Chapter 18 - The Last Thing Richard Had to Learn
Richard had spent most of his life believing protection meant standing between danger and the people he loved.
Emily taught him another definition.
Sometimes protection meant stepping aside.
Two years after Easter Sunday, Emily received an offer to lead a regional fundraising program.
The position required relocating to North Carolina.
She wanted it.
She was also terrified.
Richard’s first thought was immediate.
Too far.
He did not say it.
Emily watched him.
“You’re doing the face.”
“What face?”
“The father face.”
“I have one face.”
“You have approximately six.”
Richard laughed.
“When would you move?”
“August.”
His chest tightened.
Emily noticed.
“I don’t have to take it.”
Richard looked at her.
That sentence decided everything.
“Yes, you do.”
“What?”
“If you want it.”
“You’d be okay?”
“No.”
Emily laughed.
Richard continued.
“But I’ll survive.”
She accepted the position.
Moving day arrived in late summer.
Boxes filled the truck.
Richard checked the tires three times.
Emily caught him checking a fourth.
“Colonel.”
“Habit.”
They drove east.
Her new home was smaller than the blue-shutter house.
It had a screened porch and a view of distant hills.
Emily immediately chose one room as a studio.
Richard assembled a bookshelf.
Incorrectly.
Emily photographed the disaster.
“This is going online.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would.”
He eventually fixed it.
That evening they sat on the porch.
Cicadas hummed in the trees.
“You know,” Emily said, “there was a time I couldn’t imagine living alone.”
Richard looked at her.
“And now?”
“Now I’m wondering how often you’re planning to visit.”
“Monthly.”
“Quarterly.”
“Every six weeks.”
“Every two months.”
“Seven weeks.”
Emily smiled.
“Deal.”
The next morning Richard prepared to return to Tennessee.
At the truck, Emily hugged him.
He held her longer than usual.
“Call when you arrive,” she said.
“I’m the father.”
“And?”
“I say that.”
“Apparently retirement has changed the chain of command.”
Richard laughed.
He drove away.
For the first twenty miles, the passenger seat felt painfully empty.
Then his phone rang through the truck speakers.
Emily.
He answered.
“You forgot your coffee thermos.”
Richard smiled.
“Keep it.”
“I hate this thermos.”
“You’ll learn.”
“I survived Ethan. I’m not surviving this ugly thermos.”
Richard laughed so hard he had to slow down.
When the call ended, he realized he was crying.
But these tears were different.
There was grief in them.
And pride.
And the strange sadness of a parent discovering that the child he desperately wanted to protect no longer needed protection in the same way.
Back in Tennessee, Richard finally cleaned out the old hallway cabinet.
Medals.
Documents.
Photographs.
He found the leather folder he had grabbed on Easter Sunday.
For two years it had remained there.
Richard removed it.
Then placed something else inside.
A framed photograph.
Emily standing outside her new home.
Paint on one cheek.
Keys in her hand.
Laughing.
Richard closed the cabinet.
The past had not disappeared.
It simply no longer occupied every shelf.
Months later, Emily called with another announcement.
“I’m coming home for Easter.”
Richard smiled.
“What should I cook?”
“The ham.”
“Potatoes?”
“If you promise not to burn them.”
“No promises.”
“And Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Buy an Easter basket.”
Richard became quiet.
Emily continued.
“A big one.”
He understood immediately.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
May you like
This time there was no hesitation in her voice.
“I think I’m ready.”
