Unforgettable (Cloverleigh Farms #5)(75)

Had Tyler been right to leave?

At one point, I sat down at the kitchen table to work on the toast I had to give at the retirement party, but I ended up reading the letter from Robin Carswell over and over again. Staring at Chip’s picture.

That grin of his took the edge off some of my sadness. If there was a silver lining in all this, it was that I’d still get to meet my son. I’d focus on that.

I opened my laptop and composed an email to Robin.

Dear Robin,

Thank you so much for writing me back. What a shock to realize we all live so close! I am very excited about meeting Chip, and I loved seeing his photograph and hearing about his interests. He’s so handsome, and it sounds like he’s also smart and kind and talented. You must be very proud.

I was so sorry to learn of Chuck’s passing, and I’m sure the last year has been difficult. If this feels like the wrong time to add to your emotional burden by introducing me to your son, please let me know. I do not want to make things harder for you.

If you would like to discuss things over the phone, my number is below.

Sincerely,

April Sawyer

I hit send and closed my laptop.





Twenty-Four





Tyler





As soon as I got back to my house in San Diego, I took a sleeping pill, crashed into bed, and slept hard. When I woke up, it was already getting dark outside. I dug one of Anna’s meal containers out of the freezer, microwaved it according to her instructions, and ate it sitting alone at my kitchen island.

When I was done, I took a shower, threw on some clean sweats, and fell onto my couch. I knew I should call my sister, and David Dean had been trying to get ahold of me too, but I couldn’t handle talking to either one of them yet. They’d only make me feel worse.

I sent Sadie a text saying I was sorry for leaving so fast and telling her I’d call her in a day or so. I sent one to David Dean apologizing again for the incident at the Jolly Pumpkin and saying I’d decided to return to California after all, so the school didn’t have to worry about their offer. I wished him well for the rest of the season and asked him to please tell the team how much I’d enjoyed working with them.

Every time I thought about Chip Carswell, I felt sick.

It wasn’t that I didn’t have, deep down, a kind of pride that he was my biological son. I did. I couldn’t help it. He was a great kid—smart, talented, strong, respectful, popular. What more could any father ask for in a son? But I wasn’t his father, and it felt wrong to think of myself that way. I’d forfeited that privilege when I’d walked away from him. From April. From the whole situation. I’d justified it the way I always justified everything back then—what mattered was my baseball career, and anything that threatened it had to be cut off at the source.

Including my feelings.

That wasn’t being a coward, was it? That was being a man. At least, that’s what I’d been raised to believe.

But what about now?

I reached for the remote and turned on the television. I needed a distraction. I’d go crazy if I let myself start rethinking everything. The bottom line was, they were better off without me.

Without even thinking about it, I searched for Kids Baking Championship and binged an entire season.

I missed April so much it hurt.





I stayed that way for eight straight days.

Alone. Miserable. Depressed.

I ignored my phone and never once checked email. I even told Anna not to come. I didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone, or answer any questions. When I ran out of meals in the freezer, I had my groceries delivered, cooked my own food (okay, I mostly microwaved shitty frozen entrees), and did my own laundry. Of course, I turned a load of whites pink because I didn’t realize a new red T-shirt had gotten in the washer with them, and I remembered the night April had scolded me about separating my colors. My first instinct was to take a picture of my new pink socks and undershirts and tell her she was right, but of course, I couldn’t do that.

And I couldn’t call her and tell her that the spaghetti sauce I made from a jar didn’t taste right. And that my bed felt too big without her next to me. And that I’d heard that Stevie Wonder song and—swear to God—started air-dancing with an imaginary partner, turning her out and bringing her back in just like she’d taught me.

On Friday, one week after I left April, I went up to my cabin in the mountains, but the silence and solitude there no longer felt peaceful to me—they felt stifling. I couldn’t stand being alone with my thoughts in such a small space. The voices in my head argued constantly.

You did the right thing. She’s better off.

You’re a dumbass. Go get her back.

You’re a head case. Quit doubting your decisions.

You’re a chickenshit. If she doesn’t care what people say, why should you?

I left after just one night.

Back in San Diego Saturday afternoon, I swam fifty laps in my pool, and the physical activity helped a little. I was just pulling myself out of the water when I heard a voice.

“Good, you’re alive. You asshole.”

I straightened up to see my sister standing there on the patio. “Sadie?”

She ran straight for me, and threw her arms around my neck, soaking herself. “I was so worried about you. I thought maybe something had happened.”