“I know,” he says quietly. “I know.”
“I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye to her. But I can’t face her,” I admit. I hate how my voice sounds fragile or something. But Alex nods against me, and it gives me more strength. “I really do hope that one day, she’ll realize what she did and... and what that did to me.”
Alex nods again, and his hand rubs up and down my back.Then he says, “I’ll go with you to drop it off.”
I want to tell him he doesn’t have to—that I’ll go by myself. But I probably shouldn’t do that. Last time I went to that house alone, bad things happened. Patrick is still in jail, and he will be for another several months. But the truth is, I don’t actuallywantto do this alone, either.
So instead, I step back from him, swallow back all of my uncertainty, and then tell him, “I’d appreciate that.”
I pick the letter back up and refold it so it’ll fit in my pocket. Then he and I sneak downstairs together, trying to be as quiet as possible since it’s not yet six in the morning and his mom is still sleeping, grab the keys to the truck, and head out. He drives, which is good because I’m fretting, my leg bouncing up and down and my hands wringing in my lap.
Within only a few minutes, he turns into the driveway to my mom’s house, flipping the truck’s lights off. There’s just enough illumination from the sky barely starting to brighten, so I know he can see as we drive slowly down the long dirt driveway.
I wonder if I’ll ever be back here again.
We’re leaving today, in just a couple of hours, actually. His mom is driving us to California, all of his stuff (and what little I have) already packed in boxes sitting in the garage. We just have to load up and go. My job is waiting for me there. My job and my tiny apartment and my new life with my boyfriend, whom I love very, very much.
And I can’t see ever having any reason to come back, except maybe to visit Alex’s mom.
So this goodbye feels final to me, and despite the fact that I’ve had two months to come to terms with everything, it still hurts that my mom never even tried to reach out to me again or to apologize or anything at all. It still hurts. A lot.
Alex sets his hand on my thigh as he stops the truck next tomy mom’s car. “You want me to walk up there with you?” he asks gently.
I shake my head. I’m not alone, but I have to do this part myself. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” He squeezes my thigh and then lets go.
And I don’t give myself any time to think. I quietly open the door, step out into the warm, humid September morning, and shove my hand into my pocket as I start toward my childhood home. I don’t let myself stop until I reach the door. Then I pause, blink back the tears I’m refusing to let fall, and pull the letter out of my pocket.
The screen door doesn’t creak like it used to. Maybe she got the hinges fixed.
For some reason, the thought makes my chest feel tight, and I hurry to slide the folded letter into the thin slot between the door and the doorframe. Then I turn and jog back to the truck.
Alex has us heading back down the driveway before I can even really process that this is it. We’re halfway back to the road when I twist around and look behind us.
That house.
It’s nothing special at all. A tiny, old house with dead flowers and peeling paint outside and a broken story inside. I’m not really going to miss it.
But I might miss what I wanted it to be.
Just like how I’ll miss who I thought she was.
I screw my eyes shut against all the painful emotions and face forward again, leaning my head on the cold window. “Can we not go straight back?” I ask quietly, glad when my voice doesn’t tremble.
The truck bumps around at the dip at the end of the driveway and then stops.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Alex says. “Where do you want to go?”
I open my eyes and glance out the window, out to the east. The sky is mostly dark, but right at the horizon, it’s starting to change colors. Deep pink and orange, spreading out across the line of trees.
“To the river.” I turn and meet his gaze, and I manage a tight smile. “Let’s go to the river one more time.”
His expression softens. “That sounds perfect.”
It really does. I nod, then close my eyes again and settle my head back against the headrest as Alex pulls out onto the road.
Not more than fifteen minutes later, he’s holding my hand as we navigate the narrow trail through the woods, mostly in the dark, and emerge along the riverbank at our spot. The narrow stretch of sandy beach ends in the shallow river ahead of us, flowing quietly along. We stop together and sit silently, and his arm loops up around my shoulders.
