Midnight Sun(42)

I feel numb, like I’m frozen in time. I can’t do anything but blame myself for ruining everyone’s life, including my own. How could I have been so ungrateful? This is what I get for not wanting the life I had anymore, for wanting so much more. I get to have no life at all. A life cut even shorter than it already was going to be.

I’ve got to make this better somehow.



I’m sitting with my dad in the darkroom later. He’s dipping photos in solution, drying them, hanging them. Doing what he does best.

“You know I know, right?”

He stops what he’s doing. Stares at me. Clears his throat. “What?”

“I heard you and Dr. Fleming talking on the porch earlier. When you thought I was sleeping,” I tell him.

Dad comes over and scoops me up in a hug. “I’m sorry,” he says over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

I tell him It’s okay and I’m sorry, too more times than I can count. I’ve been thinking all day about how I can possibly make some meaning out of this awful situation, and what I’ve finally come up with is this: I have to find a way to give back. One last message of love. I suddenly know what I can do for my dad.

“I’ll be upstairs,” I tell him. “When you’re done down here, we can order some takeout, okay?”

“That’s it, Katie?” he asks, palms up, with a little shrug. “No questions?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

An hour later, he makes his way to the den. I’m sitting on the couch still typing away on my computer. I’ve been working hard on my masterpiece, and it’s almost complete.

“I’m starving,” my dad says. “Should we order from Hunan Chinese?”

I make one last change and look up at him. “Huh?”

“I said, are you in the mood for Chinese?” he says. “What are you so engrossed in?”

I turn my computer around so he can see it. “Chinese, sure, always. You know that. And I’ve been making you an online dating profile.”

My dad is momentarily floored. “What?” he asks, his mouth hanging open.

But really now. This is a long time coming. No one should have to be alone. Everyone should have someone special. That’s basically the key to happiness, as I found out with Charlie.

“What do you think?” I ask, showing him two different options for his profile picture. “I like your hair in this one, but in the other you have your camera.”

Dad tries to force my laptop shut. “Nope. This is not happening—”

I stay firm. “This—is—happening! You need to go on some dates! You can even help me write it. Sit.”

My dad starts to protest again, but I shoot him my most serious look. He seems to accept that I’m not joking around here and will not give up on this idea. He plops down next to me.

“Here’s what I have so far. World’s greatest father and handsomest photographer—”

My dad makes a buzzer noise. “Veto.”

I ignore him and continue. “Looking for fellow adventurer interested in art, photography, nostalgia about the SuperSonics—”

“SuperSonics, now that’s important,” my dad says, nodding.

“And a partner in crime to travel the world.” I look up to see whether he is getting all this.

But he’s staring off into space, at the wall, at one of the pictures he and my mom took way back when. “I don’t travel,” he finally says, shaking his head.

“You will, though,” I tell him. I don’t add the second part of what I’m thinking, which is: You can again. After I’m gone.

It’s like my dad hears my unspoken thoughts. The air is basically sucked out of the room. He gets up off the couch and turns to leave. “All right, we’re not talking about this—”

I grab his sleeve. “Please. I want to. I have to.”

He stops. Exhales long and loudly, like a creaky old radiator. I pat the couch next to me.

“We had each other before. And now…” I am trying to gather my courage to say what neither of us has acknowledged out loud yet. “We lost Mom, and you’re gonna lose me, too.”

“No!” my dad protests. “There’s always a chance that—”

“I know it sucks. For you probably even more than me. But reality is reality,” I tell him. “We’ve always known it’s a matter of when, not if… and it is going to happen, like it or not.”

Nothing in history has ever been so hard to say. From the looks of my dad, nothing in history has ever been so hard to hear. But we need to talk about these things while we still can. He needs to know how much I love and appreciate everything he’s done for me.

I take a deep breath and continue my speech. “I want you to travel and start photographing the world again. I want everyone to see your photos, Dad.”

And with that, he breaks down in tears. In front of me. Another first. I’m honestly kind of proud of him. For so many years we’ve pretended to be okay to each other. And now it’s okay to let each other know we’re not.

I want my dad to know that some good can come of this—that he can have all his dreams back when I’m gone if he’ll only let himself. That I want more than anything for him to be whole again. And that he can be, even without me or Mom. He has to be or I won’t be able to bear what comes next.