We love you so much, Jameson. Having you home is the greatest gift you could have ever given us—given me.
We are here if you need to yell and be angry. We are here if you need comfort. We are here. You can ask us anything you want. You can give us the silent treatment. You can choose to leave—though we hope you will not.
But remember that in whatever you need to do or feel right now, we will be here on the other side because we love you. And for what it’s worth, if you’ll let her, I think that Avi will be here on the other side as well, because she does too.
All our love,
Grandad & Gran
I wake with a start, my glasses askew on my face and with what I’m pretty sure is drool on my cheek. I pull my glasses off and scrub a hand over my eyes, blinking the world into a semi-blurry reality.
Letters are scattered around me on the bedspread. My legal pad of notes and questions sits on the bedside table. I wipe my glasses clean on my wrinkled T-shirt and slide them back into place.
My dishes from dinner still sit on the table because once I ripped into the first letter last night, there was nothing that could pull me away. What looked like a modest stack of letters actually contained twenty-four—and with them the piece I didn’t even know I was missing was found. I tap my mousepad on my laptop—also still on the bed—and find that it’s dead. Of course it is, because I was up writing half the night before I passed out fully clothed.
The sunlight streaming through my window tells me I slept past breakfast. That’s what happens when you stay up until three a.m. lost in a story, an idea. The new manuscript on my computer may be bare bones, but there’s something that tugs me toward the words, even now after a full night of working on it.
It’s the same way I felt when I was writingJournals of Elsewhereand it’s something I haven’t felt since I turned in the final manuscript for book three. There hasn’t been a story to captivate me like this and there’s something even deeper in this one. More than I ever expected when I picked up that box of letters in the attic.
I got lost in Gran and Grandad’s story last night, pushing my own aside. But in the light of today, I realize how much I learned about myself, my life, my story at the same time. I don’t have all the answers, but maybe I’m learning I don’t always have to.
They didn’t, yet here they are on theother sideas they said in their letter to me, and better for all the things they went through together.
Is that what I want? Someone on the other side? Is that what I’ve been searching for all these years and never found, despite the fact that it was right where I left it?
An ache I’ve always had—like a piece of myself is missing—thrums dully in my chest. I guess a piecehasbeen missing for a long time, I just didn’t know it. But now that I do, I want to fill it—I want to find it.
Within an hour, my disaster writing session is set to rights—all the letters neatly stacked, my computer charging, notes where they should be on my desk—and I’m showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and a fresh T-shirt. I slip on my wellies, aware of the fact that it poured rain all night while I was working and it’ll be a mess outside.
I’ve got a single-track mind, but I allow it to take a small detour…
I find Gran leaning against Grandad’s desk in the kitchen. He sits in the chair and their knees are pressed together, hands laced on top of her thigh. It’s funny to see them this way, almost eye to eye. Grandad is an imposing Scotsman through and through—even with dark circles under his eyes and a cane by his side—and Gran is this petite little thing, a dichotomy I’ve always loved. They’re opposites in so many ways, but perfectly compatible, or at least as perfect as two imperfect people can be.
“Afternoon,” I say, drawing their attention and hesitant smiles.
I walk over and draw Gran into a hug. She seems to melt into it, wrapping her arms around my waist. Then I reach back and grip Grandad’s hand until he also stands on shaky legs and engulfs me.
We’re here, together, on the other side of all of this, and I don’t even need more explanations or apologies. This is family, and it’s all I need.
The chirping of birdsong and the crunch of my boots over the gravel while I walk alongside the loch isn’t enough to distract me from the ringing in my ear as I wait for my dad to answer his phone.
It’s no use putting off the inevitable, and after the clarity of last night, I don’t want to wait. I can’t run from this, nor do I want to.
“Jamie?” Dad’s voice is laced with concern, groggy with sleep. “Are you okay?”
Shit. I once again didn’t consider the time difference.
“Everything’s fine. I’m sorry to call so early.”
“It’s okay,” he says, and I can hear him shifting in the bed. “You’re sure you’re alright? Is Dad okay?”
“Grandad’s good. I just had lunch with him and Gran a bit ago. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
Through the phone, I hear Mum too—though she’s muffled and I can’t make out what she’s saying.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Her voice rings through clearer now.
“Hey. I’m sorry I woke you.” I scrub a hand across my bearded jaw and let my feet carry me up the porch steps.
