Timing works out well, and I let the space breathe a little while I tend to the horse’s dinner. Sam is true to his word and shows up to help me with the night feeding.
Not surprisingly, one day in and I can already tell Trent’s place runs like a well-oiled machine. The horses are accustomed to their routines, and everything is set up to maintain them with minimal effort. Trent may have preferred to keep his environment chaotic, but he always did know how to forge the most efficient path.
Sam lingers a bit, chatting a few minutes before he heads out again, and I have to get on with transforming Trent’s office into a space I can call my own for a while.
Dragging my feet, feeling the drain of today’s work for the first time since I started, I make my way back to where the office is tucked away in the back of the barn.
I take a moment to take in the bare room with fresh eyes. It’ll work for me. But Trent would have found it miserable.
“We’ll compromise,” I mumble, moving to the desk I cleared of all his crap but left in its spot along the windowed back wall. “You get to keep one.”
I choose a mug from the collection of half-drunk coffee cups I placed on a tray to carry back to the house. I go with the old Red Sox one, the one Lena brought him back from Boston as a fun souvenir knowing full-well the man was a diehard Yankees fan. Seems like a good way to keep a little piece of them both in this room. Plus, it’s the one with the least amount of coffee still in it.
I empty it into another mug headed for the dishwasher and then set the chosen cup on the corner of the desk, coffee stain and all.
“There. An ode to you and your disaster, brother.”
I smirk at the sight. As much as it amuses me, it fucking stings just the same.
I’m done. All that’s left to do now is paint and move my stuff in.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LIZ
It takes me two days, but I finally get everything boxed up, donated, sold or loaded into my car.
Come late Friday afternoon, a few hours to sunset, I’m making my last walkthrough of the walls I’ve called home the last seven years.
“You were good to me,” I whisper to the bare space.
Even Harriet has been packed up. Shoved into her pet carrier with force may be more accurate. In any event, blood was spilled, cat yowls were heard across town, and we both wound up traumatized. Small price to pay to have her safe and sound in her travel crate. Hissing at me intermittently. Probably threatening to kill me in my sleep first chance she gets.
The closer I move to the front door, the slower my steps come. Leaving is harder than I thought it would be. Somehow, moving out of my father’s house, away from my family and across the country was easier. Of course, back then, I was on the verge of brand-new adventures. Exciting new horizons beckoned, and the past didn’t hold me near as captive when the future was seeking to set me free.
Today lacks the feeling of a promising new dawn.
Today the comfort of what was holds me dearly and the chill of a cold tomorrow keeps me lingering inside.
But, as time moves on relentlessly, I too find a way to put one foot in front of the other. To the door, out to the curb and to my waiting car.
“Alright, let’s do this thing,” a familiar voice chirps loudly, drawing my eyes to the right along the sidewalk. Holly is strolling toward me, backpack slung over her shoulder and two paper cups in her hands. “I brought coffee, so you have to drive first.”
“What are you doing here?” I’m not one to turn down coffee, but if she forgot that I’m moving and thinks we’re heading out to the local Friday night book swap market like usual, she’s going to be disappointed. And frankly, I’m going to be a little concerned for her. “You remember I’m moving, yes?”
“Of course.” She laughs. “That’s why I’m here. To escort you home.” She arrives at the car and comes to a stop, holding one of the coffees toward me. “I figured your coffee maker was packed before you could make‘the start the drive’coffee.”
It was. Way before.
Last night, it felt like a success having the entire kitchen cleared out after another run to Goodwill. This morning, I nearly cried.
But that’s not the point I’m trying to focus on. “What do you mean you’re escorting me?”
“I mean, I’m going with you. Taking the road trip. Helping you move. How many different ways do you need to hear it?” She sips her coffee, giggling quietly.
“You know you don’t have to do that.”
She nods, eyes bugging out at me. “I do.” Then they narrow as fast as they widened. “I think the real question is, do you know you don’t have to do this alone?”
