By week seven, I’ve barely left the house.
“You're coming for a run,” Porter insists.
“Leave me alone.”
“Nope. Get off your ass. Find your sneakers.”
“Fuck off.”
“I swear, I will drag you behind me on a skateboard if I have to.”
And he probably will if I keep being stubborn.
Those runs with Porter are the turning point.
Once a day, sometimes more.
Health leads to hope.
Hope and light return in ebbs and flows.
But even once I’m back on my feet, I’m still not sure about staying in the city.
I think about moving to the lake, or perhaps Longreach.
“You really wanna throw all this away to work in a motel?” Beth scolds.
“I've worked there before.”
“When you were broke and desperate,” she retorts.
“I’m broken and desperate now,” I sigh.
She flies to the coast again and comes with me to the lake this time.
We sit by the fire until the embers begin to fizzle.
“Promise me you'll give Astra Luna at least another year,” she implores.
“One year at the most,” I grumble.
???
A little over two years later, I step onto the balcony of my new apartment.
Stretching my quads before heading off on a run, I feel like I’ve finally turned a corner.
The idea of selling up and moving to a tiny town still holds appeal.
Maybe somewhere along the coast.
But I’ve put that on the back burner for now.
The company is flourishing thanks to word of mouth.
We’ve reached the point where I’ve had to hire extra staff.
Twelve of them.
