“I don’t remember his face or anything, but I do remember an Uncle Danny,” I tell him.
He turns to Declan and explains, “Danny and I had known each other since our twenties, and when it was just Elizabeth and me, he’d started to come around more often to spend time with her. But anyway,” he says, shifting his attention back to the story. “I was in the attic, laying insulation because it was unfinished, and I wanted to turn it into a storage space. You were downstairs playing with Uncle Danny, and I had stumbled and my foot slipped off the rafter I was standing on and my one leg fell right through the floor.” He starts laughing. “I hollered down to you two, and instead of Danny coming to help me, he took you out to the garage where my leg was hanging through the ceiling. He picked you up so you could reach me and encouraged you to take my shoe off and tickle my foot.”
Declan and I join in my father’s laughter as he tells this story I have no memory of.
“The more I laughed, the more you tickled, and the more I started to slip through. But I could hear you giggling, and you were having the time of your life.”
“Well, it looks like your leg survived that ordeal,” I tease.
“It did,” he says and then faces Declan. “But if you really want to know what she was like as a child, she was perfect. She had the softest heart and always wanted to please people. If I told her to do something, she always did it and never fought me. She was kind and she was sensitive,” he says and then looks at me, finishing, “and she was my every dream come true.”
He goes on to tell a couple more funny stories, and when we finish our lunch and clean up, he turns to me and asks, “You feel like getting out of here?”
“I thought you couldn’t . . .”
“Forget what I said. You want to go for a walk?”
“Um . . . yeah. That sounds great, Dad.”
“It’s a little cold outside, but why don’t I take you over to Owen Beach?”
With a smile, I respond, “Okay. Let me go change my clothes, and I’ll be ready.” I give Declan a smile when I walk past him and into the bedroom. Closing the door, I rush into the closet like a kid about to go to her favorite candy store. I slip off my dress pants and pull on a pair of jeans before grabbing a hooded raincoat. I dig through Declan’s clothes, looking for his jacket, and when I find it, I make a quick stop in front of the mirror to wrap my hair up in a bun on top of my head.
As I walk out of the bedroom, I notice the two of them standing off by the door talking in hushed tones with one another.
“What are you two talking about?” I announce as I approach, and when Declan turns to me, I hold his coat out and wait for his answer.
“You, of course.”
I narrow my eyes at him in mock annoyance and then laugh when he kisses me.
“I don’t have a whole lot of time before I have to leave, so why don’t we take two cars for time’s sake, and I’ll just leave from the beach?”
“Not a problem, Steve. We’ll just follow you there.”
The drive is a short one, and pretty soon, we’re driving among fresh blooming buds of spring. The sky may be dank and gray, but the pink cherry blossoms make the gloom beautiful. I press my hand on to the window, absorbing its bitter chill as Declan pulls into a parking spot that looks over the desolate beach.
My dad opens his door next to our car, and when he opens my door and takes my hand, Declan says, “I’ll wait here.”
I look over my shoulder. “You sure?”
“I need to make a few calls,” he says. “Go share a walk with your dad.”
Hand in hand we walk over the mounds of driftwood on the beach and down to the water’s edge. The wind gusts, creating a mist of sea spray that mingles with the cloud’s sprinkles that fall from the sky. I reach back with my free hand and pop the hood of my raincoat over my head as we stroll leisurely across the dense, water-puddled sand.
“Is this where you came when you left prison or have you lived other places?”
“Only here. I love it. The mountains, the water, the gray. I love the cold.”
“I do too. Winter has always been my favorite for some reason. Maybe it’s because it hides the truth of Earth’s death under a blanket of false purity.”
“False purity?”
“The white fluffy snow seems so innocent, but in actuality, it’s the weapon that kills what lies beneath.”
He looks down at me, asking with slight humor, “You always think this much?”
“Sometimes.”
“I do too.”
I stop and turn to face him, and the wind kicks against us when I ask, “What about?”
“You, mostly.”
He drapes his arm around me, tucking me against his side as we look out over the water.
With his eyes cast out, he says, “I’ve always had a lost soul.”
We don’t look at each other as we speak, my arm now slung around his waist.
“Me too.”