How can I convince her that I’ll never hurt her again?
Be transparent, Freak.
Bare yourself.
“Also, I wanted to say that you were right before. One-hundred percent right. I was a coward and didn’t come forward about Kia sooner because I didn’t want to lose you.
“The more important you were becoming to me, the more I avoided telling you, when really it should have been the other way around. I should have trusted with the information and that you’d judge me for who I am today, not who I was then.”
Tears start to roll down Willow’s eyes.
This isn’t what I wanted.
I never want to make Willow cry again.
“Don’t cry, baby.”
Finally, she leans her entire body into my chest and we stand there for I don’t know how long.
I just hold her.
And I say a small prayer of thanks to whatever God is looking out for me.
Thank you for bringing her back to me.
After some time, I scoop her up in my arms and gently place her in the passenger seat of the sedan. We should probably head to the station now, but I want to make one quick stop on the way.
It’s located in a quiet part of town and it’s one of those “if you know, you know” type of deals. But the Rotary Club always waits until the week before Christmas to reveal their annual Christmas light display. They cover their building in lights and also have various Christmas scenes displayed on the grounds around the stone building: Baby Jesus and the manger, Rudolph, Santa and his sleigh, a gift box display, the grinch, and a tiny whoville.
It’s not tasteful at all.
It’s awful.
It’s like they vomited every Christmas story we’ve ever read on their property, but it’s a Copper Grove tradition and my guess is that Willow’s never seen it.
“Oh my God, that’s fantastic!” She exclaims when we park across the street from the Christmas crime scene.
I chuckle quietly at her reaction.
“You like it?”
“I love it! They do this every year?”
“Seems so.”
She pulls out her cell phone and takes a few pictures.
“Can you unblock me now?” I ask her, looking directly at her phone.
She doesn’t protest but instead changes the call settings for my name, which include my name being changed to Bacon Bitch.
“What about my name?”
“Baby steps,” she tells me.
“I deserve that,” I agree. “Well, we need to get going if you’re going to catch that train. When are you coming back? The day before classes?”
“Probably, but I’m not sure. I didn’t book a round-trip ticket. I’m not sure what my mom’s plans are, and I may catch up with some friends from high school.”
