God Gave Me You 9
Patrick couldn't sleep. This was not a new occurrence, it had happened several times a week since he and Timothy had left Poplar. Normally, exhaustion would creep up on him after a little while, so he laid in bed and waited for sleep to claim him.
It had been one year, ten months and 26 days since he'd last seen Sister Bernadette. Leaving her behind had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he did it out of love. She could never be his, so why stay? Why torture himself, and the woman he loved, with his mere presence? He missed her desperately, as did Timothy. His son was not adjusting to his new surroundings as well as Patrick had hoped, and he wished he could turn to her for help. She always knew just what to say to Timothy, exactly what he needed to hear to put a smile on his face. Patrick envied her in that regard.
Rolling over, he glanced at the clock. Half past three. Two more hours until he would have to get up. Deciding that it was pointless to try and sleep, he got himself out of bed and threw on his dressing gown. Padding down the hallway, he checked on Tim who was fast asleep. After making himself a cup of tea, he sat down at his desk in the sitting room trying to clear his head.
He had found them a small house in the country that wasn't too expensive to rent. He'd never sold the flat in Poplar, there were too many memories there and he'd always held out hope that he and Timothy could one day return.
Pulling out a blank sheet of paper, he began to write, words flowing from his pen and heart until he'd filled the entire page. He began as he always did: "Dear Sister Bernadette,". Reading it back, he tucked it into an envelope and sealed it, dating the back crease. Making sure Timothy hadn't come down, he opened the bottom left drawer of his desk and pulled out a box filled to practically bursting with similar envelopes. He placed the newest in the back, adding it to the collection that he hoped he could one day give to her so that she knew how much he loved her and how sorry he was for everything.
As the dawn rose and Timothy began to get ready for school, Patrick watched his son go through the motions but not be fully present in the moment. In that instant, Patrick made a decision.
"Straight home after school, alright Tim?"
He nodded, grabbing his school bag and waving goodbye to his father as Patrick grabbed his bag and car keys and headed to work.
Something was different when Timothy came home from school. Lights were on and he could hear a strange shuffling noise from the sitting room.
"Dad? What are you doing home? You're not meant to be back for hours?" He stood still on the doorway at the sight of his father packing a large cardboard box with the items from his desk. "What are you doing?"
"There's some boxes in your room, Tim. Make sure you fold your clothes and don't just throw them in this time. Once you're done, we can eat. I bought us two suppers from the chip shop, that are keeping warm in the oven." Patrick replied, barely stopping his packing frenzy.
"Are we moving again?" Tim asked, downhearted.
"Yes. We are."
"Am I allowed to know where this time?" He made to move towards his room, not expecting an answer.
"We're going home."
Tim froze and whipped around to face his father, a jubilant smile on his face. "Home? To Poplar?!"
Patrick nodded as his son's face broke out into the first sincere smile he had seen in over a year. Tim threw himself towards his father in a hug before running to his room to start packing.
"I mean it, Tim. FOLD your clothes!" Patrick called after him, laughing. He knew his son was just as excited as he was to go home.
Home. To Poplar. To her.