Page 143 of Before We Say Goodbye
Otis set down his pen and wiped his eyes, knowing he had finished. He’d told the story, no sense writing about the police showing up, his drive down to the morgue to identify the bodies, the days of terror that followed. The funeral that flooded him with tears. The spreading of Mike’s ashes in the same place where they’d spread Cam’s.
And yet there was more to say, wasn’t there? Perhaps there was another page to be written, perhaps another chapter.
“It can’t end here,” he said, his voice cracking. He could feel his family’s presence, as if they were in the room, and he looked up into the middle distance between him and the ceiling, wondering whether they were there.
And he knew.
Camden.
Michael.
Rebecca.
Together they had formed the keystone to his life. Without them, life never would have meant a thing.
There was something else, though. They were still here. Yes, they existed as memories, but it was more than that. They were in the air. They were in every breath he would ever take. They were in the wines and in the vines ... and in his heart.
Otis felt his chest and closed his eyes. He could almost touch them. They were here now and would be here forever, both in memory and in spirit.
Perhaps there was no place for regret. He couldn’t change the choices he’d made. He couldn’t go back and polish those rough years, but he could see them in a different light. He could accept that he’d had his own growing to do, and by God, he’d done his fair share of it. Stepping out of the ashes of his demise, Otis had found his way back to his family. Returning from Miami, he’d found a way to continue their love story. He’d done what his father had never done.
It couldn’t end now.
If he was gone from this earth, who would say their names? Who would raise their glasses and call upon a fond memory?
By God, who would make sure they weren’t forgotten?
Amigo followed him as he reached for the urn on the mantel. He set his hands on the curve of it, sensing her even more.
“I am here, my love ... and I will forge ahead because it is what we have always done. I will not mar the memory of you and the boys by giving up now. But I need you. If you’re out there, if you can feel me, give me the strength I need to carry on.”
He pulled his hand from the urn. For a moment he thought that maybe he would take her ashes today and spread them in the vineyard, but he wasn’t ready. He kissed his fingers and touched the urn again. “I love you.”
Otis watched the vet work the saw to remove Amigo’s cast. As it broke free, Amigo went for his leg, licking it like a lollipop.
“There you go, little guy,” the nice vet said. He was half Otis’s age, wore a white coat with his name on it, and smelled of cologne. To Otis, he said, “Good as new.”
“Now what do I do? Is he ready?”
“As ready as he can be.”
“How do I do it?”
“Otis, you’re the first coyote rescuer in my career. I don’t know. So long as he’s not completely domesticated, you get him to his family and see what happens.”
Otis carried Amigo out to the truck and drove back to Red Mountain in a sharp silence. Otis took the little desert dog inside, gave him milk, and then sat with him a long time, stroking his fur. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. You’ve become a part of this farm, but it’s time. We can’t wait another night.”
Amigo looked at him curiously, tilting his head.
Otis touched his nose. “You must be brave tonight. I can’t go with you.”
The howls that night were wild, desperate calls, coming from all directions. Otis stepped out the front door, Amigo in hand. The moon wasn’t quite full, but it shone like a lantern in a cave, showing the way.
Otis followed his heart, deciding he’d return Amigo to the same place where he’d found him. He hiked up the hill to his oldest syrah block and could feel Rebecca’s presence as if she walked beside him. Off in the distance, the coyotes continued to howl.
Were they still looking for Amigo? Was it even the same pack?
All he could do was have faith.
