“Thanks, Candace,” I whisper, looking at our hands.
“As a mom, I can’t even imagine losing one of my kids, let alone my husband. I would never in a million years be able to keep going. I’d shrivel up and die.”
I jerk my head to look right at her, the force of the motion causing pain to shoot through my skull again. Stupid wine.
“Signing over his property to a new owner has to be hard for him. And even though his home isn’t there anymore, the land is the last tangible piece of the life he shared with his wifeand daughter. He’s going through something personal he needs to process. And it may take months, years, or even his entire lifetime.”
“Believe me, I know this,” I moan.
“I know you do.” She offers me a slight smile and tucks my hair over my ear. “Don’t forget, you’re still grieving too. Not only over the loss of your dad and grandmother, but also the life you thought you’d have after graduation. I’ve never understood why you stayed in Heartsboro. And I know you have this amazing allegiance to your father. But sweetie, this isyourlife, not his. It’s not too late to go after whatever it is you want. You don’t have to stay in Heartsboro forever in a dead-end job you don’t even like.”
I frown, my words coming out a little slurred. “How do you know I don’t like my job? I’m very good at it.”
“I know you are. And you’re very good at being alone when you don’t have to be.” She stands and looks down at me. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. It might do you some good to take a break. You know, maybe even check out some opportunities here in Atlanta, near April and me. We’d love to have you for an extended stay. It’d be just like old times.”
I plop backward on the mattress, my head spinning. “Old times…” I close my eyes and drift. The last thing I see is Candy’s motherly smile before I pass out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adam
It takes me three and a half days to drive the 2,500 miles to Northern California. At least my van felt achingly comfortable with Molly as my co-pilot, the two of us stopping when we needed a bathroom break or eating when we were hungry. We slept at a campground the first night and at truck stops the other nights, my old life as a vagabond traveling the American highways easy to slip back into. But there were many moments when my heart yearned to be home. And I’m not talking about California.
I’m talking about Heartsboro, Georgia.
I was reminded of the one-stoplight town as I drove across the flat, wide-open landscape of the Midwest, watching the horizon change colors at sunset. When I stopped for gas in the middle of the desert in Arizona and heard the twang of a Willie Nelsonsong crackling over the outdoor speakers. Picking up a sandwich at a deli in Fresno and noticing the pink frosting of a cake protected under a dome on the counter. My brief, but heartfelt voicemail I left Keri in the middle of the night to let her know I made it, ending with the stumbling words, “I love you,” that told her what my heart meant even though my head was fraught with angst and sorrow.
Maybe I shouldn’t have taken off as I did. I admit, panic took over when I got the phone call about the offer on my property. I suddenly felt like everything might disappear before I had a chance to return and say goodbye. But now, isn’t that exactly what I’m doing? Finally saying goodbye?
Roxy told me at the wedding that it was good to see me smiling again. Dancing again. Loving again. She said I should move on from anything holding me back and plant roots in Georgia, where I’ve obviously made great strides in my healing.
She wasn’t wrong.
I was ready to plan a road trip with Keri. Ready to start our photography project as partners. It’s a brilliant idea, and I want to run it by my agent, Dan, to get his thoughts. But then came the phone call from the real estate broker, and my heart stopped. Everything stopped, like a dead-end sign blocking a dangerous road. I panicked, pure and simple. And now I have to finish what I started. I have to face my property one last time and finally sign it over to the new owners with no regrets. This is how I can move forward. This is the only way I can fully immerse myself in my new life with Keri.
The funny thing is, I don’t know why I’ve kept it. I never wanted to rebuild, nor did I share the townsfolk’s resilience in their determination to restore the community. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my life deep in the woods, but my sense of safety vanished. Everything I loved was obliterated. When my land was reassessed at a paltry amount, the taxes were low enough for me to keep it while I figured out my next steps. Now, I’m making the painful journey on the very road where my wife and child died. Disbelief and grief still come in waves, but here I am, half-haunted and uncertain, torn between memory and what little remains.
Roxy was with me the first time I was allowed back into the fire zone. We found nothing but my home’s brick fireplace and chimney still standing. The rest of the house was in ruins, blanketed in ash. I don’t know what I expected today. And I was thrown off by the eerily familiar, unseasonable weather and gusty winds like those on that tragic day two years ago.
For most of my adult life, I lived in this area and grew accustomed to the land. But driving the ghostly roads today has unnerved me. The trees that defined the town and neighboring ridge communities are lost and obliterated. I pass decimated lots and barely recognizable structures awaiting remediation: houses, stores, churches, schools. Everywhere, the ordinary has turned macabre. Chimneys and hearths stand alone, disassociated from homes. A few piles of stacked shells of burned-out vehicles and twisted appliances by the roadside remain, the only remnants of people’s lives. I can’t imagine trying to rebuild amid such devastation.
The landscape is vast without the forest. It feels foreign to me, like another planet. But as I arrive and park near the familiar large boulders at my old driveway entrance, I know I’ve made it. I’ve finally arrived.
I’m home.
The remediated site of my destroyed property is nothing but a gaping hole in the landscape. The area has been bulldozed, the last pieces of my life hauled away in dump trucks, like the other ninety percent of homes around here. I step out of my van and walk across the earth, now scraped and leveled. Molly stays at my heel, sensing something strange with her keen instincts. Maybe it’s my erratic heartbeat or the sweat shining on my brow. Perhaps it’s my wife and daughter’s spirits welcoming me back. Whatever it is, Molly remains loyal, offering gentle licks and soft nudges to my hand.
“Good girl,” I say to her, my voice gruff with fatigue and emotion. A mix of exhaustion, sorrow, and determination rises within me. I want to be honest with myself and allow these feelings to surface, knowing I need to face this head-on to get through it. I don’t want to play victim any longer. I need to climb out of this self-imposed, two-year hole and become a survivor, even if doing so scares me.
The wind picks up dust on the deserted land, the remaining leaves in the sparse trees here and there rustling against the gust. My hair blows back from my face, and I look up into the sky and notice a hawk. The bird is circling in the currents, hovering briefly in the high winds before gliding with slow, heavy wingbeats. I squat nearer to the ground, one hand anchored onMolly’s back. With my free hand, I scoop up a handful of dirt and watch it sift through my fingers, the bits of earth and ash nothing but dust in the wind. There’s nothing left for me here. I know this.
A book I read on grief said that our brains are rewired by reflecting on our progress. I’ve covered a lot of ground, both emotionally and during the 2,500 hundred miles I just traveled on long stretches of highway. I may not be exactly where I want to be, but there’s power in noting the roads I’ve been on and the tiny victories I’ve gathered along the way. Today is one such victory. In those early days, when heartbreak made it hard to rise each morning, convincing myself to get up was a victory too.
Two years later, I wouldn’t trade a single moment to sidestep the sorrow. Grief didn’t make me stronger; it made me softer. My shattered heart will never seal back up. That brokenness is where Mia and Evie live on. Out of pain, I love deeper. Out of absence, I hold others closer, especially Keri. Out of loss, I keep going.
And Roxy’s absolutely right. It’s time to move on.
“Let’s go, Molly.”
