“Before his classes, I had no clue how to put heart into a story, but he took the time to teach me what it looked like—heart, passion, love. He was the greatest teacher of those three subjects.” Graham picked up his pieces of paper and ripped them in half. “And if he were to grade this speech of mine, he’d fail me. My words speak on his achievements in his career. He was an amazing scholar and received numerous awards that recognized his talents, but that’s just fluff.” Graham chuckled, along with other students who’d had Ollie as a professor. “We all know how Oliver hated when people added extra fluff to their papers to reach the required word counts. ‘Add muscle, not fat, students.’ So now, I’ll just add the strongest muscle—I’ll add the heart. I’ll tell you the core of who Professor Oliver was.
“Oliver was a man who loved unapologetically. He loved his wife and his daughter. He loved his work, his students, and their minds. Oliver loved the world. He loved the world’s flaws, he loved the world’s mistakes, he loved the world’s scars. He believed in the beauty of pain and the glory of better tomorrows. He was the definition of love, and he spent his life trying to spread that love to as many people as he could. I remember my sophomore year, I was so mad at him. He gave me my second F, and I was so pissed off. I marched straight to his office, barged in uninvited, and right as I was about to shout at him for this outrageous issue, I paused. There he was, sitting at his desk crying with his face in the palms of his hands.”
My stomach tightened as I listened to Graham’s story. His shoulders drooped, and he tried his best to hold himself together as he continued speaking. “I’m the worst person in those situations. I don’t know how to comfort people. I don’t know how to say the right things—that was normally his job. So, I just sat. I sat across from him as he sobbed uncontrollably. I sat and allowed him to feel his world falling apart until he could voice what was hurting him so deeply. It was the day one of his former students committed suicide. He hadn’t seen the student in years, but he remembered him—his smile, his sadness, his strength—and when he learned that the student passed away, Ollie’s heart broke. He looked at me and said, ‘The world’s a little darker tonight, Graham.’ Then he wiped away his tears and said, ‘But still, I must believe that the sun will rise tomorrow.’”
Tears flooded Graham’s eyes, and he took a beat to catch his breath before continuing, speaking directly to Ollie’s family. “Mary, Karla, Susie, I tell stories for a living, but I’m not very good with words,” he said softly. “I don’t know what I can say to make any sense of this. I don’t know what the meaning of life is or why death interrupts it. I don’t know why he was taken away, and I don’t know how to lie to you and tell you everything happens for a reason. What I do know for a fact is that you loved him, and he loved you with every ounce of heart that he possessed.
“Maybe someday that fact will be enough to help you through each day. Maybe someday that fact will bring you peace, but it’s okay if that day’s not today, because it’s not that day for me. I don’t feel peace. I feel cheated, sad, hurt, and alone. All my life I never had a man to look up to. I never knew what it meant to be a true man until I met Professor Oliver. He was the best man I’ve ever known, the best friend I’ve ever had, and the world’s a lot darker tonight because he’s gone. Ollie was my father,” Graham said, tears freely falling down his cheeks as he took one final deep breath. “And I will forever be his son.”
For the past few nights, I’d been sharing a bed with Graham. He seemed to be more at peace when he wasn’t alone, and all I wanted was for him to find a little bit of peace. The May rain showers had been coming down heavily, and it was our background music as we fell asleep.
One Sunday morning, I woke up in the middle of the night due to the sound of thunder, and I rolled over in the bed to see that Graham was missing. Climbing out of bed, I went to see if he was with Talon, but once I reached her nursery, I saw she was sleeping calmly.
I walked throughout the house searching for him, and it wasn’t until I stepped into the sunroom that I saw a shadow in the garden. I quickly tossed on my rain boots and grabbed an umbrella, walking outside to see him. He was soaked from head to toe with a shovel in his hands.
“Graham,” I called after him, wondering what it was he was doing until I glanced over at the shed where a large tree was leaning, waiting to be planted.
Ollie’s tree.
He didn’t turn back to look toward me. I wasn’t even certain he heard my voice. He just kept shoveling into the ground, digging a hole that would hold the tree. It was heartbreaking watching him soaking wet, digging deeper and deeper. I walked over to him, still holding my umbrella, and lightly tapped him on his shoulders.
He turned to me, surprised to see me standing there, and that was when I saw his eyes.
The truth lies in his eyes, Ollie had told me.
That night I saw it, and I saw that Graham was breaking. His heart was breaking minute by minute, second by second, so I did the only thing I could think to do.
I placed the umbrella on the ground, picked up another shovel, and started to dig right there beside him.
No words were exchanged—none were needed. Each time we tossed the earth’s soil to the side, we took a breath in honor of Ollie’s life. Once the hole was large enough, I helped him carry the tree over, and we placed it down, covering the base back up with mud.
Graham lowered himself down to the ground, sitting in the mess of nature while the rain continued to hammer down on us. I sat down beside him. He bent his knees and rested his hands on top of them with his fingers laced. I sat with my legs crossed and my hands in my lap.
“Lucille?” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Always.”
“Lucille?” I called from my office late one afternoon. Over the past few weeks, I’d forced myself to sit at my desk and write. I knew that was what Professor Oliver would’ve wanted me to do. He would’ve wanted me to not give up.
“Yes?” she questioned, stepping into the room.
My heart skipped. She looked exhausted—no makeup, messy hair, and absolutely everything I’d ever wanted.
“I, um, I have to send a few chapters to my editor, and normally, Professor Oliver would read them, but…” I grimaced. “Do you think you could read them for me?”
Her eyes widened and her smile stretched wide. “Are you kidding? Of course. Let me see.”
I handed her the papers, and she sat down across from me. She crossed her legs and began to read, taking in all my words. As her eyes stayed glued to the paper, my stare was stuck on her. Some nights I wondered what would’ve happened without her. I wondered how I would’ve survived without the hippie weirdo in my life.
I wondered how I’d gone so long without telling her she was one of my favorite people in the whole wide world.
Lucy Palmer had saved me from the darkness, and I’d never be able to thank her enough.
After some time, her eyes watered over and she bit her bottom lip. “Wow,” she whispered to herself as she kept flipping the pages. She was deeply focused as she read my words, taking her time. “Wow,” she muttered again. When she finished, she placed all of the pages in her lap and shook her head slightly before looking at me, and then she said, “Wow.”
“You hate it?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“It’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect.”
“Would you change anything?”