Tucking back the emotion, I make a confession to Corinne. “I almost didn’t knock. I wanted to leave everything on your driveway and make a run for it.”
She huffs a shallow laugh. “I’m happy you didn’t do that.”
Doug returns holding two boxes. Corinne and I join in, and soon we’ve unloaded the back of the truck. Boxes fill one-half of the Woodruffs living room.
Corinne stands beside a box labeledShorts & Socks. She taps it and says, “I guess he’ll be needing these.”
“He’ll need everything, at some point. That’s why I brought it all here. I assume this is where he’ll come when he…gets out.” My voice dips. “I’m going to sell our house, too, and put half the money in his bank account. That way when he gets out, he’ll, uh, he’ll have money.”
Suddenly I feel sick. It was one thing to work through all this in my mind, but now, standing in front of people who look similar to Gabriel, it’s tearing me apart.
I look away to get composure, but I’m faced with all those framed photos on the top of the grand piano. I put away all the pictures of us that were up in my house, and intentionally avoided all photographic reminders of him. Taking in his face now feels like a drink for my soul and a knife to my heart.
“Where do we go from here?” Corinne’s voice is small.
I tear my gaze from Gabriel’s image. “I’m not sure. We move on, I guess. I don’t know what else to do.”
“We move on from you?” Her voice catches at the end. “And you move on from us?”
I sniff. God, I really do not want to cry again, but I don’t know how much of a choice I have. “Are there rules for this kind of thing? A standard operating procedure?”
Perhaps the disjointed timeline has been the most bizarre part of the divorce. We crossed the finish line, then I had to go back and hit the checkpoints.
Doug speaks. “We don’t want to lose you, kid.”
“I know. But the reminders…” I bite my lip. “They’re painful. And they’re everywhere. I’m just doing what I can to decrease the pain of all this. I have to do what’s best for me. For my mental state.”
Corinne walks to me. She takes my hand and clasps it in her own. “Oh, honey, do what’s best for you. Take care of yourself first.”
I hug them both, one at a time. Doug releases me quickly. He clears his throat and walks away. Corinne holds me tightly. We’re nearly the same height, but she strokes my hair and holds me like I’m a child. Her child. The one she lost indefinitely, and the one she lost momentarily.
Perhaps she, too, has been altered by this experience. Maybe for the better.
“I hope you know you’re welcome here any time,” she says. “In our home, and in our lives.”
It’s a sweet sentiment, but it has a timer. One day in the not-too-distant future, Gabriel will be released. He will come here, and restart his life. What he won’t need is his ex-wife in the picture. How could he possibly move on if his parents are tied to his past?
Sometimes, the simplest acts are the most difficult to execute. Walking through the Woodruffs front door feels like a first step into unknown territory.
Yes, Gabriel was gone, but I had his things. Now I don’t even have that.
As much as it hurts, I keep going. I leave his possessions behind. With every step, a little bit of my old life breaks off and tumbles to the ground.
I buckle my seat belt and reverse into the street. I am raw and exposed, and everything hurts. But there’s something deep down, a newly developed but insistent feeling.
Not hope, because that would be too much to ask, but its benign cousin.
Trust.
Trust that I will be ok. I will make it. I am almost on the other side of this storm.
CHAPTER 29
“It’s a seller’s market.”The realtor, Tracey Booth, gestures around the kitchen. “Everything is going. Old, new, fixer-uppers, you name it. In fact…” She walks from the kitchen to the small dining room, gazing out at the backyard. She wears a black knee-length skirt and ivory silk blouse, and simple gold hoops. “The bones of this place are good. Unique. I can already tell this will be purchased and renovated. Maybe even flipped. I’m telling you, Phoenix is hot right now.”
“It’s only January.” The bad joke covers up the sadness I feel at the prospect of letting go of my home with Gabriel.
Tracey laughs. “People from cold states visit in the winter, and they suddenly want to move here. I would too, if I had to shovel several feet of snow. Been there, done that. I’m from Buffalo, but I’ve been here going on twenty-three years.”
