Last Day

It’s Monday morning and I feel I’d need to sleep the entire day to recover from the weekend. Haven kept his promise to keep me busy and, though I can talk without any trouble, I’m completely spent. Satisfied, but spent.

Even so, I can’t go back to bed. I have other plans that will take me to a far less pleasant place than this bed. Plans I can’t put off, even though Haven’s warm body is begging me to indulge in him one last time.

I get up carefully and gather my clothes before leaving the bedroom.

Once outside, I go to the bathroom and fix myself up as best I can, considering these are Saturday’s clothes.

We didn’t even stop by the inn to pick up something extra.

Fortunately, I haven’t worn them since we arrived at his place and they’re presentable enough to reach the inn without drawing strange looks.

I certainly can’t wear them to the cemetery.

Because today is Monday, and on Mondays Mr. Odell visits his late wife’s grave.

It’s time we had a serious conversation with just the two of us.

And although I would have preferred to do it anywhere else, I doubt I’ll manage to corner him for a private talk if not there.

Besides, I think his wife’s “presence” might help me reach him.

And if I’m wrong, well, he’ll just hate me a little more. Nothing I can’t handle.

Fortunately, it’s not raining and the walk from Haven’s house to the inn is actually pleasant.

It helps clear my mind and think about what I’ll say to Mr. Odell when I see him.

It has to be something powerful enough to keep him from walking away and leaving me mid-sentence.

I believe him very capable of that, and even more so now that I have a new theory after the barbecue argument.

Because if he’s using the company as an excuse to keep Haven from leaving—as it seemed to me—it will be hard to make him see that his attitude is only hurting his son.

The cemetery is small and very well maintained.

Not a blade of grass is longer than another and every headstone is clean, adorned with lovely fresh flowers.

It’s nothing like the city one: so dark, so somber, so impersonal.

Here there’s a different atmosphere—peaceful.

Even though you’re surrounded by the dead, you don’t feel unease, but calm.

It may sound strange, but it strikes me as a perfect place to meditate.

Finding the grave isn’t difficult because I can see Mr. Odell in the distance with one hand on the headstone.

He seems to be talking to her and I feel like an intruder.

The last thing I’d want right now is to interrupt him, but I need this time alone with him to make him see reason. I know this will be my only chance.

“You can come closer, girl,” I hear him say. He doesn’t look at me, but he must have seen me arrive. “Clearly I can’t get away from you even here.”

“If you were a reasonable man, I wouldn’t have to invade your private life,” I half-apologize, because I realize it sounded like a criticism.

It’s not the best way to start the conversation, but I couldn’t help it. This man brings out the worst in me.

“Just stay quiet,” he replies as I reach his side. “Can you manage that?”

I came here to talk, but I grant him what he asks. Maybe afterward he’ll reward me with some of his time to actually listen instead of just ignoring everything I say. He’s very good at the latter.

“My Annie was very special,” he says suddenly.

“Everyone loved her. While she was alive, the business was doing well. She knew how to handle everything as if it were effortless. She even got some of the most important designers of the time to put their faith in Odell Textiles. I’m sure she would have gone very far if—” I remain silent, not sure what to say.

It wasn’t her I wanted to discuss but Haven and his future away from a company that hurts him because of all the memories it holds—but I’ll accept whatever comes if it helps me with him later.

“You remind me a lot of her.” His next words surprise me.

“Annie was unstoppable, always with a smile on her face. Nobody could resist her charm.”

“And yet you’re resisting me,” I say at last.

“I’m not, girl.” He looks at me for the first time since I arrived. “I’m simply running.”

His confession leaves me stunned. Of everything I might have expected from this encounter, that would never have crossed my mind.

He doesn’t seem like the type who runs, but rather one who fights for what he wants.

And yet, knowing that, looking back, I can almost see his attempts to keep me at a distance.

Those first days of endless evasions, the harsh gestures of the ones that followed and, of course, every slight.

It all makes more sense now, though it doesn’t make me feel any better or more victorious.

“I didn’t come here to steal your memories.”

“No, not that,” he whispers.

“I came to carry them forward,” I continue as if he hadn’t spoken. “To take them as far as you’ll let me. The whole world would know that Odell Textiles was founded with passion, sustained with love, and improved with respect. I believe that’s what your wife would want.”

“She wanted a united family,” he states.

“A united family isn’t one that stays together, Mr. Odell,” I add, looking at his wife’s headstone, “but one that supports each other, even when what one person wants isn’t what the other expects of them.”

“Says the young woman who followed in her father’s footsteps,” he scoffs, looking away from me.

“I’m a lawyer,” I admit, “and I work for my father, that’s true.

But it’s not because I was forced to—I chose it.

My father never interfered with my decisions.

I know he’s pleased I chose this path, but he’d be equally proud of me if I’d taught at a school or given massages at a beauty salon.

” He says nothing and I feel compelled to continue, as if he’d actually asked what would happen to his family if he let his son go.

I know that after a loss like his it’s hard to take the leap, but the path he’s been on will only cause harm.

“Your son won’t abandon you even if he builds a future away from here.

Haven has the same sense of honor and the same passion for his family that you do, and he’ll never forget his roots.

He’ll come back to town whenever he can, just like Joe does. ”

“My son is the only thing his mother truly left me.” He bows his head, defeated by the memories. “Haven is more hers than that factory will ever be. He was in her womb for nine months—they were one for a time. If he leaves, I’ll lose her forever.”

His words move me. They hurt when I remember the void my own mother left when she died. I feel the tears fighting to escape, but I hold them back because I still have a lot to say and I don’t want him to think I’m trying to manipulate him with tears.

“My mother died when I was little, so I barely remember her.” I decide to be honest with him, even if it takes me to the edge of my emotional control.

“It was hard, but the one who took the worst of it was my father. He suffered tremendously from her death and talking to me about her helped him heal a little. I won’t say the pain ever goes away because that would be a lie, but it becomes more bearable with time.

You just have to remember her for the good times you shared and not focus on the fact that she’s gone.

I’m sure Haven would love to be able to talk to you about his mother. ”

“Talking about her hurts.”

“Not talking about her will hurt more in the long run,” I assure him. “And that’s what’s driving a wedge between you and your son. Not letting him go to the city to find his own way.”

“If he goes, he won’t come back.” He shakes his head with sorrow.

“Of course he will—you’re his father.” I bite my lip before adding: “You’re all he has left.”

“I have the perfect example in Joe,” he insists, reluctant to concede my point. “He comes to town less and less and he’s always trying to take my son with him. The moment he succeeds, they won’t come back. I know it.”

“Mr. Odell, Haven is not Joe.” It bothers me that he says this because it reminds me that his son feels undervalued next to his best friend.

All because of comments like that, unfair comparisons from a father who can’t see how different they are.

“Stop comparing them. You have no idea how much damage you’ve been doing to your son every time you told him he’d never be as good as his friend.

You’ve made him believe Joe is better than him at everything and that he doesn’t deserve to fight for his own dreams because he’ll fail.

If you truly love Haven, you’ve shown it in a very twisted way, Mr. Odell. ”

“Who do you think you are to talk to me that way, girl?” He’s angry too—I imagine because I’ve hit the nail on the head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Haven doesn’t want to leave you alone,” I continue, ignoring his warnings, “because he feels that if he does and he fails, you’ll never let him forget it.

He feels so undervalued that he’d rather deceive himself by saying he stays so he won’t abandon you.

For God’s sake, he even believes that leaving would be a betrayal of you and his mother. ”

“It would be a betrayal of her,” he nods. “Of course it would.”

“Of course it wouldn’t,” I counter. “You’ve been restricting his choices since long before your wife died, so don’t tell me you’re holding him back now just so you won’t lose her, because I’m not buying it. You do it because you’re selfish and you don’t want your son to succeed where you failed.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he repeats, and I know I’ve hit the mark once again.