Her arms fly out to her sides. “Why? What is the point? What will it lead to?”
“I don’t know. I just…can’t leave her alone. I love her.”
“Of course you do.” She rubs her fingers over her cheeks, eyes rolling upward. “Whether or not you love her isn’t the question. I’m not debating that.” She shakes her head. “Think of her, instead of yourself."
"Iamthinking of her."
Camryn squeezes my shoulder. She looks exactly like Avery used to, back when pity was her primary emotion toward me. "Avery still loves you. She always will. And if you love her like we all know you do, you need to be honest with yourself. Do you really believe you're what's best for her?"
Her words carry the sharp swiftness of a machete. She may as well have filleted me right here beside her wedding arch.
Her gaze softens. “I’m sorry, but you have to face the possibility.”
My jaw clenches, and my reserve steels. “You think I should walk away with my tail between my legs, head down. And I could. I really, really could. But that would be taking the easy way out. If I do that, I take away Avery’s choice. I did that once,” I remind her, and she winces. “I won’t make that mistake a second time.”
We stare at each other, a face-off. I remember the day I met Cam, when she was nineteen and uncertain about life, when Dani was her best friend Danielle and she wanted nothing to do with college.
Camryn holds my gaze, then breaks. “Get out your phone,” she says, sighing and looking at the ground.
I hold it between us and wait. She recites the address, and I enter it in.
“Thanks. Enjoy your arch.” I hop into the delivery truck and steer it onto the main road. My jeans and long sleeve won't cut it here. I’m already sweating, and I need clothes and such to stay for at least a few days. I hadn’t planned on staying, but I knew as soon as I saw Avery that I can’t be without her again. I’ll fight for her until she tells me to cease.
I stop into a store and buy shorts and T-shirts, then walk next door and purchase toiletries. I have everything I need now, except a place to stay.
I pause in the truck cab, my forward momentum stalled by the fact I have Joel’s delivery truck. I’m almost positive he doesn’t have another delivery scheduled for ten more days, but I need to be certain. And I need to ask for time off, though that’s really out of respect and consideration. Joel won’t deny me time off work. In the six or so months I’ve worked for him, I’ve yet to take a sick day, a personal day, or be late for work.
I call him, and I’m right. He tells me to enjoy my time in Phoenix, and he says it with enthusiasm. We hang up, and I sink back against the seat. Next up, lodging.
I could check into a hotel, but there’s somewhere else I should go.
The truck rumbles to life, and I turn out into the busy street.
Nothingabout my childhood home has changed over the past six months, or the time I was in prison, or really in the years leading up to that, either.
I guess that’s why I don’t love coming here.
But I need a place to stay, and it doesn’t cost me anything to be here. So, here I am.
I drop a few groceries in the fridge, then make my way down the hallway to my old room. Nash’s photos line the wall, leading the way to his door. It has been years since I’ve gone in his room. Does my mom still dust it every few weeks, like she used to?
It makes me think of Avery, and what she said about the way we cling to our hurt. Just look at how tightly my family has held on to Nash, as if he can be found between the pages of old books, or the trophies lining his shelf.
I pause, my hand hovering in the air above his door handle, then open it.
Sunshine peeks in around the blackout blinds. It smells stale, and old. For a while, it smelled like Nash’s cologne, but that filtered out within a month of his death.
Off to one side are boxes stacked three high. The rest of the room looks like someone could be living in it. Exactly like it was the last time I stuck my head in here. I step inside, making my way slowly around the room. Everything in here belonged to Nash, but this isn’t where I feel him. He lives in the center of my chest, where I still love him. He lives in my mind, where his memory is never far.
I step out and close the door behind me. There’s a photo of him and I on the wall, and I give it a light fist bump. “I love you, Brother.”
I keep going to my room, tossing the bags on my old bed. Aside from the furniture, everything else in the room was converted into a guest room and office. My desk now houses my dad’s laptop, my mother’s ancient desktop, and an old framed photo of the two of them from their third date. My posters are gone, replaced by a triptych of the Pacific Ocean. The bedspread has a ruffle along the edge.
I remove the items I purchased and lay them out on the dresser, then sink back on the bed and look at the ceiling. The last time I slept in this room, I’d just gotten out of prison. Everything felt foreign, like returning from a long vacation. Minus the vacation part. Driving my truck again felt like an out-of-body experience. Muscle memory took me through the motions as my brain marveled at the remote familiarity. It took me fewer than three weeks to know that this was not the place for me. I needed to get out, and find my own way.
Here I am, six months later, back in this room. Dreaming about Avery, once again. Trying to be someone worthy of her. Sometimes I wish I could crack open my mind, parse through its contents. Remove what I don’t like, add in what I think would make me a better person.
If that were possible, I’d have done it a long time ago.
