I give her a small smile. “I do.”
“You got so annoyed with us. All you wanted to do was shadow your father at the clinic.”
“But that’s different. That’s what I do, it’s not who I am.”
“You’re right,” she says. “A veterinarian isn’t who you are but being determined and sure of yourselfis. But I think somewhere along the way, you stopped trusting in that.” She takes my handin hers and presses it to my heart. “You stopped listening to this.”
“I don’t know how,” I admit. “I can’t hear it anymore.”
“It’s still there. You just have to quiet the rest of the noise so you can listen to it.”
“But how?” I ask. “How do I do that?”
She kisses my temple and pulls me into her arms, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m a fan of watching the sunrise. The world makes a lot more sense there.”
34
MJ
I’m onlyin the car for a moment when I know I’m not going home. There’s one more stop I need to make.
The way to Ron’s house is thankfully seared in my mind because if I had to call first, I might lose my nerve. I might be tempted to take the easy way out, but this conversation needs to happen in person.
My fingers tap the steering wheel in an off-tempo beat to “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” playing on the radio. I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth in a futile attempt to soothe my nerves.
It doesn't take me long to get to Ron’s, but I argue with myself the whole way.
Is this the right thing to do? Am I being crazy? Isthiscrazy?
The porch light is on when I pull into the asphalt driveway, and there’s still light seeping out from around the curtains. I cut the ignition and get out of the car, shutting the door with a soft thud. It’s not too late to back out. I can just go home.
But I don’t go home. I tread carefully up the shrub-lined walk, the tap of my boots against the concrete mingling with the laughter wafting outside from the house.
I release a sharp exhale as I hit the top step. My finger is hovering centimeters from the doorbell when I drop my hands back to my sides.
This is crazy, I’m being a crazy person. It’s Christmas. He’s with his family. This can wait till tomorrow.
“What are you doing, Myra Jean?” I mutter, backing down the steps. “You need to?—”
An ear-piercing bark startles me and I yelp, tripping over my own two feet, landing butt-first in one of the bushes.
June Bug appears in the glow of the window, her head hooked around the curtain, squawking like a deranged goose. She must be standing on top of the couch, unless she’s grown giraffe legs since I saw her last.
The laughter inside comes to a halt, and the best I can hope for is to get my butt out of this bush before Ron—or worse, his son—opens the door. If I thought I was going to be able to scoot out of here unnoticed, I was terribly mistaken.
I do a lightning-fast rundown to make sure nothing’s broken and begin to hoist myself up, my fingers snagging between the branches. I’ve nearly regained my footing when I slip on a wet leaf, launching myself farther into the bushy pit, and I can’t help but think this is some sort of karmic retribution for not refusing that damn bikini wax Rose tried to pawn off on me.
I’m going to die of embarrassment, trapped in the bushiest bush that ever dared to bush.
How poetic.
The lock clicks, sealing my fate. Instead of fighting it, I allow myself to sink deeper into the shrubbery. Maybe if I’m very still, he won’t notice I’m here.
“Myra Jean,” Ron’s voice calls. “Is that you?”
I pop my head up and nervous laughter spills out of me, as though the only thing that had been keeping it in was the unfortunate angle of my head.
“Oh, hi there,” I say, popping my head up as though it’s totally normal for me to be here. “Merry Christmas!”
