chill shoots down my spine and my head snaps up. I’m sure I’m hallucinating when I see Leah standing next to her dad’s old Chevy in my Badger’s hoodie and a pair of white sneakers. Hallucination or not, I waste no time running to her. The way I should have run to her weeks ago. I wrap my arms around her small frame and lift her off the ground, feeling her entire body relax when I do. “Sawyer.” Her voice shakes against my neck and my arms squeeze her even tighter.

“Hey Dove.”

“I’m sorry for just showing up here. If you were going somewhere I can–” Her voice is tight as I reluctantly place her feet back on the ground.

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