I didn’t think Natalie would ever want to go out with me again after our last date had ended with a trip to the emergency room. But, over the next month, she continued to call me almost every day, making plans to come back to Kentucky toward the middle part of June.
“Okay… but this time, I want you to stay at my house,” I told her. “I have plenty of room. You won’t have to share a bed with me or anything… but if you want to, Dawn will be there to help me transfer.”
“Sure, that’s fine. Maybe she can teach me a few tips and tricks,” Natalie replied eagerly. “I’d like to learn how to do it safely myself, just so we won’t have to rely on her in the future.”
I loved hearing her talk about a future together. I was looking forward to the future, too. At the beginning of June, I had a conference call with the Boys and our management team to discuss the upcoming trip to London and the documentary we were going to begin filming while we were there. I was excited for what was to come. But there was still a part of me that struggled to let go of the past.
My wedding anniversary was two days before Natalie’s next visit. It fell on Father’s Day that year – a doubly hard day for me, considering both my wife and my dad were dead. If Kristin were still alive, we would have been celebrating twelve years together. Instead, I spent the day with Mason, sharing memories of my father and his mother.
That morning, as Dawn helped me get dressed, I had her fasten the chain with the infinity pendant made from our wedding rings around my neck. I hadn’t worn it as often since returning from my trip to London, remembering the question Lauren had posed before my first real date with Natalie: “Can your heart really be open to a new relationship if you’re still outwardly committed to the old one?”
The truth was that, while I would always love and miss Kristin, I had developed feelings for Natalie and didn’t want to risk sacrificing a future with her because I was still hung up on my dead wife. I knew I couldn’t let grief hold me back from growing our relationship, so I tried to keep moving forward instead of constantly reminiscing on the past.
But, that day, I couldn’t help it. It would have felt like an insult to Kristin’s memory not to acknowledge our anniversary. So, after breakfast, Mason and I got into my truck and drove out to the place where we’d gotten married twelve years earlier.
“Where are we?” Mason asked, gazing out his window with wonder as we drove down Route 89 toward Irvine. To him, it must have looked like we were in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but grass and trees on both sides of the highway. But, to me, it looked like home.
“We’re in the backwoods now, baby! I used to live here,” I said, looking out the windshield at the rolling green hills. The sky above us was overcast, but occasionally, the clouds would part, allowing a single ray of sunshine to peek through. I loved the way the light filtered through the clouds, illuminating the ground below like a spotlight on a stage. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Mason was less than impressed. “Are we there yet?” he whined.
“Almost.” I couldn’t blame him for being bored. We’d been on the road for about forty-five minutes already, and we still had another half hour or so to get to our destination. It was a long drive for a four-year-old.
“Look out your window,” I said, taking a right turn off the highway. “See that big, brick building coming up on your right? That’s where I went to high school.” A smile stretched across my face as I drove past the football field where I had played many a Friday night. “I was on the football team. We were called the Engineers – like a train engineer. See the caboose sitting there?” I pointed out the antique train car that was parked on a piece of railroad track between the football field and the access road. “Mammaw used to sit in the stands with your grandpa and watch me play.”
“Was that when your legs worked?” Mason asked.
I nodded, my throat tightening. “Yup. That was before I met your mom… before I became a Backstreet Boy… before I got hurt.” I tried to be patient with him, knowing his concept of time was still developing. While he knew I hadn’t always used a wheelchair, he didn’t always grasp the order of events I talked about, especially the ones that had happened before he was born. To him, there was no “before” and “after” – there was only “now.” Although he had seen photos where I was standing and videos of me performing, Mason had no actual memories of me being able to walk, let alone run the length of a football field. “Maybe you can ask Mammaw if she has any home movies or pictures of me playing football when you’re at her house this week,” I suggested.
I had arranged for Mason to spend a few days with my mom while Natalie was in town. While I wanted her to stay at my house, I still felt weird about introducing her to Mason this early on in our relationship, which we had yet to define. I didn’t know what to call Natalie. The word “girlfriend” felt so juvenile for a forty-year-old widower to use, yet I supposed that was what I thought of her as. But did she feel the same way about me? I wasn’t sure. We had never made it official or committed to dating each other exclusively. I had no interest in going out with other women, but for all I knew, Natalie could be hooking up with different guys in every country she flew to. I planned to talk to her in person about where we stood.
Merging back onto the main road, I took Route 89 into Irvine and turned left onto Route 52, which ran along the Kentucky River for a little while before snaking off into the hills. I followed the winding highway until I reached the last turn onto the road that would take us all the way up to the camp where I had lived as a boy and gotten married as a grown man. A lump rose in my throat as I read the small white sign that served as a landmark: The Cathedral Domain.
“We’re almost there, buddy,” I said as I made the left turn, my arms aching from the long drive. I had to take it a lot slower now; the road narrowed as it wound its way up to the top of the mountain where the camp was located. I had known that road like the back of my hand when I was a teenager. I would race up and down it without a care in the world, taking the sharp curves at dangerous speeds while somehow managing to avoid plunging down one of the steep drop-offs. But I was older and wiser now, and navigating the once-familiar route with hand controls felt completely different than it had with my foot on the pedal. I drove much more cautiously these days, especially when my son was sitting in the back seat.
I glanced into the rearview mirror to see Mason staring out his window as we passed one of the small houses tucked into the mountainside. It was good for him to get outside Lexington and see the way other people lived, with much less wealth and privilege than he was used to. Despite my initial hesitation, I was looking forward to taking him on tour with me someday, so he could broaden his horizons and learn more about other places and cultures.
“Here we are,” I announced as we pulled into the parking lot. “This is where I grew up. We lived in a log cabin while my dad – your grandpa – ran the camp. And when I married your momma, we had our wedding here.” I swallowed hard, blinking back tears as I looked out the window at the wooden cathedral where I had spent so much time as a boy. The big red cross built into the wall blurred before my eyes. I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure before I added, “Now, they’ve probably got summer camp going on this week, so we’re not gonna get in the way, but we can look around a little.”
I opened my door and lowered myself to the ground while Mason climbed out of the back seat. “Stay with me,” I warned him as we crossed the parking lot. Technically, we were trespassing on private property, but my father was an important part of its history. The name Jerald Wayne Richardson still meant something here, and I wasn’t afraid to drop it – along with my own name – if I had to.
“Hi there!” a voice called. I turned to see a heavyset, gray-haired man coming out of the camp’s main office. “How can I help y’all?” As he approached us, I saw his eyes move from me to Mason and back to me again, darting down to my wheelchair before focusing on my face. “If you’re here to drop off your son, I’m afraid you’re a week early. Our Mini Camp doesn’t start until next Sunday. We’ve got the big kids coming this afternoon.”
“Oh, no, we’re not here for camp,” I replied. “I-”
“Well, if you’d like to look into it for next summer, I can take you on a little tour,” the man offered. “My name’s Andy; I’m the director here.”
“Thanks, Andy,” I said. “I’d love to look around a little. I actually used to live here a long time ago, when my dad – Jerald Richardson – was the director. My late wife and I had our wedding here twelve years ago. Today’s our anniversary.”
I saw the recognition dawn on Andy’s face. “You must be Kevin,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand. “Welcome back to The Cathedral Domain! Sorry, I should’ve realized who you were. You’re pretty famous around these parts.”
I smiled. “It’s fine. I look a little different than I did last time I was here,” I said, glancing down at my chair. “Do you mind if I show my son Mason where his mom and I got married? We don’t need a guided tour or anything; I know my way around.”
“Fine by me,” Andy said, smiling back. “Just so you know, the campers for our senior conference will start comin’ around around two o’clock, so you might wanna clear out of here by then.”
I nodded. “No problem. We won’t take long.”
As Andy went back inside the office, I led Mason in the opposite direction, down a paved path to the cathedral. It had a wooden ramp that led right up to the door, so we went inside. “Wow!” Mason said, running up the aisle.
“I know. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I smiled as I rolled after him, heading for the altar at the front of the chapel. “I used to sing in here. When nobody was around, I would stand up here and belt out songs at the top of my lungs, pretending I was performing to a huge crowd.”
I cleared my throat, hooked my arms behind my arm rests, and sang, “Workin’ hard to get my fill. Everybody wants a thrill. Payin’ anything to roll the dice… just one more time…”
Mason watched me with wide eyes, a smile tugging on his lips. He was still too little to be embarrassed of his dad.
“Some’ll win… Some will lose. Some were born to sing the blues. Oh, the movie never ends; it goes on and on and on and on…”
I let my voice fade out, listening to it reverberate through the rafters of the large, empty room. “I always loved the acoustics in here,” I said, smiling. “That was Journey, ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ – first song I learned to play on that old piano over there.” I rolled toward the upright piano I had taught myself to play on, picking out popular songs by ear.
Mason ran ahead of me and climbed onto the piano bench, banging his hands on the keys. The poor piano was out of tune, just as it had been when I was a kid.
“Careful now, son,” I said, putting my hand over his. “Treat it nicely. If you wanna take lessons someday, I’ll find you a piano teacher to show you the right way to play it.” I always wished I had taken real piano lessons and learned to read music as a kid, rather than relying on memory. With practice, I had become pretty decent at playing by ear, but even before I was paralyzed, I’d lacked the technique of a professionally trained pianist.
I let Mason play in the cathedral for a little while longer before we went back outside. I wanted to take him to the outdoor chapel where Kristin and I had held our wedding ceremony, but there was no ramp to get me there. The ground was uneven, and I wasn’t sure I could wheel myself there and back without getting stuck. So, I took Mason as far as I felt comfortable going and let him hike the rest of the way by himself. “Be careful!” I called after him as he bounded off down the trail. “Take a quick look and then come right back.”
I kept him in my sight as I sat in my chair, enjoying the warm summer breeze that ruffled my hair and the cheerful sound of birds chirping in the rustling trees around me. This had always been a beautiful place, but I hadn’t fully appreciated it until I’d moved away and my dad had died. Holding my wedding here, on the grounds where he had lived and worked, was my way of honoring him. It had helped me to feel like my father was with me on my wedding day, watching as I followed in his footsteps and took a wife of my own. But now that she was gone, too, my happy memories of that day were mixed with sorrow.
If I closed my eyes, I could still see Kristin coming down the aisle, walking barefoot on a carpet of rose petals in her beige wedding dress. She had looked so beautiful with her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders in loose curls, a braid of flowers encircling her head like a crown, that my eyes had welled with tears at the mere sight of her. I’d felt like Robin Hood marrying Maid Marian in the forest as we faced each other to say our vows, Kristin giggling while I cried.
When I opened my eyes again, they were as misty as they’d been on our wedding day. I allowed a few tears to fall, then wiped them away as Mason came running back up the path. “Pretty cool, huh?” I said, swallowing hard.
He nodded, not taking his eyes off my face. “Are you crying, Daddy?” he asked with a frown.
“Yeah, buddy, but I’m okay. I just miss your momma.”
“Me too,” said Mason, his thin shoulders rising and falling as he heaved a sigh. Watching him, I realized how lucky I was to have real memories of Kristin. Mason had nothing but the photos and mementos I’d kept to remember his mother by.
I reached out to hug him, letting him climb into my lap to get closer to me. “I have a whole photo album from our wedding, you know,” I said as I held him. “If you want, you can look at it with me later.”
“Yeah!” he replied, nodding. “I want to!”
“C’mon, then. Let’s go get some lunch, and then we’ll head home. Last one to the truck is a rotten egg!” As soon as I let go of him, Mason scrambled off my lap and raced me back to the parking lot. Like always, he looked back over his shoulder to make sure I didn’t fall too far behind him, slowing down to let me catch up before he ran ahead of me again. He always beat me, but never by much.
Back in the truck, I drove a slow loop around the campgrounds, pointing out the cabin where I’d lived with my parents and the rec center where Keith and I had spent many wonderful summers playing and honing our performance skills. Then we headed down the mountain, stopping at the Wigwam Drive-In for lunch before starting the long drive back to Lexington.
“My dad and I used to come here a lot,” I told Mason, taking a bite out of my Country Boy burger. “I love that you’re big enough to do this kind of stuff with me. I can’t believe you’re gonna be five in a couple weeks. What do you want for your birthday?”
Mason dipped one of his crinkle fries into ketchup and chewed thoughtfully. “A dinosaur,” he said finally.
Dawn burst out laughing when I repeated this to her later as she helped me get ready for bed. “Does he mean a real dinosaur or a toy?” she wondered.
“I’m honestly not sure,” I said, chuckling. “I think he knows dinosaurs don’t exist anymore, but we’re talking about a four-year-old here. It could go either way.”
“Well, you’d better cover all your bases then. Buy him the coolest toy dinosaur you can find and take him to see some ‘real’ dinosaurs at Dinosaur World,” she suggested. “It’s only a couple of hours away, near Mammoth Cave. I went there with Michael once when he was little. He loved it.”
“That sounds like a great birthday trip,” I said, smiling back at her. “Let’s do it.” Whenever I found myself wallowing in grief, it helped to have things to look forward to, like Mason’s birthday, Natalie’s visit, and my upcoming trip to London with the Boys. That was how I got through the hard days.
Earlier that evening, before Mason went to bed, I’d found my wedding album and sat at the kitchen table with him in my lap, slowly turning through page after page of pictures from that day. “Doesn’t your momma look pretty in her wedding dress?” I asked him, smiling at a close-up of Kristin holding her bouquet.
“Uh-huh. Who are they?” he asked, pointing to a picture of the wedding party.
“Well, you know Uncle Jerald. He was my best man. And that’s your mom’s sister, your Aunt Tina…” I pointed out each person in the picture, explaining who they were.
It became harder to talk when he turned the page, landing on a series of photos that had been taken just after the ceremony. A lump rose in my throat as I looked at one of Kristin and me walking hand in hand. Our arms were outstretched, heads thrown back in an expression of pure exhilaration. “This was the happiest day of my life,” I told Mason, wiping tears from my eyes. “At least until you came along. The day you were born was the best day of my life.”
He grinned back at me, then frowned. “Why’s Mommy holding a shoe?”
I chuckled, noticing the high heel in Kristin’s other hand. “Your mom hated wearing shoes. She walked barefoot down the aisle.”
“I bet her feet got dirty,” Mason said matter-of-factly.
“Yup… they probably did. But she didn’t mind, and neither did I.” As I recalled, we had ended the night in our hotel room’s jacuzzi, which I’m sure had washed all the dirt away. I didn’t mention that part to Mason.
Next, we looked at photos from the reception, laughing at Nick, who was wearing shorts because the airline had lost his luggage when he flew in – late – for the wedding. “Why does Uncle Howie have long hair?” Mason asked, wrinkling his nose as he studied a photo of the five of us.
“You’ll have to ask Uncle Howie sometime,” I said, laughing. “We called that his Jesus look.”
“What are you doing here?” he wanted to know next, pointing to a picture of me dipping Kristin backward. She had a huge grin on her face as I lowered my head to kiss her cleavage.
I cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks flush. “Dancing,” I said and quickly turned the page.
Mason seemed most fascinated by the photos from our first dance. He looked for a long time at the two of us together, our arms around each other, our noses almost touching. I stared right along with him, remembering that moment like it was yesterday. I would have given anything to be able to go back to it, to stand on my own two feet, whole and undamaged, and hold my wife in my arms as we danced. But these days, that could only happen in my dreams.
Exhausted by the emotional day, I went to bed early that night. As I undressed, taking off my t-shirt, the infinity pendant caught my eye. I ran my thumb across it, pressing it into my bare chest.
Dawn must have noticed. “Do you wanna take that off tonight?” she asked as she folded my pants. “Or leave it on?”
I hesitated, torn between the marriage vows Kristin and I had taken twelve years ago and the commitment I hoped to make when Natalie came to visit in two days. “I’ll leave it on tonight,” I finally said. “But in the morning, I think I’ll have you take it off so I can put it away for a while… maybe for good.”
“Fair enough,” said Dawn, giving me a sympathetic smile as she disappeared into my closet.
That night, I dreamed of Kristin, as I often did. But the next morning, I locked the pendant in my safe, where I kept all our important papers. I knew I wouldn’t lose it there, but I also wouldn’t be able to look at it all the time and remind myself of how much I had lost. As much as I loved my late wife, it was time for me to move on and find someone to spend the rest of my life with.
As I looked forward to Natalie’s visit, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, I had already found her.
***