Page 67 of Come Home to Me
“And I’ve always wanted to learn to surf,” Jason says as we all sit, grinning at each other over Wikipedia articles about our new city.
That night, I draw for Frank. At first, it feels ridiculous as he hovers over the paper, gasping at the images I bring to life. “You could sell this stuff,” he says when I’m done. When I downplay my ability, he continues to gush until I stop feeling ridiculous and start feeling hopeful.
Maybe I could sell this stuff…
After a few weeks, Frank comes with me to Brookside to help pack up all my things, to decide what I’m taking and what I’m leaving. Outside of my clothes, some pictures of my family, and other knickknacks I’ve collected over the years, there’s not much I have that’s worth keeping. Most of it finds its way to Goodwill and frankly, I don’t mind at all.
Giving away the bits and pieces of my old life is like shedding a skin. The final step of moving out of my old ways and into my new. As I watch Colton’s truck trundle off with my furniture bouncing around in the bed, a sense of warmth settles over me.
“You feeling okay?” Franks asks. “Still good with your decisions?”
I lean into him. “Most definitely. No regrets.”
“Exactly. No regrets.”
While we’re in Brookside, Frank and I stay with Colton and Tessa, but spend each evening in the main house with the rest of the family—my mom, my dad, David, and his wife and kids. It’s a strange thing, sitting around the same dining room table in the same kitchen from my childhood, and even stranger still that we’re all laughing and joking as if nothing ever went wrong between us.
Dad’s pretty much all healed. The only way you’d know about the stroke is the slight lisp to his words. One night he pulls me aside. With his hands gripping my arms, he looks at me for a long time. Finally, he draws me in for a hug and runs his hand through my hair. “I’m sorry for everything,” he says. “I was the adult in the situation. I shouldn’t have let things get as bad as they did. I should have worked harder to make things right between us. I love you, Sarah. I always have and I always will.”
The words circle around me like fireflies, bringing my broken parts back to life. I cling to them. I repeat them. I wrap my arms around my father and memorize the moment.
Frank fits in with my brothers perfectly, flinging sarcasm like he belongs in the Carmichael kitchen. They trade war stories of their youth. Dissect the challenge of growing up on a farm versus growing up on a ranch. My dad laughs and laughs at Frank’s stories about the rest of the Wilde boys.
“You boys sound a lot like these two,” he says, indicating my brothers.
Frank nods. “We are. I think our families would get along pretty well.”
And the next week, when I go home with him for a Wednesday night dinner at the Wilde ranch, I get a firsthand glimpse of how right he is.
Frank’s family is bigger.
And more boisterous.
But the love they share between them is just as strong, if not stronger. They know each other’s strengths and weaknesses and aren’t afraid to point either of the two out. They accept me with open arms and within the span of one evening, I feel just as at home with the Wildes as I do with my own family, though I’m thankful for our little slice of quiet heaven in our Denver apartment, filled with boxes and bare walls in anticipation of our move next week.
Between all the people and all the conversation and all the food, the needs of children and mothers and brothers and fathers, time with our families is pure chaos. I’m better when it’s just Frank and me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. I didn’t think I did, but it’s become clear to me that I do. And the more I get to know Frank’s family, the more I love them, too.
But they’re all peas in a pod, square pegs in square holes, happy with life in a small town. Satisfied with dirty hands and tired backs.
And I’m glad for them, I really am.
But I’m finally happy in the city. With the energy of many people chasing down their dreams. Cars clogging the streets and buildings reaching for the sky.
The moment we arrive in San Diego, I know without a doubt that we made the right call.
Frank and I belong here.
But more importantly, we belong together.
