My stomach knots. “Mom—”
“Victoria.” Even the way she says my name is different. It sounds flat and broken. I open my mouth to say more, but before I can, the line is dead.
She hung up without giving me an explanation or even clarity.
I stare at the screen for three seconds, then shove my chair back so hard it screams against the wood.
Where are my keys?
Jacket?
I need my purse, too.
Everything is moving too fast in my brain. Endless possibilities of what can be wrong play out in my mind.
I feel like I’m drowning in thoughts of what-ifs. But regardless of what it could be, I’m out the door before my brain finishes the scenarios.
This is bad.
The drive to the estate feels tedious. When I finally arrive, my chest feels so tight it burns.
I hate this place.
Sure, I’ve been here a million times over the years, and yes, I always feel like I’m suffocating when I arrive, but today feels different.
Once the house is in view, I inhale deeply, pushing down the bile that crawls up my throat.
It’s fine.
Everything is fine.
I throw the car in Park, then step out . . . and like every time I come here, I’m bombarded with memories. This time, instead of walking straight inside, my feet betray me, turning left.
Not toward the house, but toward the old boathouse.
In all the times I’ve been here since I left, I never could bring myself to go back there. Too many memories, but now, for some reason, I can’t stop myself. I must be a masochist.
The stone path has tiny cracks now. Time has a way of doing that.
I follow it without thinking, as if it’s muscle memory. As if I’m seventeen again, racing down this same trail.
The roses are wild now.
Untamed and beautiful.
I step past the roses and keep walking until the boathouse comes into view. While it was abandoned for as long as I can remember, it is now completely overgrown and unloved.
For a moment, I almost expect to see him leaning there like he never left. Lounging against the doorframe while pretending to fix something as an excuse to spend time with me.
But the doorway is empty.
I keep moving, cracking open the door.
It feels like I can’t breathe as I step inside. This place holds memories that are now carved into me like scars.
I lower my gaze to the worn floorboards. In my mind, I can still see every moment from that summer.
Every kiss.
