“She fights for the underdog. She always fights for the underdog,” he finally says. “She has this natural hostility toward the wealthy.”
I laugh softly. “Sounds about right.”
“We didn’t have too much when she was growing up,” he laments, his voice tinged with sadness. “She got made fun of a lot as a kid by the other kids who had more. I think it left a bad taste in her mouth and sort of shaped who she became. We were okay, but there were some rough days. Real, real rough days. The kinda days a guy like you couldn’t even imagine.”
I push what’s left of my sandwich away from me, my appetite suddenly leaving me. “I’m no psychologist, but I can see how that would certainly have an impact.”
“I wish I could have provided for her better than I did –”
“That’s not your fault, Robert,” I tell him. “Don’t beat yourself up about something that happened that long ago.”
“I appreciate that, Sawyer,” he tells me with a sad smile. “But I wasn’t the greatest father. I made my share of mistakes.”
“Haven’t we all?” I ask. “But to tell you the truth, it’s that fire and passion in her, and that willingness to go to the mat for something she believes in that I respect most about her. I admire your daughter, Robert. And those qualities are part of why I fell in love with her in the first place. She is extraordinary in every way.”
I finally see some warmth in his smile and a light in his eyes. I’m not a father yet, but I recognize it – it’s the light of a father’s pride.
“She really is extraordinary, isn’t she?” he beams.
“I’ve never met anybody like her,” I confirm. “I love her with everything in me, Robert.”
“Then find a way to fix this – whatever it is – that’s going on between you two,” he orders. “I’ve never seen her happier than when she was with you. She loves you, Sawyer. Find a way to fix it.”
“I don’t even know how to go about it at this point,” I admit.
“To understand her, you have to understand what she fights for. Or rather, who she fights for,” he advises. “Once you understand that, you’ll know what to do.”
It seems a bit cryptic to me. The answer seems just out of reach. But at the same time, I also feel like I’m on the cusp of understanding. And that’s when it hits me.
Chapter Thirty-Seven Sawyer
I find a spot on the street less than a block away. Pulling to the curb, I park, and shut off the engine. I sit for a minute, looking up the street at the mass of people milling about. Across the street from them is the construction equipment sitting idly by.
I watch for a moment as fat, fluffy snowflakes continue to fall, some of them sticking to my windshield, others hitting the warm hood of my car and melting immediately. As I step out of the car, Robert’s words continue to echo around in my head – understand who she fights for, and I’ll understand Berlin.
I want to patch things up with Berlin in the worst way possible. It’s only been a week without her, but it feels like a lot longer than that. I can’t believe the hole Berlin’s absence has left inside of me. It’s a pain I’ve never felt before, and honestly, one I don’t care for.
I miss her and want her back more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life – except at the cost of destroying my company or its reputation. Robert seems to believe the difference in life philosophies is an obstacle that can be overcome. I want to believe him. And I’m going to do my best to overcome it. But Berlin has got to meet me halfway. As much as I love her, I can’t let our relationship be that one-sided.
After pulling my topcoat around myself a bit tighter and adjusting my scarf, I slip on my gloves and then head down the street, heading for the demonstration outside the Jackson. As I approach, I see the tents that have been set up outside the building. People are warming themselves around metal trashcans that have fires burning inside of them. Very few of them have proper winter coats, and only a handful have scarves and gloves. It’s an altogether depressing sight.
But as I get closer, what I can see is a steadfast resolve in the faces of everybody gathered there. They are not going to let the demolition and construction crews anywhere near the building.
“You look lost.”
I turn to see an older woman approaching me. She’s got to be in her seventies and has a thin, frail-looking body, with skin the color of onyx and a head full of wispy white hair. The thing that strikes me the most about her, though, are her eyes. They are bright and full of life – and an undeniable kindness.
She hands me a Styrofoam cup of hot coffee. I take it and watch the steam rising from the liquid into the afternoon air for a moment before I raise my eyes to hers.
“Thank you,” I say, lifting my cup to her.
“You’re welcome, honey,” she replies, her voice as smoky as an old jazz singer. “You don’t look familiar to me. You’re not from around here, are you?”
I shake my head. “No ma’am.”
She nods, a small smile touching her lips. “I didn’t think so,” she laughs softly. “What brings you down here?”
“I was curious about the demonstration,” I answer. “I guess I wanted to see it for myself.”
She nods as if she expected my answer. “It’s so cold, we’re out here in shifts,” she informs me. “Some of us are inside gettin’ warm while the rest of us are out here freezin’ our butts off.”
Her laugh is infectious. I find myself
