“Damn fool woman.” I took my next box outside, ready to shout across the distance, but she was gone.
And the blankets with their golden warmth with her.
I slammed the door.
What the hell was I worried about her for anyway?
I stared down the hallway to my office which only incensed me more.
Ignoring the dark hallway, I crossed to the kitchen and rummaged through my fridge for a Diet Coke and a sleeve of Thin Mints from my freezer. Still too unsettled to deal with the kitchen, I wandered into my room as I plowed through the sleeve of sugar.
My bed was too big for the space. Being over six-foot-three, I needed a king-sized bed and the bedrooms in these older houseswere made for much smaller people. Between my California King mattress and the heavy wood frame, the bedside tables butted against the wall and the matching dresser took up the entire wall in front of the bed.
At least there was enough room to walk.
Barely.
I made the bed with navy sheets I found in one of the boxes and a gray plaid blanket in deference to the drafty windows.
Sweat and cold had worked its way into my bones. Hoping a shower would revive me, I was pleasantly surprised to find great water pressure. Being from California, water was a luxury. Being able to let the hot water steam up the shower and pummel my shoulders went a long way to improving my mood.
I dried off and reached into a box for a pair of sweatpants and found an old 49ers sweatshirt.
I crushed the logo into my fist. The memory of Christopher and me at that Super Bowl was like punch to the gut.
I took the box cutter to the heavy fabric and slashed it to ribbons, letting the pieces fall back into the box.
I dug in and found another sweatshirt from a baseball game, and still one more from the basketball playoffs, each of them full of memories with my best friend.
The one person I always thought would have my back.
With each rip of cloth, my rage only increased until the box was brimming with confetti of my past.
I kicked the box into the hallway, jamming my feet into my sneakers. I needed air. I pulled my parka off the hook near the door and yanked it on over my naked chest.
The cold snow only fueled the lion living in my chest.
The pain.
The betrayal.
The numbness cracked.
I skidded down the snow slick path to the beach below.
The fat flakes were still coming down, and I didn’t know the terrain. The pain in my ankle barely registered as I crashed into the icy sand.
My fingers screamed as the sand scraped at my skin and the cold snow instantly burned my skin.
I wasn’t sure how long I laid in the sand, my shoulder pulsing at the position and the freezing ice.
Who knew that sand turned into clumps of impossible ice?
I should remember that for my book.
A nose snuffled at my ear.
I shrugged it off, but the animal came back, nudging me.
