Waterbound

1927

~~~

Pat wished he had never told Sarah what had happened at the mill. She hadn't brought it up again but he noticed her keeping closer to him than usual—which he didn't mind. But she also wasn't sleeping—which he did mind. At first, he considered that it might've been preoccupation with the baby but Eileen was already six months old and sleeping through the night.

He was still debating on whether it'd be a good idea to bring up his concerns when the entire issue was driven from his mind by the arrival of a letter asking about the Titanic . As he stared at the paper addressed to him, he thought it must've been a joke or nosy reporter but why would someone be reaching out to him fifteen years later? He couldn't imagine the sinking still being newsworthy. Most people have moved on with their lives long ago.

Decidedly confused, he skimmed through the letter and frowned:

"...a writer who is deeply captivated by historical events that have left an indelible mark on our world...devoting my time to researching and chronicling the heart-wrenching story of the Titanic . It is with the utmost respect and humility that I reach out to you today...recounting such memories can be a daunting task, as they undoubtedly evoke a complex blend of feelings. If you would be willing to share your recollections with me...utmost sensitivity and reverence. I am committed to preserving the authenticity...more than willing to accommodate your preferences regarding anonymity or any other consideration. Your comfort and peace of mind are of the utmost importance... "

As he reached the end of the letter, his eyes lingered on the signature," With warm regards and heartfelt respect, Walter Lord," he read aloud.

He tried to imagine himself sharing his story, seeing it written down before him, and felt more than a trickle of fear at the thought of reliving it all. The last time he had even spoken about that night—other than the briefest of mentions to an infant Eileen—was when he had told Sarah everything on the Carpathia —Sarah who had been a complete stranger at the time.

Pat looked at the letter again and sighed. Part of him wanted to throw it away and forget about it at once but the other part of him was afraid that he would regret doing such a thing. Instead, he brought it to Sarah.

She read it over, her brow furrowed, and shook her head. "I never received one."

"Maybe yers is still on its way," he suggested helpfully.

"Maybe." She looked closer at the signature. "Walter Lord... Are you going to answer him?"

He hesitated, feeling no less uncertain. "I feel like I should but..." His voice trailed off.

Sarah handed the letter back. "Pat, you still haven't been able to tell your sister what you had gone through that night."

There was no note of accusation in her voice but he still couldn't help but feel guilty. He knew he should've shared everything with Kate long ago, especially after she had no hesitations in sharing her own experience. But he never did and as time went on, she stopped asking. And now, without her prompting, he knew he would never be able to bring it up himself. "I know, but..."

"What do you want to do?"

Pat closed his eyes and thought of that night. The infuriating maze of corridors, the terrified screams, and the freezing cold. The bone deep fear that never seemed to fully go away and he shuddered. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I don't think I want anythin' to do with it."

Sarah smiled. "Then we can just pretend that you never received it." She took the letter from his hand and dropped it in the trash. "Now," she said, taking his hand. "I want to show you my plans for the garden this year?"