I return his wave and walk away.
Instead of turning toward my car, I find myself drawn the other way, toward the quiet, open space of the Capitol grounds.Gravel crunches under my shoes.A gentle breeze rustles the leaves in the tall trees overhead.Elegant, old-fashioned lamps cast pools of warm yellow light, illuminating patches of manicured lawn and intricate stonework of nearby benches, leaving stretches of pathway in deep, velvety darkness.Ahead, the Capitol itself rises, massive and silent, its floodlit dome a luminous pearl against the dark expanse of the night sky.
A slow, deep breath fills my lungs.The first easy one I’ve taken in what feels like days.
As I stroll, my thoughts drift to the unexpected kindnesses that have surfaced amidst the wreckage of the past few days.
There’s Sal, welcoming me into his truck, sharing his meal, and quietly believing that what Matthew and I have “wasn’t nothing.”
There’s Lou, with his unwavering faith in my “grit and passion” and his wisdom about love and fear.
And Helen, with her fierce loyalty, her exasperated worry, and her immediate, unquestioning offers of help.
Then there’s Matthew.
Especially Matthew.
Despite the painful rift between us, he helped me against his own client, offered unconditional care, and opened his home to me.He’s irrevocably part of this web of support.
These people.
This community.
My steps slow as a realization crystallizes under the soft lamplight.
All those years I spent drifting, from one city to the next, one temporary life to another, always searching for something I couldn’t quite name.
I thought home was a place.
A zip code.
A building with sturdy walls.
But maybe I was wrong.
Looking up at the quiet majesty of the Capitol, I can feel the presence of Lou’s, Helen’s, Sal’s, and Matthew’s kindness surrounding me.
Maybe home isn’t just a place.
Maybe it’s the people who make you feel you finally, truly belong somewhere.
Maybe that’s why Madison stuck.Why it burrowed under my skin in a way nowhere else ever did.
The thought ignites a fierce, protective surge that burns away some of the exhaustion and despair.
No.
I will not let James and his poisoned loan, or Bancroft and his calculated greed, drive me away.
Not again.
I’ve spent too much of my life being pushed, being transient, letting circumstances dictate my path.
This café, this life, these connections…
I built this.
It’s messy, it’s hanging by a thread, but it’s mine.
