Chapter 18 - The Table My Father Left Behind
Dad eventually returned to Charleston.
Before leaving, he came to the condo alone.
We sat at the table.
The same table.
The one that had hidden his letter for fifteen years.
"I should've fought harder for you."
We had discussed it before.
But apparently he needed to say it again.
"Yes."
He smiled sadly.
"You don't make this easy."
"I spent years making things easy for everyone."
"Fair."
I reached across the table.
"But you came back."
"When you called."
"You answered."
"Always would have."
That still hurt.
But less.
"Why did you tape the letter under the table?"
He smiled.
"Your mother hated that table."
"She still does."
"I knew she'd eventually move it."
"Fifteen years is a long strategy."
"I'm patient."
"You're ridiculous."
He laughed.
Then he handed me his old sanding block.
"What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Fix the table."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing."
Exactly.
I understood.
Some things didn't need fixing.
They needed preserving.
Marks.
Scratches.
Uneven edges.
History.
I hugged him goodbye.
This time, I knew when I'd see him again.
Christmas.
May you like
That simple certainty was worth more than every recovered dollar.
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