Page 133 of The Cost of Forgetting You

He shakes his head. His bottom lip warbles.

“Why not? There was nothing standing in your way. Waylon was gone. We were gone. Why not go after Lucy, if you had truly loved her your whole life?”

“The only person I love more than Lucy”—he glances up at me—“is you.”

I blink. “I don’t understand.”

He opens his mouth to speak, and the words stall. This time I’m not sure if it’s because of the dementia or because some things simply cannot be explained, no matter how hard we try. Like why neither of us stood up for ourselves when it came to Mom, or how we both ended up in love with a Parker. Across time and circumstance, I find myself walking the same path he did, right down to supporting him through the very disease that took his mom from him in the end.

There are no words for a pain like this. Him, looking at his past while I’m staring into my future. The two looking so painfully similar.

“I wanted you to come home, sweet pea. There had to be room for you to come home.” He turns to Lucy’s stone, and tears slip from the corners of his eyes. “Lucy… She understood.”

For me. Even when I had been so cruel as to cut him out of my life.

“I’m so sorry, Dad.” I lay my head on his shoulder. A trembling hand crosses over his chest to stroke my cheek. I suck in a breath and hold it, trying to capture it and this moment in the very same grasp. “I would’ve understood. I?—”

How do I explain to him that I think I know exactly how he felt for Lucy, because it’s the same love I’ve held for her son for my whole life? It’s the torch I’ve carried, one I didn’t even know my father passed on to me before today. One I never would’ve had if he’d gone after what he truly wanted.

One that still isn’t mine to keep, given the circumstances we’re in.

His hand drops to my knee. He pats it gently, like I’m a child again, being comforted even when I intended to do the comforting.

“It’s okay. It’s done.” He squeezes my knee. “You two are better than us in every way, and now you have each other. That’s all we could ask.”

But it’s not okay, I want to say. How do I go on, knowing my father gave up everything for me? Not only his life, but his one chance with the woman he loved. For the first time I see so clearly what Truett meant about my father sacrificing himself at the altar of everyone around him. At the altar of my happiness. The same way Truett accused me of doing for everyone else.

Like father, like daughter. No matter how much you might wish it wasn’t so.

Dad sighs, and I swear the weight of the world comes out on that breath.

“I’m ready,” he says.

“Okay.” I swallow past the lump in my throat and rise, dusting imagined dirt from my legs. “We can head back to the house. I’ll order some pizza and we can watch a movie. Maybe The Truman Show?”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s a resignation to his sloped shoulders. His solemn gaze. He’s looking right at Lucy’s stone when he says, “No. I’m ready to go to a home.”

The air stalls in my lungs. “What?”

“It’s time.” His breathing is rapid, and for a moment I’m worried I’m losing him, but his gaze is alert. Intense with passion rather than delirium. “I don’t want this for you. I never wanted this.”

“I’m happy to do it, Dad. I don’t mind at all.”

He chuckles under his breath, like this is exactly what he expected me to say. “I’m ready, sweet pea.” He turns to me and meets my gaze. “I want to go now, while I’m still me. Some of the time.”

“All the time,” I correct. “You’re you, even when you’re confused.”

He sighs. “I’m so tired.”

“Let’s go back, then. You can take a nap. I’ll order food.” I offer my hand to help him rise. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

He doesn’t let my gaze drop. He grabs hold of my hand and repeats softly, “I’m ready.”

And perhaps he is. But I don’t know if I ever will be.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Henry

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