Page 64 of You & I, Rewritten

His words are a punch to the gut.Don’t cry, Will.I wanted to make it through this event without shedding any more tears because I think I’ve cried enough in the last few months to last a lifetime.

“It has been one of the greatest honors of my life to see these two works of art get to where they are today. As you immerse yourself in tonight’s exhibit, join me in appreciation for the immeasurable resilience and indomitable force of the human spirit of the service members featured around the room.”

Mitch turns to face me once more, taking a step closer as if the two of us were having this conversation alone instead of in front of a room full of strangers and colleagues. “And it is my honor to officially announce thatallproceeds from both books’ sales will be donated to charities and foundations that provide support to service members, veterans, and their families who are suffering from post traumatic stress disorder and other invisible wounds. We will never be able to repay these courageous men and women for their service to our nation, butthisis a start.”

Everyone joins together for a celebratory round of applause, but I am left frozen in place, completely unable to comprehend the magnitude of Mitch’s unbelievable gesture. The only thing keeping me rooted in reality is Graham’s firm grip on my hand. People have begun milling around and the hum of the event slowly returns as Mitch comes over and places his hand on my shoulder.

“Mitch, I don’t know what to say…”

“Take a walk with me? I want to show you something.”

I nod my head and silently follow him as he leads me through the crowd toward the far end of the gallery room. Before we get to a quieter corner of the exhibit, he turns, blocking my view of the smaller frames on this side of the room.

“Will, I know your relationship with your father was a complicated one,” he says quietly but with strength. “I lost my father when I was about your age, so I know there aren’t really any words that can make that loss feel any less heavy.” He places both hands firmly on my shoulders now, forcing me to stare directly into the eyes that Graham so clearly inherited.

“But I read your father’s book, and while I can’t speak to who he was as a man, I can tell you that as a father, he adored you and was so proud of you. And all of this?” he says, waving his arms in the direction of the exhibit. “You didthis.You turned your grief and your heartache into something that will positively impact countless lives.Thatis something any father would be immensely proud of.”

I can feel myself beginning to tremble. Coming from Mitch, a man and father whom I admire so deeply, his words shake me to my core.

Stepping aside, he positions himself so that he’s now standing beside me and puts a comforting arm around my shoulder. “Graham said this might be too much, but I thought it was important for him to be here tonight. Take your time, son.” He lingers with me for a moment before turning and heading back to his family while the wordsonplays over and over in my head.

Being able to see this side of the exhibit more clearly, my heart catches in my throat as I take in the simple, black frame centered on the far wall…smaller in size but equal in significance to those surrounding it. My father’s youthful and charming gaze stares back at me, his military portrait capturing a man not yet haunted by the tragedies of war.

A version of a man I wish I could have known.

“That was taken a few months before I met him,” my mother’s voice is soft as she loops her arm in mine, resting her head on my shoulder. “Sometimes, your resemblance to that version of him makes me forget how to breathe. He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.”

I put an arm around her small frame as we both stare at the man who altered both of our lives forever. “What do you think he would think of all of this?” I whisper.

“Oh honey,thatman would be blown away by everything you’ve accomplished,” she says, pointing at his portrait. She pulls me into a hug that, despite our height difference, feels just like it used to when I was a child. “When I first met him, he was so passionate…about being called to serve his country and doing everything he could to help those who couldn’t help themselves…” She walks us toward my father’s picture, placing her hand gently on his face, one that I know she sees when she looks at me.

“And in some way, when I look around tonight at what you all have done here, I can’t help but think that your father may finally be at peace.” Tears stream her face as she grabs mine in her hands. “That in his death, he was able to do the one thing he wanted so desperately to do all those years ago—help others.”

She places our foreheads together. “Whether you meant to or not, my perfect and sweet boy, you helped bring peace to his heart and added something meaningful to his memory. It won’t be easy, sweetie. It may not even be possible for you—but just try to remember that forgiveness is for us…notfor the person who needs forgiving.”

My mother gives me a kiss on the cheek before returning to where I can only imagine my dad is patiently waiting, torn between wanting to give us this private moment and wanting to smother us with his love. I turn to face my father for the last time, knowing in my heart that I have to begin moving forward. It is then that I notice the small, gold name placard beneath his frame.

Graham was right…all ofthisis far too much.God damn it.I’ll never be able to rewrite the past or even my memory of my father. But maybe, in time, I’ll be able to reframe how I remember him. Looking back toward my family, both chosen and blood, an overwhelming sense of unwavering love and belonging rushes over me.

Klair is wrapped in Dean’s arms, their love innocent and filled with the promise of everything that comes with new beginnings.

Mitch and Camila, who have both shown me nothing but warmth and kindness, stand holding hands…an unspoken understanding of what this evening means to me flashes across their faces as our eyes meet.

And Graham, who’s sandwiched between my parents, his arm around my mom and the other shoved in his pocket as he talks animatedly to my dad. He’s become my anchor, my reason for being, and when I think about all the moments in our individual lives that led us to where we are today—together and in love, taking the exhilarating leap into the unknown, hand-in-hand—I am in awe at the stroke of luck that allowed our paths to cross when they did.When I so desperately needed them to.

I see her as I’m walking back toward them. Leaning against the doorway, unsure if she wants to step inside or turn back around. Lana and I make eye contact from across the room, causing my blood to run cold. Her face is pinched with pain and loss, and as she wraps her arms around her thin body, the desire to comfort her overpowers every other emotion I have been feeling toward her these last few months.

Raising my hand slowly, I wave in her direction, indicating for her to join me, but just as soon as she appears, Lana turns away from me and the man who loved her like a daughter.Don’t turn your back on her.My father’s words ricochet in my mind. His relationship with Lana is one that I know very little about, and until now, I liked it that way.

Whether it’s a selfish need for understanding or closure or because of genuine concern, I know now that the only way to truly move forward is with Lana.

Together.

* * *

It had taken her three days to reach out after the book launch.

After the confusion at the hospital and everything that followed, I had texted, emailed, and called Lana every single day, but after days of hearing nothing back, I assumed she wanted nothing to do with me now that her secret was out in the open. So, when she showed up at the event, I knew that a conversation was coming, whether either of us was ready for it or not.

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