He folds his lips under, not agreeing but also not asking any more questions. Thankfully, the rest of the car ride to Natalie’s is done in peace and quiet.
As soon as he pulls into the driveway, I toss him a quick thank you and literally leap out of the car, dash up the front steps, and barrel into the house. Hastily closing the door behind me, I lean back against it, drop my purse to the floor, and breathe out a huge sigh of relief. And then growl in frustration when I realize I never asked Jordan which garage his friend works at. I still have the keys to the car in my purse. I need to call the rental company and find out what to do.
“I thought I heard you come in.”
I shriek at Natalie’s unexpected appearance through the kitchen archway.
Hand to my pounding chest, I stand up straighter and walk over to give her a hug.
“Something smells good.”
She waves the dish towel she’s holding over her shoulder. “Put a roast in the Crock Pot this morning for dinner. It’s almost ready. How did the job hunt go?”
“Not good.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” she replies brightly.
The double meaning isn’t lost on me. One day, there will be a tomorrow she won’t be able to remember.
I step back and inspect her, feeling guilty I left her alone most of the day. She looks better than she did this morning. Her cheeks have more color, and her eyes don’t have that dull glaze over them.
She gives me a sad smile as she wrings the hand towel into a tight spiral. “I’m so sorry that I’m causing you so much trouble. You shouldn’t feel obligated to help me out here while I’m away in Europe.”
“You’ve been taking care of me since the day Mom died. It’s me who should be apologizing. I should’ve come back sooner.”
Too little, too late, and it hurts like hell knowing that. I would have come back home if I’d known about Natalie’s diagnosis, but Natalie never said a word until recently. And I’ll be damned if I let her not go on her trip. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity she won’t get again, and one she needs to do now before her Alzheimer’s advances.
Tenderly kissing her cheek, I say, “Let me get changed and I’ll finish dinner up. Go ahead and get comfy out on the back patio, and I’ll bring everything out in a minute.”
I wait until she disappears back into the kitchen before I walk down the short hallway littered with framed family photographs and into my old bedroom. The first thing I do is take out my phone from my back pocket and connect it with the charger, then I shed my clothes and head straight into the bathroom.
Turning the faucet on, I secure my hair back using a wide cloth headband and do a quick wash of my hands and face. I stopped looking at my reflection in a mirror years ago. When you feel ugly and worthless, you don’t need to see daily reminders staring back at you. However, today, I look.
Bracing my hands on either side of the small oval sink, I stare at my mirror image and see a woman so different to the one five years ago. Older, yes. Wiser, I hope so. I may have lost weight, but I’m still a very curvy size sixteen. Amelia used to call me Mrs. Potato Head.
But it’s the sparkle in my eyes that catches my attention as I stare at my reflection. There’s an energy, a spark, that wasn’t there before. Like an inferno has been lit in my soul. I know exactly who lit that blaze, and it ticks me off.
Stomping back into the bedroom, I rush to slip on a pair of stretchy capris and a form-fitting CU T-shirt, then grab my blue journal and pen from the nightstand and begin writing a furious recount of my day. My therapist used to say,“Let the journal be the holder of your pain, and let the pages carry your burden.”
A slew of loud dings emits from my phone, alerting me to the text messages coming in. That always happens once my phone gets enough charge. The battery life on my old pay-as-you-go is almost non-existent now, and I’ve been putting off getting a new phone because… well, it costs money. But I’ll be forced to buy a new one soon. I can’t have my phone dying every few hours, especially if Natalie needs to reach me.
When I unlock the screen, there are messages from Harper, Mason, and—Chase? We had exchanged numbers before parting ways, but I wasn’t expecting him to contact me. At all.
Chase: Hey, this is Chase. I know this must be weird, me texting you. Just wanted to say thank you for hearing me out today. It really meant a lot. It’s nice to have a friend, even if she is a reluctant one I don’t have many friends these days because… well, you know. So thanks.
I know Chase screwed up in the worst way possible, but there was something with him today that pulled at me when we sat out at the picnic table. Shared sadness or regret, maybe. I don’t know.
I pause in my reply, but then say, fuck it, and send it anyway.
Me: You’re welcome.
I send another text that includes just one word.
Me: Friend.
I read through Harper’s messages next, then Mason’s, who reminds me of our video call tonight. I send him a quick thumbs up, then text Harper that I’ll call her after dinner.
Humming the tune to one of the crappy rock songs Jordan had playing on his radio, I saunter into the kitchen. The sun is beginning to set, a huge reddish-orange sphere dipping low along the horizon and creating streaks of red and gold across the sky that are framed perfectly in the kitchen window above the sink. I stare at nature’s watercolor, wondering how many more sunsets Natalie will get to enjoy. Swiping at the tears that gather, I shake off the sudden melancholy and take two tall drinking glasses from the cabinet, filling them both with iced tea from the pitcher chilling in the refrigerator. I add pre-cut lemon slices to both, a spoonful of sugar in Natalie’s and one packet of artificial sweetener in mine. I’ll take these out first, then come back to plate up dinner. With both hands full, I push the screened door open with my butt.
