Page 83 of Seven Summers Ago
“That’s always been your problem. So impatient.”
I glare at him from across the boat, the muscles in my shoulders going taut. What does he know about me? He was drunk my entire childhood and into my adulthood. But my therapy sessions with Dr. Sam have taught me that I can’t continually bring up what I’ve already forgiven him for.
“Not impatient, Dad. Just anxious is all.”
“That, too. Why are you always so anxious?”
I raise my brows and blink at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You can’t blame me for that too. For your anxiety. You going to therapy for the trauma I caused from being an alcoholic makes sense, but the other stuff, how’s it my fault?”
“Maybe the two go hand in hand,” I spit out.
“Fine.” He holds up his palms in surrender, and the boat rocks. “I’ve apologized, you’ve apologized. We don’t need to do this again.”
“At least we’re in agreement there.”
“But, son, at some point, you gotta start taking responsibility. You gotta stop blaming everyone else and start being an active participant in your own life.”
Anger sears my skin from the inside out. “I don’t want to do this with you. Not here, not now.”
“Why? Because you know it’s true?”
“No,” I snap. “Because…because…”
And well, shit, he might just be right.
“You’ve missed out on six years of knowing your daughter. Do you really want to miss out on six more?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I think that’s your answer. Rosie or no Rosie, if she’s not staying in Golden Harbor, you gotta go to Seattle. Learn from my mistakes. Don’t repeat them. Go be a father for your girl. If you don’t, you’re gonna regret it.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I tug it free and hold my breath when Rosie’s name shows up on the screen.
Rosie
Are you still on the island? Can you meet me?
25
ROSIE
By the time Beck reaches me, I’m a fully-fledged mess. It’s been forty-five minutes since I texted him and explained where I was at. To say he was surprised to discover I was on the island as well is an understatement.
An hour ago, I collapsed on the dock in a heap of tears. I stayed strong at Dottie’s memorial. Before and after it. During the past two weeks while I’ve been sorting through her personal items at her cottage, I’ve been dealing with my own life drama.
But spreading her ashes and saying goodbye was apparently my breaking point.
Through my hazy vision, the image of Beck appears. Any last bit of strength I’ve been clinging to dissipates in this moment.
“Oh, damn, Rosie.” There’s urgency in Beck’s voice and his movement as he rushes to me.
Dropping down to his knees, he wraps me up in his arms and I allow it. I sink into him, sobbing and digging my fingers into his taut back, trying to cling to something tangible. The solidity of his chest and the strength of his arms as he embraces me gives me the stability I’m desperate for.
“Shh,” he hushes, his warm breath brushing the cuff of my ear. “I’ve got you.”
And it feels like he really does.
