Page 19 of The Forbidden Summer
I stand there for a moment as the quiet presses in around me. The kind of quiet that fills a room with all the things that aren’t being said, all the questions I’m too afraid to ask. I want to call after him, to force the conversation I know we need to have, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s fear. Fear that if I push too hard, he’ll slip even further away.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Tomorrow, maybe we’ll talk. Maybe the walls between uswill come down, or maybe we’ll find a way back to each other. It’s hard to let go of that hope, even when everything else feels so uncertain.
I lay down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The cushions sink under me, and I can't help but wish I were in his bed, curled up next to Père, feeling his warmth against me. Instead, I’m here, alone, with nothing but my thoughts.
I close my eyes, trying to block out the feeling in my chest. It’s like the space around me is too big, too empty. I should be with him, shouldn’t I? But instead, the distance between us feels like an insurmountable wall, and I can’t figure out how to bridge it.
The memory comes to me, comforting me in Père’s absence.
Back in his old sunny yellow kitchen, I can almost feel it. Père, standing at the counter near the stove, wearing his worn apron that had seen better days, and a twinkle in his eyes as he taught me how to make his famous biscuits. I used to think they were magic, the way he could make something so simple taste so perfect. His hands, rough from years of hard work, guiding mine through each step. The way he’d laugh when I messed up, like it didn’t matter at all.
We didn’t need words. The sound of his laughter was enough to fill the space. Back then, it was so simple, just me and Père, the world outside us disappearing.
I can still remember the way the sunlight would pour in through the window, casting long shadows across the room, making everything feel warm. Like nothing could touch us in that moment.
He was the kind of man who didn’t need to say much, but when he did, it was like everything mattered. His wisdom was quiet but powerful. I trusted him with everything. Hell, heraised me. He was the one constant in my life, the one person who always knew how to make everything better.
I wish I could feel that closeness again. There’s a distance now, a gap between us that I don’t know how to fix. The thought of it twists something deep inside me, like I’m losing something I don’t know how to hold onto anymore.
I sigh, letting the memory of him settle over me like a blanket. I’d give anything to go back to those days, to have him guide me through the tough moments like he used to. But for now, all I have are these memories. And though they bring me warmth, they also make the emptiness feel even more suffocating.
Van
The next day, the air feels lighter, as if the heaviness of the night before has burned off like morning fog in the sun. But even as I stretch and rub the sleep from my eyes, I feel the lingering ache from last night. It’s not gone. Not yet.
Père’s moving around the kitchen quietly, his back to me as he stirs something on the stove. The sound of the spoon scraping the pan fills the lull.
“Morning, Père,” I say, my voice a little rough from sleep. He doesn’t turn around immediately, but I hear him hum in acknowledgment. I lean against the doorway, watching him. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better than you, it seems.” He finally turns, giving me a small, knowing smile. “Heard you tossing and turning late into the night.”
“I was thinking we could take a walk today,” I say, feeling the tension in my shoulders. Maybe it’s just what we need—a little time together, no distractions, no expectations. Just... us. “You know, like we used to.”
He raises an eyebrow, the way he always does when he’s unsure, but after a long pause, he nods. “Sounds like a good idea. A bit of fresh air might do us both some good.”
I can tell he’s not exactly thrilled, but there’s a willingness in his eyes that wasn’t there yesterday. Maybe that’s all I need right now—the chance to talk, to really talk, and not let this unspoken distance continue to grow between us.
After breakfast, we step outside into the sunshine, and I immediately feel better, my head clearer. The cool morning air feels like a fresh start. We walk in silence, listening to the birds sing, the wind rustling the trees, and it’s enough to soothe the tension I’ve been carrying.
The path beneath our feet is familiar, the same one we walked together so many times when I was younger. It’s funny how, even though everything else around us has changed, this place remains constant. The trees still stretch high above us, casting long shadows across the ground, the soft rustle of the leaves like a quiet reminder of how many seasons have passed since we were last out here like this.
I glance at Père walking beside me, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. There’s a certain peace about him, but I can see the strain in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches every so often.He’s not quite as relaxed as he’s pretending to be, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe we don’t need to be perfect today. At least we’re together.
“I thought about your biscuits last night,” I admit. “Life was simpler back then. I just wanted to make you proud... and then I went and messed it up.”
He stops walking, turns to face me, and lets out a long breath, his gaze steady on mine. “You didn’t mess anything up, Van,” he says, but he hesitates, like he’s leaving things unsaid. “I’ve always been proud of you. I just... things change, people change. It’s an inescapable part of life. We have to learn to adapt or we…” Père looks off into the sun, shading his eyes from the glare, before his gaze resettles on me. “We get left behind.”
I take a deep breath, the cool air filling my lungs. “I don’t want to lose you,” I admit, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
Père looks at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he gives a small nod. “You won’t. We’ll figure it out. I’m not going anywhere.”
We continue walking, the quiet morning welcoming us as we head down a narrow trail I don’t think I’ve ever noticed before. It’s overgrown, the path barely visible beneath the thick grass and wildflowers. But something about it pulls me in, like a forgotten piece of the land just waiting to be explored.
Père leads the way, and I follow behind him, feeling a sense of freedom in each step, like we’re charting a new path. A metaphor for the current state of our relationship.
The path winds around the perimeter of the lake, just out of sight of the water. In a small clearing that looks as if it’s been created instead of naturally grown, a mossy patch of green beckons us. There’s something different about this place,something that feels almost sacred, like we’ve stumbled onto something few others have ever seen. Tucked into the far corner, beneath the shade of a giant tree, is a pile of rocks, stacked haphazardly, worn smooth by time. At first, I think it’s just a random collection, but as I get closer, I notice the shape of it, the way the stones seem to form a kind of monument, like an offering to the land itself.
