“Robert,” I greet him. “How are you feeling today?”
“Good. I’m good.” He nods. “Please tell me that’s a meatball sub I’m smelling.”
I chuckle. “Nose like a bloodhound.”
“That’s me,” he grins, tapping the side of his nose.
I pull the bag out from under my coat and set it down on the table, then start fishing everything out and laying it on the table as Robert comes and sits down, a ravenous gleam in his eyes.
“How are they treating you here?” I ask.
“Can’t complain,” he responds. “They treat me pretty good.”
“That’s good to know.”
I take a seat and look around the room. It reminds me a lot of a high-end hotel room. There’s a large window that overlooks the snow-covered field and lake set behind the facility. He has a large, overstuffed recliner with a clear line of sight to the fifty-two-inch flat-screen mounted to the wall. He’s got a king-sized bed, a private bathroom, and this small, round table set in a corner with a pair of chairs that aren’t overly comfortable, but they’re functional.
Robert unwraps his sandwich and tears into it with zeal. He murmurs his approval and nods as he chews.
“This sandwich is amazing,” he grins through a mouthful.
I’ve got a turkey club on squaw bread, but I’m suddenly regretting my choice to not go with the meatball sub because it smells incredible. Robert wipes his mouth with a napkin and sits back, his expression growing serious.
“I want to say thank you, Sawyer,” he starts.
“No thanks necessary,” I assure him.
“I disagree. What you’ve done for me – and most of all, what you’ve done for Berlin – I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate it,” he states.
“Robert, you don’t have to –”
“Just – hear me out,” he cuts me off. “I know I’m not always here these days. My mind – it’s not what it used to be. So when I have these moments when I’m clear and my head ain’t all fuzzy, I gotta get those things I want to say – what I need to say – out.”
I pick at my sandwich and nod, giving him the floor. He gives me a tight smile and a nod in return.
“I know you’re the one footin’ the bill here, and there ain’t no words to tell you how much I appreciate that. I’m never gonna be able to pay you back for givin’ me the time with my little girl you have,” he says, his eyes shimmering with tears he’s fighting to hold back. “More than anything, that time with Berlin – I can’t even put a price on that.”
“Robert, you don’t need to thank me for that,” I respond. “It’s my pleasure. Really.”
A mysterious smile touches his lips, and he nods. “She always says you’re a lot more compassionate than you let on,” he tells me. “A lot humbler.”
I laugh out loud. “I’m not sure that’s true.”
“Well, she believes it, so that’s good enough for me.”
I take a bite of my sandwich and chew, just to give me a chance to gather my thoughts – and so I don’t keep interrupting him. Robert obviously has some things he needs to get off his chest, and he’s still self-aware enough to know that he’s not all here, so I want to give him the space to do what he needs to do.
“Anyway, while I’ve still got my wits about me, I wanted to talk to you about Berlin…”
He lets his statement hang in the air between us for a moment, and when I look over, he looks like he’s starting to struggle with his thoughts. He looks as if he’s chasing some thought through a sudden and rising fog in his mind and can’t quite seem to grasp it.
I see the frustration on his face as the realization that he’s declining and will soon be lost in that fog again sets in on him. I feel for the guy. I can’t even imagine how scary and frustrating it must all be.
He gives his head a small shake. “I was talking about Berlin, wasn’t I?”
I nod. “Right, you were.”
He rubs at the stubble on his chin, making a dry, scratchy sound, and looks off into the distance. I can tell he’s still trying to catch the thoughts that continue eluding him, but then he seems to catch them, and his face brightens.
“Berlin. My little girl. She’s a good woman,” he starts as if he’s trying to convince himself.
“She is. She’s amazing in a thousand different ways,” I respond. “I don’t know that I respect anybody more.”
He nods enthusiastically. “She is definitely amazing. You’re right about that,” he says. “She’s also one of the most stubborn people on the planet.”
A wry laugh bursts out of my throat. “You can say that again.”
“She loves you, Sawyer. Loves you a lot,” he goes on.
“And I love her,” I respond. “But there’s this gap between us. We see the world differently. It’s a difference I don’t know can be reconciled.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “There are few things in this life that can’t be reconciled,” he states. “And believe me when I tell you this ain’t one of them.”
“Think so?” I muse. “I mean, it’s a pretty big gap.”
“It’s a disagreement,” he continues.
“I think it’s a little more than that,” I press. “I mean, it’s a completely different philosophy about life and our role in it.”
He cackles and shakes his head. “You make it sound so grandiose,” he argues. “It’s a disagreement about business practices. Believe me when I say that’s something that can be reconciled.”
“I’m not sure she feels the same way.”
“She just wants you to understand her, Sawyer.”
“And how do I do that?”
He takes another bite of his sandwich and settles back
