Page 37 of Below the Far Horizon
He wasn’t sure their relationship was at the point where he could tell her that he wanted to do more. That he longed to see her when she wasn’t around and thought about her almost constantly.
“Are you good to finish up in here? I’ll go on up to the house and finish getting supper ready.”
“Sure. I’ll be up in about fifteen minutes and willgive you a hand.” He looked around the workbench. He didn’t like to leave it when it wasn’t cleaned up. “As soon as I finish putting everything away.”
“No rush. You can finish what you’re working on.”
“Almost done. I’m at a good stopping point and will pick it up tomorrow.”
Part of the reason he moved back was so that he could spend time with his dad. He didn’t want his dad to have to make supper by himself all the time. Once in a while was fine, but he’d done it by himself the day before and also brought lunch out to the workshop.
Trevor had a tendency to get lost in his work, especially when he was doing his best to try not to think about Grace. Of course, maybe that was just an excuse. But he didn’t think so. He really was trying to distract himself with work. If Grace were at the house, he would be hard-pressed to keep himself out of it.
He felt like a teenager. Surely that type of thing would wear off.
The door closed behind his dad, and he tried to clear his mind of thoughts of Grace, and how he could spend more time with her, and what he could do to impress her.
Was that what he wanted to do? Impress her? Because it seemed like in high school, she had been so underwhelmed by him that she had been able to run off without any trouble at all. Leaving him behind like the rest of her hometown.
Maybe that wasn’t quite fair, but that’s what it felt like.
He still hadn’t figured out a way to capture her attention and make her see him for more than the hometown boy she left behind some years ago, when something white and slightly faded, something that looked like writing paper, caught his eye from between the workbench and the wall.
That was odd. His dad and he were the only people who came in here, and he’d never seen his dad writing anything down on a piece of paper. He might write something on his hand or on the edge of the newspaper, back when they still got one, but if his dad owned a notebook, Trevor didn’t know anything about it.
Maybe it was from the person who used to own the house before them. But his dad had owned it all of his life. More than three decades of homeownership.
It might be something from his mom.
And with that, he looked around until he found a pair of tweezers and was able to grab a hold of whatever it was and slide it out from between the wall and the workbench.
It turned out to be two pieces of paper.
He opened both. One was dated for just after his mother had left his dad. The other was dated about six months prior.
He read the one that was almost five years old first.
It was his dad, writing to his mom and begging her to come back. It was hard to read, and Trevor almost folded it and put it away, because he knew that the words were not for his eyes.
He hadn’t realized how broken up his dad was. He’d come and visited him, sure. He’d invited him to Chicago, and his dad had gone, taking off from work and hanging out at Trevor’s rented apartment. Still, the grief that just poured off the page, the absolute desire to have his wife back, the pain, the baffled confusion where his dad didn’t understand what he had done wrong that would cause his wife to take off and leave him. It was all there, evident, and almost eloquently said. He hadn’t known Dad was such a great writer. But at the bottom of the letter, it was signed, “your devoted husband, Don.”
Trevor swallowed, not realizing tears had come to his eyes, and his throat tightened until the paper in his hand lowered and rested on the workbench, crinkling slightly.
He almost folded it up and walked away without reading the other one. He really didn’t want to know. But he found himself curious. Had his dad healed at all in the last five years? Was the second letter a letter of acceptance?
He wasn’t sure and found himself more curious than ashamed that he had pried into his dad’s private affairs.
He took the other letter, flattened it with his hand, and then started to read.
His heart untwisted and loosened along with his stomach as he made his way down through the letter. This one was shorter but no less filled with the raw feelings of his father.
This one was thanking his wife for the lessons she had taught him. For the hard thing that she had placed in his life. For not coming back,for showing him that he didn’t need her like he thought, because he’d found out that God was enough, more than what he needed.
It was a letter almost of praise, coming from the heart of a man who had grown and become better because of the trial that he’d been through.
Was his dad really thankful that his mother had left?
Toward the end, his dad wondered, almost as though he wasn’t talking to his wife anymore, as to whether he would ever love again. The idea that he would give so much of himself to another human scared him, and Trevor understood the feeling. The idea of making oneself vulnerable to someone else, knowing that all they had to do was go back on their word, and they could inflict pain upon him the likes of which he hadn’t felt before.
