“Am I bringing this to your room?” He stares down the hall, to where my childhood bedroom waits across from his and Mom’s and beside my twin’s. “Or are you just stopping by?”
I tighten my ponytail, fidgeting. “No, you can bring it there.”
“Alright.”
He leaves without another word. I follow the soft roll of my suitcase along the slightly lifted laminate floor and do my best to avoid staring at the photos hung on the walls. Knowing my parents, they haven’t changed them out in the history of ever, let alone the last decade.
The door to my room is closed, and Dad grips the handle, hesitating for a beat. I stop behind him and ignore the twist in my chest before he pushes it and stomps inside. It takes everything in me not to give in to the sudden urge to dive into my bed and hide beneath the blankets for the next few weeks.
They’ve kept it made, the bedspread still zebra striped. It’s like being tossed in a time machine and dumped back out in the past. The fringe pillows are bright green and almost painful to stare at, and Christ, the lampshades on the nightstands match.
Twenty-three feels like a lifetime ago. The girl I was then has long since died, and now, I’m left with the version I rebuilt in the furthest place from here that I could find.
“How long are you here for?” Dad asks, his voice rough.
“I don’t know. A while, I think.”
A weighted pause. “You’re not wearing your ring.”
“I’m not married anymore.”
“Come here,” he orders gruffly.
I spin around and go right into his open arms. The emotions I’ve been squashing deep in my mind come flaring back with a heat that singes my inside. I suck in a sharp breath when my eyes burn, tears blurring my vision before I close them altogether.
My dad hugs me tight, keeping me squashed against his chest as I struggle, refusing to cry. Even here, where nobody but him can see me, I won’t do it. Not because it isn’t killing me, but because Ethan doesn’t deserve any more of my tears. It’s been six months since we signed all of the paperwork, and God knows I’ve cried more than enough times since then.
I’m not going to taint this place with the pain he caused me.
Pressing my cheek against my dad’s soft T-shirt, I inhale and try to steady myself. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t need to be right now.”
“He doesn’t matter to me here. Not in this place.”
With an almost angry sniff, I pull away and meet Dad’s waiting eyes. They’re cautious, but I ignore that, not wanting to encourage his worry.
“When did it happen?” he asks then, seeming to understand.
“Officially, we divorced a few days ago. We’ve been separated for a while now.”
“Have you been back long?”
“I only landed in Alberta this morning.”
Moving to the wide window on the far side of my bed, I stare into the backyard. The mountains are there, towering over the cluster of trees. Only a small portion of the lake is visible from the house, but it’s still there, taunting me with memories of sand in my swimsuit and boating wipeouts.
“Your mom is at the office. She’d love to see you.”
“Where’s Ash? He wasn’t answering his phone earlier,” I ask instead of responding to his info drop.
It’s been years since I’ve seen my twin brother in person, though not for lack of trying on his part. He’d have come visit for weeks at a time if I’d let him. I didn’t, and I wear the guilt for that just as heavily as I wear the rest of it.
“Check the community centre.”
Turning from the window, I swallow my pride and meet Dad’s waiting gaze. “Are you hiring?”
“At the campground?”
