Page 85 of The Sculptor

She laughs. “No, I didn’t. I’d have no reason to practice while we were apart.”

She swallows, seeming to fight back another wave of emotion as she likely thinks of the same thing I am. The whole reason I started teaching her in the first place.“You have to learn, Ray, because one day, he’s going to be big enough to compete with us. You don’t want to be the loser, do you?”

I shake off the thought of us never standing on this dock as a family, skipping rocks with our son, and pull her in close, lightening the mood. “As competitive as you are, Ray, I wouldn’t put anything past you. Practicing and everything.”

She gurgles out a half laugh, half cry that nearly guts me. “I promise, I haven’t tried skipping rocks since that winter.”

Since that winter, when our entire lives were rocked.

I don’t know if I can do this—stay here—pretending it’s home when something feels like it’s missing.

But what happens when I take Ray back to Texas? Is that home? Will we ever be able to call anywhere home when we always feel like home is still somewhere out there?

I don’t know.

Everything feels chaotic and jumbled in my head right now. I need peace, and the only way I can find it is here—out here on this dock, where I would spend my days worrying about my girl and the son growing inside her.

Pulling Ray down to sit on the dock, I lean against a post and stare out at the water as she tilts her head up to look at me. “What do you think about when you’re out here? It’s something I’ve always wondered when you would sit out here for hours.”

I shrug. “Everything.”

“Well, that’s super detailed. You might want to take a breath there. I don’t know if we have enough daylight for you to finish that story.”

I belt out a laugh that I really needed. “I don’t know. Why do you like to paint?”

“I don’t know. I just love it. I find clarity in the process.”

“Exactly. When I look out at the vastness of the lake, I find peace.” I reach next to us, grab a stone from the pile she had, and toss it, watching as it skips six times across the water—much to Ray’s dismay.

“The water, as you know,” I continue, ignoring her annoyed sigh, “is home to many plants and animals.” I grin. “Like snakes.”

She pops me on the leg. “Don’t even start with the snakes.”

“And when a storm rolls in, it disrupts the surface of the water, but not the floor.” I can feel the tension coil inside my body. “Well, most of the time. Anyway, when my head is full of chaos, I like to come out here and remember that the water is like my skin. It can be scarred and disrupted, but it doesn’t affect the floor. It doesn’t affect who I am on the inside. When I worried over you and Jude that winter—before he was born—I would come out here and be reminded that all the animals and plants can do is prepare. But they don’t worry about survival. They can simply be. The water can rage above them and disrupt their environment, but when it’s over, they go on living, surviving. I needed to survive those years after you and Jude disappeared. I needed to remember that my worry was only natural for humans. No other creature does it. They have faith they will be there tomorrow to continue on. Some days, I didn’t feel like I could. I couldn’t get up in the morning and face questions about my addiction or the disappointment from my family. I found it difficult to even dress most mornings. But I thought about the water here and how the ripples on the surface only affect the environment.”

I shrug, feeling silly for even saying the words aloud. But she wanted to know what I thought about, and it’s the same thing I think about now when I stare out at the vastness. “The water is a constant reminder to just be. It doesn’t matter what disrupts my environment as long as I serve my purpose and prepare.”

And that’s exactly what I intend to do.

We can find our purpose again.

I can be the husband she deserves, and whether my son is alive or not, I will be the father who didn’t quit until he found him one way or another.

I just need to prepare.

Ramsey

It’s been a few days since we last spoke with Vance.

Duke has thrown himself into searching for Jude every minute of the day. The only sleep he gets is with a few naps here and there. He won’t even eat unless I—you guessed it—get naked and convince him.

He’s not well.

Neither am I.

I’m worried this search isn’t good for either of us. There’s a time when hope becomes a crutch. Should we keep our lives on pause in search of something or someone we think will complete us? Will we be happy then? Are we happy now?

While we might be in the cabin we called home many years ago, it doesn’t feel much like home now, because it’s not the future we thought we would share in it.

---