“But you were swimming,” he says. “With your husband.”
“I was,” I concede, something about his tone helping me understand Mateo’s soft smile from before.
“That’s good. It’s what I would like to talk about. I would like to know more about how to be so brave. You helped me when you were my coach, and I would like your help again.”
My next inhale catches on something I’d once thought was cowardice, and I swallow hard. But that’s not what he needs from me. I reach for his fists and gently uncurl his fingers until his hands rest flat in his lap.
“Of course, Sami. I’ll help however I can.”
Epilogue
(There Was a Rainbow)
Honestly, for as often as my husband and I go hiking, I'm getting too old to do this on my own much longer. It’s just steep enough to be considered careless, the path still familiar, but unwalked for years now. I glance toward a fence I can’t see from this far below, and I know Simon's waiting nervously in our backyard, just in case he needs to come to my rescue.
Ourrescue, actually, because I'm not on my own today. I'm just the stronger one. Physically, anyway. Probably not emotionally. Emotionally, I'm not sure, because I've never been in a situation like this, and I’m in no rush to understand it any better than what empathy allows.
I’m in no rush to be the one saying goodbye to the man I love.
“It’s been so long.”
I startle when his gravelly voice cracks the quiet morning, partly because I’m too far inside my head and partly because he's spoken so little lately. That could change today, but I’m not counting on that just because we’re making this climb together, nor will I push to make it happen. I’m not even going to ask him what he’s referringto. It could be a lot of things.
And though it’s a surprise to almost everyone who knows me, I haven’t felt much like talking lately, either.
I’m mourning too, and nobody would expect less, but I think they expected me to be louder about it. I’ve ached for days and weeks and months. I think maybe it’s been more than a year already. I’ve pressed my hand to my chest and I’ve cried, my husband holding me close when I’ve needed that crushing promise that every once in a while, time slows down to let love catch up.
I look up to the man I’m holding close now and remember so many lessons he’s taught me about that. Time. Love. How the loss of one doesn’t have to mean the loss of the other. Of course, he’s been teaching me for years. And from the moment I first walked into his classroom, some five decades ago, I think I knew my life was about to change.
Moments are like that sometimes.
With my arm around Mateo’s waist, I continue to guide him forward, and several seconds later, the sight of the bench is enough to make a few tears fall. Mine, at least. I’m not ready to look too closely at him. Reminders of his age are reminders of mine, and while I rarely mind getting older, it’s harder when the lines around his eyes are teeming with the grief that lines my own.
“Watch that last step,” I warn softly. “The ground here isn’t as flat as it used to be.”
He nods and moves to hold my hand as he sits, any stubborn need for independence weakened by the privacy we’re given here. I look toward the house Simon and I own now, Mateo and my dad having deeded the property to us when they moved into the downstairs guest suite, steps increasingly too much for a leg pieced together so many years ago. Then I turn back to the sky. The sun shines down on us through the lingering fog, a promise of what waits on the otherside of this morning, but there was nobody on the shore when we approached from below.
It’s only the two of us here, laying a third to rest.
“Thank you for coming with me,” he says.
Once I’m settled next to him, I use my free hand to reach for the thin gray hair he keeps shorter than he used to, but still long enough to tuck behind his ear. “I’m sorry I had to. I’m sure you would’ve preferred to do this part alone.”
“No,” Mateo argues, as tender as he’s ever been. “He and I had too much time alone, away from you. More than we should have.”
It’s something we’ve talked about so many times—the secrets they tried to keep from me for too long—and even though it’s been a while, we don’t need to do it again. It hurt back then, but we’re very far away from a grudge I barely held.
“In that case, I’m glad I’m here.”
“I should’ve brought tomato basil soup.”
“Oh my God. New Year’s Day, when I caught you here.” I laugh in spite of myself and shake my head. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“My memories are remarkably intact,” he says. “A blessing and a curse.”
“Will you tell me something I don’t know? About you and my dad? A memory you consider a blessing?”
Mateo squints at the misty morning and the sunlight determined to brighten our day. “He and I watched the sun rise over all five oceans.”