“I’m coming back for you, Calico,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“You don’t have to say that.” She kissed his chest and, Christ, how her lips burned.
“I’m coming back for you,” he repeated. “There is no part of me that does not belong to you. You have my whole heart.” He caught her hand and held it to his chest. Could she feel the crater she’d left there, the place that would remain empty until she was his once and for all?
She ran her finger over his heart in an x-shape. “I’ll keep it safe for you, then, until you come back for it.”
He kissed her, a lingering slide of lips and tongues as though he could make the moment last if he moved slowly enough. When kissing was no longer enough, he slid into her welcoming heat and made love to her. Noah had never understood before why someone would choose such a sentimental turn of phrase to describe something so physical, but there in the hotel bed they’d shared all week with the distant waves crashing outside their window, he understood. This was more than pleasure, more than pain, more than the ephemeral joining of bodies. This was spirit and breath and the stuff of stars.
They were late to Livi’s farewell brunch, but he didn’t care. The out-of-town guests gathered on The Barclay’s back patio to toast the newlyweds one more time didn’t seem to notice when he and Callie joined them, their hands clasped together tightly. He lifted their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
At the front of the assembled crowd, in front of a table piled high with croissants and muffins, Noah’s mother tapped a butter knife against her glass. A silk scarf in a floral pattern tied around her neck fluttered in the breeze off the ocean. “Hush, now. It’s time for the bride’s mother to have her say,” she said, her eyes sparkling with humor.
“No more embarrassing stories, Mom,” Liv said.
“Lots more embarrassing stories!” someone called from the crowd, the response met with scattered laughter.
“No, I have something serious to say,” his mother said. She smiled softly at Liv, then scanned the crowd. “Is your brother here yet?”
“I’m here,” he said, pulling Callie with him to the front of the group.
“Ah, wonderful. I’m afraid you all must forgive me for I’m about to be terribly sentimental.”
It was then that Noah noticed the folded square of paper in his mother’s free hand, the creases soft and fragile from repeated folding and unfolding, the paper stained in places. His breath caught in his chest and he swayed on his feet with the shock of it.She’s going to read it now? Here?He’d been waiting to know what was on that piece of paper for the last twenty years; he wasn’t prepared to find out in front of all these people, most of whom he barely knew.
“What’s wrong?” Callie asked, but he didn’t have words to explain.
His mother unfolded the paper and Noah caught Liv’s eye across the space, knowing instantly that she, too, recognized the paper. Liv pushed through the crowd until she was at his side, wrapping herself against him and letting him pull her close with his free arm. He held tight to Callie’s hand on his other side, and hardly noticed when Daemon took up his post beside Liv. The four of them faced his mother, waiting, and he let himself be buoyed by two of the people who meant the most to him in the world on either side of him, holding him up, letting him hold them.
“When my Jerry got sick, we didn’t know how much time he’d have, and we made all these grand plans. He was going to finally score a full-length film. We were going to take you kids to Paris. He wanted to fill a journal with letters to you both, with the stories he wouldn’t get to tell you over dinner, and the bits of wisdom he wanted to pass on.” She bowed her head to collect herself and Noah closed his eyes, surprised to find his eyelashes were already wet. “He never did do any of those things. But he wrote this,” she said, holding up the paper, “and he told me I’d know when the time was right to read it to you.”
She carefully unfolded the paper and took a shaky breath before meeting Noah’s eyes, then Liv’s. With a nod, she turned back to the paper and began to read:
Olivia and Noah,
Once, a very long time ago, I thought I would like to be an airplane pilot. I even took lessons and earned my license to fly small planes. Ask your mother sometime about the day I flew us to Martha’s Vineyard for lunch.
After your mother found out she was pregnant with you, Noah, I decided it was time to stop flying. I had never been afraid to fly, but I suppose I had never had anything so great to lose before.
It has been years since I sat in a cockpit, but what I wouldn’t give to take you two into the sky and make one more good landing on a half-moon night on a well-lit runway. An airport at night, viewed from the approach path, is one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen. There are lights everywhere and they all have a purpose. It’s the pilot’s job to keep them all lined up and the proper colors. Any deviation from the proper approach and things change color or perspective. It’s like falling slowly into a Christmas tree where you know every light and every ornament by name.
It's the intersection of beauty and order, adrenaline and calm. I hope you build yourself a life that balances each of those things. Order is tedious without beauty, and you will grow weary of the calm without the moments of adrenaline.
Do things that scare you; you cannot know the joy of landing without the fear of falling.
Never shy away from an adventure, especially when it comes in the form of someone you love. Choosing love is always the right decision.
You, my family, have been my greatest adventure.
Now it is time for you to fly. Say hi to the stars for me.
Love, Dad
Before their mother had finished refolding the paper, Liv flung herself into her arms. Noah wanted to join them, but his feet were rooted to the spot. Through the blur of tears, he could almost imagine his father was standing at his mother’s side.
“Noah,” Callie urged at his side.
Her voice shook him from his trance. He blinked to clear his vision and joined his mother and sister, but he kept one hand firmly grasping Callie’s. His father’s words infused his blood, weaving themselves into his muscles and sinew. His mother had read the letter, but he’d heard the sentences in his father’s own voice, the deep timbre of it flowing through him like water returning to a dry riverbed.
