My eyes closed as I let the beats flow through me like current. Then I raised a hand, swaying forward. I reached for something beyond the shadows, pulling it to my chest and pressing it into my heart. Tears slipped from beneath my eyelids as I moved for the fragility of love and life and loss.
For the way we’re tethered to the earth.
For the pain of letting go.
For the girl who blamed herself.
For myself, reaching out and up.
Forward.
Over the last few months, I’d learned with my therapist that it was okay to grieve the things I’d wanted for my life—a marriage that didn’t break, love that wouldn’t fade, and a father for my girls. I had workedsohard for those dreams—dug into the cold ground of his heart with my bare hands, built us with my blood and tears, took the fall when we needed a scapegoat, and laid my heart on his altar.
And after all that sacrifice—it didn’t work.
We still fell topieces.
My shadow moved with me, dark and looming, but powerless to hold me back.
I swiped my palms over my cheeks, weeping. This was my goodbye. Beat by beat, I let go of that girl who thought she had to wear a brave face. I let go of the words that held power over me. I let go of my fears of melodramatic and silly, of too sensitive and insecure, of too much but not enough.
And I just let herdance.
I did everything I could for the father of my children.
And now, I could say goodbye.
When the final piano notes of the song rang in my ears, I collapsed and sat for a long while, just crying. The release in my soul was so strong, I pressed my palms into the frigid asphalt, leaning against deep sobs. When they began to abate, I lifted my head, swiping my sleeve over my cheek.
I stood—a thousand pounds lighter.
With a weak smile, I rose and returned to the wall, following the line of tally marks all the way to the end. Searching the ground, I found a shard of gravel and dragged it over the wall, counting out loud.
“Seventy-six.”
FORTY-FIVE
Hollie
Thanksgiving Day
After popping the last casserole into the oven, I flopped down on the couch next to Nora, who was watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on my parents’ TV. Grabbing my phone off the coffee table, I swiped through notifications and smiled at the picture Bea sent the family group chat. Her extremely pregnant self had an arm slung around Tag’s neck as she captured a selfie. To everyone’s relief, her sickness had abated in month five of her pregnancy. Since then, she’d put on weight and even had the pregnancy glow now. And all the nerves about adding a baby to the Taggart family had melted away. Tag and Bea couldn’t wait to meet their baby girl.
In the picture, Tag smiled, giving a thumbs up to the camera, his cowboy hat knocked sideways like Bea had dislodged it in her excitement. Her mouth was wide and you could almost hear her happy squeal through the picture.
But the text beneath made my heart turn in my chest.
Bea
Guess who passed his WPRA inspection?!?!?
The chat blew up in my hands, and I heard Mom gasp from the kitchen.
Peter
Wow! Does that mean Tag’s pro now?
Jackie
