AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And even though Sophia says she’s not sure yet, I taste the truth of it.
When I get home to the empty house, I break out a fresh bottle of whiskey, and I let myself cry.
Two months after Sophia leaves, I get the call about my mother. Come see her now, the doctor tells me. She may not make it until Sunday. This time I put Cocoa in the car with me to drive down to the hospital. It’s not a warm day, and I already know I’m going to need the company on the drive back.
My mom drifts in and out of consciousness, and from the way her body winces, I know she’s in pain. But she’s there enough to look at me and hold my hand. I tell her I love her, that I’m here for her, that everything’s going to be okay. I tell her Sophia went home to Ireland to take care of some things, but she’ll be back, and I’ll send her love.
She dies at nine am the next morning, and that very afternoon, I realize I’ve run out of whiskey. I meander through the house, aimless, Cocoa trailing along after me, sniffing me cautiously as if she can smell the sadness and death on me. I wander into Sophia’s room—I still think of it that way, even though she didn’t sleep here for long. That’s when I notice, on the dresser, she left my mother’s pearl necklace behind. I pick it up, holding the single stone in my hand.
And then I go into my office and open my email. We’ve been corresponding, Sophia and me. She sends me pictures of her family and tells me about what she’s learning and signs all her emails with love. They’ve been less frequent lately, possibly because I always have so little to say back. Cocoa is fine. The house is fine. I’m fine, which is a lie, but a kind one. I don’t want to lay guilt at her feet, make her feel like she owes me something when the opposite is true. She gave my mother the peace that I wouldn’t be alone, and now that I am, I understand why she wanted that for me.
My mother passed away this morning, I write. I told her I’d send you her love, and also that you wished you could be here. I hope all continues to be well in Ireland.
All my love,
Hunter.
I double-check the bottom drawer of my desk, already knowing there’s no alcohol there. I could drive into town for some whiskey, but my body feels heavy, and I’m not even sure I can get myself to the truck.
I stare at the email, realizing the truth of those words. I love Sophia. I was happy while she was here, for the first time in a long while, and I’m completely, utterly lost without her. But she says things are good where she is, and she has stability, security, family, love, all the things she came here looking for, and all things considered, she’s found them all now in a much more likely place than an international dating site.
And this is why I finally stop emailing, send her future message to a folder buried deep in the archives of my inbox, and res
olve once and for all to let her go.
A month later, I’m out chopping wood with my newly sharpened ax. It feels about a hundred degrees—rare for this elevation—and I’ve taken off my sweat-soaked shirt and thrown it over a nearby tree branch. Cocoa is lying in the underbrush, looking at me like I’ve completely lost my mind and just need to join her in wallowing in the shade.
She’s not wrong, but these past few weeks, I haven’t been able to stop moving, to stop working, to stop running. Every time I do, I feel it again. The emptiness. The longing. The pathetic need to get wasted and dwell on what might have been.
I set up another log, heft the ax over my shoulder, and bring it down with a satisfying crack. I don’t even go into town once a week now. There’s no reason when once every three or four weeks for groceries will suffice.
Tires crunch on the road and I put down my ax. I expect to see the ranger come to tell me about a fire warning, or a lost hiker, but it’s a shiny, new sedan that comes rolling up the road and stops beside my truck. Cocoa stands and stretches then gives a token bark and lies back down in the dust.
“Some guard dog,” I say to her.
Then the door to the sedan opens, and I take a step back.
Sophia is standing there, her red curls pulled up in a messy knot on top of her head. “Hey,” she says.
Cocoa leaps to her feet again and bounds toward her, throwing herself bodily at Sophia, who laughs and bends over to pet her.
“Hey, Cocoa. I missed you.”
I realize I’m still standing there, staring at her, and when Sophia fends off Cocoa with a rawhide dog bone—a good choice—she looks up at me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
She hesitates. “I’m home. I hope.”
I shake my head. “But you were at home. You were happy in Ireland, with your family and—”
“And my family is wonderful,” Sophia says. “But I was miserable there. I tried to be happy, I really did. But when you stopped answering my emails, I—”
Her voice breaks off, and I take a step toward her.
“I didn’t want it to end that way,” she continues. “I didn’t want it to end at all. And I know that you got what you needed out of the marriage, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me. I can go back if you want, but I had to know if I came back…if you’d let me stay.”
I take another step toward her, then another, and soon I’m standing in front of her and taking her hands, wondering if by saying what I say next, I’m going to be ruining her life. “Of course I’ll let you stay,” I say. “You never had to leave.”
