Page 4 of Gravity

“She doesn’t make it as good as you used to, though,” I whisper, causing him to grin.

“Don’t. Tell… Her.”

I raise a brow. “I won’t if you won’t.”

“Shh.”

I grin at him. His speech has improved so much. For a good few weeks after his stroke, we would get nothing from him at all. He would just lay in bed, unmoving, while he was very much aware of what was going on around him. What had broken my heart was the look in his eyes. I still witness it often, but back then it had been unbearable to see. With his words stolen, his physical strength taken, all Dad could do to show his emotion was to cry. The numerous times I saw silent tears slip down his cheeks crushed me. It was like he’d given up altogether.

I’d juggled college work and looking after dad, spending weeks traveling to the hospital in the evenings to lay with him. And in those weeks, it was like we’d reverted back to the time I’d been a child: I read him his favorite stories, we watched endless programs on sea creatures, just like we used to do when I was small, but it was the videos of memorial services and his time spent being a SEAL that helped me to beg him to find that fight in him again. I’d known it was there—he’d known it too—but he’d needed that push and positivity to encourage him. Even though there are still things he can no longer muster, and the recovery is still on-going, Dad’s rehabilitation has surprised us all.

“Are you two going to be out there all day? I’ve got Nora’s favorite waiting,” Mom shouts from the kitchen.

I look back at Dad and he effortlessly rolls his eyes. “Still. Nags.”

“Coming, Mom,” I shout, laughing at him. “You are naughty. Come on. Let’s go eat.”

As I turn to head down the hall, I hear Dad press the controller of his wheelchair, and before I have a chance to move, his chair catches me on the back of my ankle, causing me to stumble forward. His apology comes out in a humorous chuckle as I rub my ankle.

“Jeez, Pop. I’ve only been home five minutes and you’re trying to kill me off already.”

He grins. “Come. Here.”

“What?”

“Here.” A flash of something covers his green eyes, and a wicked grin spreads across his face. He nods to his lap. “Sit.”

I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished as my own smile spreads across my face at what I think he’s suggesting. “Pop. No. I’ll be too heavy for you.”

“Said. Sit.” The stern tone of his voice has me moving toward him and grabbing hold of the arms to his chair.

“Are you sure?”

He nods, and I lower myself onto his lap. The last time I’d sat on my dad’s lap I’d been a little girl with pigtails and missing teeth. Now, I’m an adult and a lot heavier. However, I can’t help but cuddle into him as his arm wraps around my waist. For a moment, I close my eyes and let my mind go back in time to the days I’d done this as a little girl, when my troubles had been non-existence and Dad’s frame was broader—to the times when he’d promised to always be my hero and me admitting I didn’t need one because I would always be strong.

Growing up with two Navy SEALs in the house and with my brother’s best friend next door, I wasn’t the type of girl who played with dolls and nail polish. I would build campfires in the back yard, digging up insects and pretending I was an ocean pirate who lived under the sea while out in my tree house. I hadn’t needed a hero then, and I don’t need one now.

“You. Ready?”

“For what?”

Dad chuckles at my sudden hesitation. “H-hold. Tight.”

Before I can protest, he pushes down the button on the chair remote and we speed down the long hall to the kitchen like he’s Lightning McQueen, narrowly missing the patio doors. I can’t help but scream in sheer excitement, loving hearing the enjoyment Dad is getting out of it, too.

When he spins us around to face Mom, she is standing at the far end of the kitchen with her arms crossed and a smile on her face.

“Oh my God, Pop,” I laugh.

“I can’t tell you how much your father has been waiting to do that with you since he got his new chair.” Mom chuckles, shaking her head at his playful game.

“I love this new crazy you seem to have developed.”

“I’ve even had to buy bubbles, so lord knows what he has planned.”

The happiness that those few seconds have given him have tears building in my eyes. For the first time in as long as I can remember, the playful side to my father is back, and I’m so grateful that I’ve chosen to take a year out of my studies and come home to spend time with him and my family. These last few years have been tough, but it’s times like this that make up for all the heartache.

Squeezing him tight, I smack a kiss on his cheek and chuckle when I see him still grinning. “How good is my time at home going to be?”