There are so many memories. They rise like ghosts, and I remember stretches of days and weeks and months and years and he’s there. He’s always there. There are phone calls and visits and celebrations and sadness. There are bright days and dark days. Every emotion humanly possible is felt. But through it all, I realize the gift I’ve received. Whether or not this is real, I have been given the memories of what life could have been like had my father not drowned in the river.
And still I want more. I push for more.
He’s ninety-eight years old when I sit by his bed. Jeremy is with our kids, watching our grandchildren in the hall. I sit quietly with my father in the night. The doctors say it will be soon and that he will not wake up. The others have left me alone so I have my chance to say good-bye.
I try to find the words to say to him that could convey the depth of my love for him. I try to think of a single thing to say that would show him what he means to me. I rest my head on his arm, rubbing my forehead against his skin. I might have imagined it, but for a moment, there seems to be a hand on my shoulder and a breath on my neck and I think that everything is blue. But then it’s gone.
Finally, I say to my father words he’d said once to me. “There is no one such as you in this world, and you belong to me. I’ll believe in you, always.” I squeeze his hand and give him fifteen words that mean everything. “It’s okay to sleep now, Dad. I know that one day, we’ll be together again.”
As if waiting for my permission, he slips away only moments later.
There is a world where he sleeps under an angel made of stone.
There is a world where he passes quietly, watched by the one who loves him the most.
And these two worlds collide, pulling in toward each other, rushing and rolling, combining until I can see everything, until I can feel everything. I feel the life of my father. I feel the love of my father. I feel the loss of my father, and it happens over and over and over again. There is the world that actually happened. There is the world that could have happened. I think this might be what Michael spoke of, and I cherish every moment of it even as my heart shatters again and again.
Every memory flashes before my eyes. Every single moment we did and did not share. All of these memories are pulled down to a single point, the tiniest possible space. There’s an instant where it’s black and silent, and then it explodes outward, arcing through this world and every other. Wave after wave of my past and future washes over me, and I see all possibilities. Every path not taken. Every shape. Every pattern. Every design.
And this. Out of everything, I beg you to see this:
This is the world where the river runs wild. This is the world where I leap the last five feet, unable to take the distance between us any longer. I hear the beat of massive wings, I hear the earth singing, I hear all the planes of existence holding their breaths for just one sweet, freeing moment. It is in this moment that I break through the surface of the river and come out on the other side.
And for the first time since he died five years before, I crash into my father, and he wraps his arms around me, and oh my God, I am home. I am home. I am home.
We stay like this, for a time. My head on his shoulder as I tremble, arms tight
around his neck. He puts one arm around my back, the other pressing the back of my head with his big hand. I don’t even try to hide that I’ve broken down, sobbing into his shirt, clutching at him. He tries to whisper soothing things to me, but his voice keeps cracking, and I can feel my hair getting wet from where his cheek rests.
What strikes me first, aside from the fact that this is actually real, is the way he smells. If I’d tried to remember it even an hour ago, I wouldn’t have been able to. Not completely. But now? Now it’s everything I remember from my childhood. It’s wood smoke, it’s clean sweat, it’s grease, it’s wintergreen, it’s hard work. It’s all the things I remember about him all wrapped up into something that is distinctly Big Eddie. I shudder at the thought.
Finally, he speaks, and the sound of his voice is almost enough to set me off all over again. “Let me look at you,” he says roughly. “Just let me look at you.” He pushes me back, cupping my face, roaming his gaze over me as if to catalogue every little thing he can. His hands are shaking as he wipes my cheeks. He tries to smile, but it breaks and his face stutters again. He closes his eyes and takes in a sharp breath. He drops his hands to my shoulders, and his grip is biting. He opens his teary eyes again. “Benji,” he says, and I try to wrap my mind around the fact that I can hear my father say my name again. “Benji.”
I weep for my father.
Time passes, though I can’t say how much. I don’t know if it matters, or if I even
can find the heart to care. It’s deceptive, this place. The sun never seems to move from its position overhead, though I’m sure hours have gone by. The wind always blows sweetly, and the river babbles more like a brook than the Umpqua I know. The grass is the brightest green, the water the clearest blue. The trees seem to reach up to the sky, and the mountains are snowcapped, like they’re covered in clouds. It’s picturesque. It’s perfect. It’s not real.
What is real, though, is the weight of my father’s arm on my shoulders. We sit side by side, our pant legs rolled up, feet in the water. The water’s cold, but not so much it’s unbearable. The sun is warm, chasing away any chill. We haven’t really spoken yet, so overwhelmed the words aren’t taking shape. It’s like all my synapses have fired at once, and I can’t form a single coherent thought. Everything is sensory—the warmth of his arm across the back of my neck, the smell of pine and oak, the sound of birds and bugs, the light refracting off the scales of a salmon when it jumps out of the water, the taste of the drying tears that have tracked to my lips.
I have so much to say, so of course I say nothing. It’s not as if I’m scared, or as if I’m unsure of what I want to say. I want to tell him everything. I want to go through it all, day by day since I last saw him, leaving nothing out, so he can know the minutes and the hours he has missed. I want to tell him about Mom and how strong she really is. I want to tell him about Nina and how she might be the only one who understands why I missed him as much as I did. I want to tell him about Mary and how she kept us all together. I want to tell him about Christie and her betrayal. About our best friend Abe, who asked me to look away. About anyone and everyone he’s ever known.
But most of all, I want to tell him about Cal. I want to tell him about the man I love and the man I hate. I want to feel rage, I want to clench my fists and hurt something. I want my father to see just how much I hate the angel Calliel for taking from me what was rightfully mine, the consequences be damned. Fuck Michael and his beliefs about faith and sacrifice. Fuck Cal and his decisions. Fuck God and his games.
So much to say. I say nothing.
“How are you, Benji?” my father finally asks, his voice light and happy. It’s such a ridiculous question I can’t help but laugh out loud. And even though he may not understand, my father starts to laugh just the same. Such a big fucking sound. “Okay,” he says, chuckling. “That might not have been the best way to start.”
I grin at him, my anger temporarily forgotten. “It was the only way to start. I’m okay, Dad. You?”
He smiles faintly before looking back out at the river almost longingly. I don’t quite get the look, but I ignore it for now. “I’m better now,” he says softly. “Better than I have been in a long while. It’s been quiet here, since the others left.”
I feel a chill at his words. “What others?” I ask, looking around. There’s no one else in sight, and it doesn’t seem like anyone else is watching us.
He shrugs. “Just some people came and went,” he says. “I only talked to one of them. He was a… an odd man and he wanted me to go with him, but I couldn’t. I don’t think he understood, but I had to stay here. So he left.”
“Why here? Why didn’t you just leave?”
“I tried,” Big Eddie says, squeezing my shoulder. “I
tried to walk home, but….”
Tears well in my eyes yet again, and I brush them away. “You couldn’t make it?”
He nods. “Every time I started walking down the road, I would get tired. I would need to sit down to rest, and before I knew it, I’d be asleep. And every time I woke up, I’d be right here again. I tried everything. I tried running. I tried sleeping before I left so I wouldn’t be tired. I tried cutting through the forest. I tried going the other way. It didn’t matter. I’d make it maybe half a mile, right before mile marker seventy-seven changed to seventy-six or seventy-eight, and then I’d have to stop.”
“What about the river?” I ask. “Did you try crossing the river?”
He tenses immediately, and I want to take the words back, though I don’t know why. “No,” he whispers, unable to look at me. “I never crossed the river. That’s what he wanted me to do, and I just couldn’t.”
“Who?”
“He called himself the River Crosser. He took the others across the river in this little boat, but I couldn’t go. I just couldn’t.”
Through the fog and haze, I hear the Strange Men, both light and dark, whispering in my head about crossing. I can’t quite remember what they said. It’s lost, at least for now, as the haze swallows it again. But that’s okay. It doesn’t matter.
“I’m glad you stayed,” I say, leaning my head on his shoulder. I try to ignore the unease that starts to prickle my skin.
“Me too,” he says quietly.
We’re silent for a time. Then, “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
I don’t think I’ll be able to get the words out, but I have to try. “Why did you have to go?”
And when he speaks, I already know the words he’s going to say. I already know because I’ve said the same things to Michael. I’ve said the same things to Michael, and he told me things in return. About my father, about Cal. About the design of the world. About Seven and the child’s shadow on the wall. But I can’t seem to get his final words out of my head, about receiving a gift and my duty as a son. I am supposed to stand, but I don’t know for what. I am supposed to make a choice, but I don’t know what that choice is.
“I didn’t want to leave you,” my father says, looking down at the water. I follow his gaze and see his reflection in the water staring back up at us. “That was the last thing on my mind. I just… I couldn’t just sit by and let these things happen. I couldn’t let Roseland be taken over like I knew it would be.” He frowns. “I overheard Griggs and Walken talking one day, and I just couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t right.”
“You made a sacrifice,” I say, understanding my own words for the first time. Hearing them from him is different than hearing them from Michael or myself. It actually means something; it has truth behind it.
“Although I wish I hadn’t, now.”
I’m surprised at this. “Why?”
“Because it took me away from your mom. It took me away from Abe. It took me away from my life and everything I had in it. But most of all, it took me away from you.”
“I was angry,” I admit hoarsely. “For a long time.”
“I know. I could feel it. I could feel it here, like a storm was brewing somewhere far away.”
“I’m sorry.”
He snorts. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing, Benji. You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. I know these last few months have been hard on you.”
I’m cold again, and it has nothing to do with the water. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“How long do you think you’ve been here?”
He frowns again, lines forming on his forehead. I can tell he’s thinking, because his tongue appears between his lips, a thing he’s done since I can remember. He twitches his fingers on my shoulder and moves his lips, like he’s counting, or at least trying to. It’s taking longer than I think it should, and the unease gets stronger. “Four months?” he finally says, sounding dubious. “Maybe a little bit longer?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak until I have some sense of control. I swallow past the lump in my throat. “It’s been five years,” I say.
“No,” he whispers. “That’s impossible.”
It’s improbable, a voice whispers in my head.
“Trust me, it’s not,” I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “You… died five years ago.”
“It’s… you’re twenty-one now?” He sounds shocked.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve missed… I….” He slowly drops his hand from my shoulder as he looks back to his reflection in the water.
“You didn’t know?”
He shakes his head. “The River Crosser, he told me time could be a bit… funny here. I didn’t listen to him because there were other things on my mind. He warned me about a lot, I guess. I just didn’t listen. I had to….”
“Had to what?”
“Protect you,” he whispers. “I had to make sure you were okay. I was so scared for you, Benj. I was angry with myself because I couldn’t be there to protect you like I wanted to. I tried to do the right thing, and it got me….” He stops himself before he can say the word we’re both thinking. “I didn’t do my job as a father. My priority since you were born has always been you, and I let myself get distracted. I’m sorry, Benji. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell him. “You did what you thought was right.”
“But you said you were mad.”
I shrug, looking away. “I was. Maybe I still am. But… I don’t know if it’s at you anymore. I don’t know if I can be mad at you when you’re sitting right here next to me.” I take a deep breath, steeling myself. Even though I know his answer, I still have to ask. “Did you miss me? Because I sure missed you.”
“Every day, boy,” he rumbles as he wraps his arm my shoulder again, pulling me tight. “Every damn day, which is apparently longer than I thought. A second hasn’t gone by when I haven’t thought of you.”
“That’s why you stayed? When the others left?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “Are you really twenty-one now?”
“Yeah.”
“My God, you’re a full-grown man.”
“I guess so.”
Silence.
“Dad?”
“Yes, son?”
“I heard your promise. To Cal.”
“I know. I tried very hard to show you.”
“The dreams? That was you?”
He sighs. “Sort of. I tried to show you as much as I could.”
I scowl, anger rising again. “And he tried to keep me away from you. Cal always pulled me out of the river. He didn’t want me to see what you were trying to show me.”
My father looks stern. “As well he should have. It wasn’t all me, Benji. Those dreams. It was the river too. Cal was only doing what I had asked of him. To protect you as much as possible. I couldn’t control it as well as I thought I could. He saved you from drowning. He saved you again and again and again.”
I don’t reply.
But this is my father. He knows me better than anyone. “So that’s what I was feeling,” he says in awe.
“What?” I say, my face flushing.
“You love him.” It’s not said as a question.
“Dad….”
“Well, shit.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s… a nice guy.”
I can’t help the laugh that comes out. “A nice guy?”
“Does he love you back?”
I nod. “I think so.”
“He better.”
“I don’t know if I can do right by him.”
“I raised you, didn’t I?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then you’ll do the right thing, Benji. You always will.”
My eyes start to burn again. “I’m losing him,” I say through the tears. “When I thought he was gone, it felt like I’d lost everything all over again. He’s… Dad, he’s made me feel alive for the first
time in a long time. He’s sweet, and kind. And smart. And everyone loves him. He had such reverence for the Ford you would have thought he helped to build it too.”
“Maybe he did,” Big Eddie says slowly. “I gathered he’d been around for some time.”
“But he can’t stay,” I say, my breath hitching in my chest. “He can’t stay.”
My father pulls me closer. “Why?”
“Because he’ll die. Angels can’t stay where we are. He has to go back.”
“Says who?”
“I do!” I say angrily, trying to pull away from him. He doesn’t let me go. “I couldn’t take it if he died too. My heart couldn’t take it.”
“It will,” he tells me. “It will because I’ve raised you to be strong and brave. I’ve raised you to always think of others before yourself.”
I’m incredulous. “I am! I don’t want him to die!”
“What does he want?”
“I don’t….”
“You’ve never asked him, have you?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll bet if you did, he’d tell you exactly what he wants. It seems to me if he wanted to go back, he would have already. If he wanted to avoid any risk at all, he could have. But he didn’t. He took a chance.”
“Because he promised you,” I remind him sadly. “He wouldn’t even be here if he hadn’t promised you.”
Big Eddie sighs. “You don’t know that. He could have chosen just the same. We all have a choice, Benji, with everything we do. And if you ask him, I’d bet anything he’ll tell you he wants to stay. And even if it means he dies, don’t you want to say you had what you could with the time you have left? It’s better, Benji, to have something burn brightly for a short time than to never have it at all. But that may not even happen. You just have to have faith.”
“In what?”
He smiles. “That everything will be okay. If he believes in you, then you need to believe in him. Nothing’s written in stone.”