Not yet.
Chapter Fifty
ELIZABETH
Coming Full Circle
The damp weightof my hair clings to my neck as I weave the three sections into a loose braid. A few curled wisps escape and hang at my temples, but I decide the plait is good enough, if a little wonky. Coming out of the bathroom, the bedroom fills with the steamy fragrance of the jasmine shampoo I used.
I unzip my suitcase and rifle through the shirts I packed until I find the one of Fallon’s I brought. I lift the soft fabric of the shirt to my nose. It’s lost a little of his scent after being in the suitcase. Slipping my arms through the sleeves, I button it up and tuck my necklace underneath the collar, then tug on a pair of cotton lounge pants.
The bedroom looks the same as I left it when I went off to CU. It’s nothing fancy, just a sparse room filled with some furniture—a bed, a desk, a chair, a chest of drawers—and the big blue yoga ball I used for the stretches and exercises that the physical therapist wanted me to do every day. This room was my sanctuary after I was released from the medical facility, but it never felt like mine. It never felt like home. Even when my memories were lost, I knew I didn’t belong here.
Standing at the window that faces west, the soft gold of the late afternoon sun breaks through the clouds as the rain tapers off into a falling mist. The grounds below are vibrantly wet and green, and the branches of the tall conifers look like they’re dripping diamonds as water droplets plink to the ground, pulled by gravity. The rain was one thing I couldn’t get used to while living in Seattle. As beautiful as it was, I craved sunshine.
Snagging my phone from the dresser, I sit down on the footboard of the bed. No new messages have come in since I texted Fallon and the kids after we landed, probably because they knew Jayson and I would be out at the gravesite all day.
Me: Miss you.
I didn’t expect to miss him so much, but I do.
When Fallon doesn’t reply after a few minutes, I pad barefoot out of the room and across the hallway to the guest room where Jayson will be sleeping. The door is closed, but I can hear the faint sound of the shower through the pressed wood. We were both a drenched, muddy mess by the time we got to Daniel and Drew’s.
I hope we don’t get sick after spending hours in the rain. My guitar and the books I brought with me to read to Elizabeth Ann are unfortunately a lost cause. I left the books laid out on the living room’s fireplace hearth to dry out, but there’s nothing I can do for my guitar. Luckily, I was smart to bring the cheap one I bought on sale for fifty bucks, but I still feel guilty that it got damaged.
Making my way down the long hallway to the kitchen, I glance at the framed abstract artwork hanging in precise intervals along the walls. Harper would love these paintings. Drew did most of them when he was going through chemo. Eachpiece is filled with slashes of eye-catching color, much like a Jackson Pollock painting.
When I cross the foyer, I peer up at the high vaulted ceiling flanked by tall windows that are streaked with raindrops. Hazy sunlight slants through the chandelier and across the polished floors, creating ribbons of colors like light refracted through a prism. Another twenty feet, and the chef’s kitchen opens before me like something out of a design magazine—gleaming white marble countertops, stainless and champagne bronze appliances, brushed brass fixtures, and a center island as large as a queen-sized bed.
My reflection wavers in the glass of the top double oven when I go to get plates from the cabinet. God, I look pale. Rung out. The long day and jet lag must be catching up with me.
Setting the plates down on the counter island, I remove a spatula hanging from its hook along the backsplash and lift the lids of the two pizza boxes we picked up on our way here from the cemetery. They’re no longer hot, but I don’t care. Hot pizza, cold pizza—doesn’t matter. I’d eat about anything right now, I’m that hungry.
After sliding two slices of pepperoni and mushroom onto each plate, I look at my phone again. Still no reply from Fallon. Fallen Brook is three hours ahead of Seattle, so that makes it just after eight o’clock there.
Me (to family group chat): What are my babies up to?
I see three bouncing dots, so I know one of the kids is replying.
Marcus: I’m with Hannah. Everything ok?
Me: Yeah. We’re back at the house. About to have an early dinner. Have you spoken to Fallon at all today?
Marcus: No. Met up with Hannah right after work.
I worry my bottom lip.
Me: Didn’t mean to interrupt your date. Tell Hannah hi.
Marcus: Good night, Mom.
“I forgot how big this house was,” Jayson says as he enters the kitchen. “I got lost. Wound up in some room that looks like a library.”
I think back to the last time Jayson was here. It was the first time we came to see Elizabeth Ann. I’ll have to give him another tour later.
“Daniel’s study. I love that room. Hungry?”
He sidles up next to me. His towel-dried hair curls up at the ends, and he smells like lavender. “Starving.”
