Page 51 of I Will Always Love You (Maybe)

“And to the one I hurt. You know who you are, but to protect your privacy, I am not using your name. Just know that, even if you never speak to me again, I am so grateful we met. You unlocked a piece of me that I thought was gone forever and gave me the greatest gift I could have imagined—you allowed me to dream again. I will always be indebted to you.”

My heart is splitting, and the tears are flowing, thick and fat and rolling down my cheeks, but everything in me knows that this was the right thing to do. This is much deeper than trying to win my girlfriend back or apologizing after a fight. This is saying a sorry to my listeners, to the people who trusted me, and believing that whatever happens after this, I will be okay. I’m praying to God that it is enough for Josie.

Because I know right now, it’s enough for me.

“All right all, I am signing off today. Maybe forever. It’s been a wonderful ride, and thank you for being on this journey with me. I will miss you all. Colby.”

THIRTY-FOUR

COLBY

The sunbeams pour into the skylight and even though this is normally the time I’d tug on my sleeping mask and go back to bed for a few hours, I don’t. Oddly, last night after I sent the recordings to Josie, and then recorded and uploaded my final episode, I thought I’d toss and turn all night, waiting to see a response.

But something totally unexpected happened.

I fell asleep immediately.

I roll over in the bed and check my phone to see if Josie has replied, and my heart sinks that she didn’t. It’s okay, though. Of course, I’m heartbroken and had grand visions of her driving here in the middle of night to crawl into bed with me and profess her love, but I also know that isn’t reality. I’m not even sure if she saw the email, much less listened to all the recordings or the show. And, to be true to my word, I won’t contact her again and find out. She drew her boundary line, and I need to accept it, even though my heart is shattered.

“Come on, girl. Let’s go potty.” I slide out of the bed, throw on a sweatshirt over my pajamas, and stuff my feet into sandals.

Oh, the joy of sandals. Well, technically Crocs, because they’re more practical in this terrain, but sock-less shoes after a long winter is pretty damn dreamy. With Memorial Day weekend right around the corner, the weather is absolutely glorious. That perfect mix of warmth with no humidity, verging on shorts and T-shirt weather, is my favorite.

The hot tub is bubbling over, and today, after breakfast, I’m going in. After everything that happened with Josie, I haven’t stepped in the tub. Even though I went all these years tubbing solo, once I had her in it, it didn’t feel the same to go back to it alone. But today is a new day. Today, I will sit in the tub, and breathe in the nature, and think about what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.

Because I did it. I told the world who I was. I came clean, and I feel so incredibly free. I thought that I would be overcome with anxiety. That I’d fret about my livelihood, that I’d have to take on a job in finance again, that maybe I’d even have to sell my beloved home and move elsewhere. I thought that I’d be worried about the backlash and what people would say, and hateful comments about being a fraud.

But even though my chest aches for Josie, I feel nothing but freedom. What may have originally started out as a grand gesture, quickly changed. This was not about me trying to win Josie back. This was me officially shedding the very last piece of the protective shield I’ve armored myself with since Amelia died.

I dig my foot into a large stone stuck into the ground, and when it releases from the marsh, I rub off the dirt with my palm and hold it to the light to try and determine what type of rock it is. It’s beautiful, a color that I’m not sure I’ve seen before out here. Maybe this will be my new thing—rock collecting. I love agate hunting, and I live in Minnesota, dammit. The geology is spectacular. Time for me to discover more. About this area, about me.

Because yes, I am a widow. But you know what? I am so much more. Being a widow can no longer be my sole identity. I am also a dog mom, and a podcast host, and a damn good cook. I’m a daughter and a sister who desperately needs to reconnect with her family. I am a lover of books and crocheting and watching really terrible reality TV. I am an unashamed lover of cupcakes, and hater of edamame (no matter how much soy sauce or butter I add). I’m a lover of living in the woods, and chopping wood, of nature, and of naps.

I am more than just a person with a dead wife.

I am a survivor.

The air is so rejuvenating. Is there any other better time in Northern Minnesota than late May? The summer on the cusp of breaking through. The winter already gone and forgotten. The smell of lilac trees and pine, the rush of the rivers, the creeks at their peak from all the snow runoff. My mood has lifted, but there’s a lingering pinch in my heart. I have no idea what Josie will say, if anything.

Kona and I are almost halfway home from our afternoon walk when she starts barking wildly. My chest freezes for a moment, and I pat my pocket to confirm the bear spray is ready and loaded. When I look around, though, there’s no bear. But Kona is a hell of a lot more intuitive than I am, and my hair stands on edge. “It’s okay, girl,” I say, patting her on the side. We walk a little more, and Kona starts tugging me upwards, with her fat, floppy tail wagging.

My heart leaps. Maybe? Could it be? I scan the woods, turn in a full three-sixty, squint and see nothing. Oh… there. A bunny hops out from his hiding place and scurries across the path. My heart drops. Cute of course, but by some miracle (delusion, perhaps?) I thought Josie would be here. She’s probably working today, back from her lunch break, logging in a pet chicken with a raspy cough. Or she’s squatting down in her favorite pink cherry scrubs, rubbing an animal on the back while calming the owner and assuring them their loved one is in good hands.

The earth crunches below my hiking books as I walk a few more steps, up the hill, and I stop. Kona is barking and wagging her tail, and my heart thuds against my chest. Am I dreaming? Is this the product of me feeling this incredible relief that my mind is manifesting all of my hopes and dreams, and seeing what else I can handle?

Because at the top of the hill stands Josie. My heart leaps into my chest, drums against the column of my neck, and I freeze. Kona absolutely cannot hold back her excitement, and before she tears my arm off, I release the leash. With her tongue flapping, and tail wagging, she runs.

And so do I.

I don’t take my eyes off her. I want to make sure I’m not dreaming, make sure this isn’t a mirage, elicited by the golden sun cutting through the dense forest and the feelings of hopefulness that have overtaken me.

As the earth crunches beneath my boots and Josie sharpens into focus, she drops her gaze from mine and squats next to Kona, absorbing all of Kona’s doggie kisses and scratching behind her ears. The hope running through my heart is electric and warm, but also tight. I don’t know what Josie’s going to say. Is this a goodbye forever, or let’s stick with being friends, or let’s dive in together and shoot for something wonderful?

Whatever it is, I’m braced and ready for it.

By the time I reach the top of the hill, I’m sort of regretting running because all I can mutter out is a heavy-breathed, “Hey.”

Josie rises from squatting, with a soft grin, and pushes back a swipe of her soft pink-blond hair. “Hey,” she says, digging the tip of her toe into the mossy ground.