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It was nearly midnight. I wasn’t tired. How could I sleep? My eyes felt bloodshot. The darkness of the day wrapped around me, and I shivered. The glow of the television illuminated my tiny living room. Kelley laid on one end of the couch, I on the other. We managed to drag a blanket over our legs, but still, we hadn’t spoken in hours.
Then, there was a knock at the door. A frantic knock. The kind of knock that sends a person straight to their feet. The change in sound, the break of the silence, startled Kelley and me both. We looked at each other, and then I slid off the couch, walking carefully, quietly to the door.
I lifted myself to my tiptoes to see through the peephole on the door, but it was a pointless effort. I had never been able to see through those things, and I often found myself frustrated at its existence. It was useless.
My hands were shaking as I slid the chain from the door, and then I turned the deadbolt to unlock it. The door opened slowly, and I peeked through the four-inch opening, cautious of whomever was on the other side. My eyes adjusted to the brighter hall lighting outside, and as they did, I found myself filled with an emotion I didn’t expect. Relief.
I didn’t know whether to fall on the floor or jump into his arms. I even briefly considered shouting at him for making me think that he was dead. As I sorted through everything I wanted to express in one single sentence, the only thing I could manage was a whisper. “J.R.” And then he did the rest.
J.R. stepped into my apartment while scooping me into his arms at the same time. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and I buried my face in his neck. All of the tears that I had been holding back finally broke through the dam and flowed freely down my cheeks.
J.R. placed my feet back on the floor, but I couldn’t stop holding his face in my hands. My palms were on either side of his cheeks, thankful for his beard, thankful for his warmth, thankful for him. My eyes were wet with tears, gazing into his own wet, blue eyes.
“I thought you were…” I couldn’t even say the words out loud. “I thought…”
“I couldn’t call you,” he says quickly, cutting me off so that I didn’t have to say the words out loud. “I lost my phone somehow in the hysteria of everything. My flight was canceled, along with every other flight in the country. I rented a car, and I drove for ten hours to get us back here.”
I pushed a strand of his hair behind his ear. He looked weary.
“Are you okay?” he asked me. His voice was hoarse, too.
“I’m okay. I’ve had Kelley here all day.”
Kelley approached us with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “How is it out there?” she asked him.
J.R. shook his head. “Like a silent chaos.” He pushed his hand through his hair, and I noticed his hands were shaking, too.
I wrapped my arms around J.R.’s waist, and then I pressed my face against his chest. I listened to his heartbeat, very grateful that he still had one. J.R. lifted my face toward his, and then he kissed me. It’s different—like he had thought he might never kiss me again.
“I love you, Rachel,” he said to me.
He had never said those words to me before, and I thought that maybe he said it to me because of the emotions from the day. Maybe he didn’t mean it, but I knew I loved him. And so, I returned with, “I love you, too.”
8
Present
Being back home is such a strange feeling. I love this town, and I have missed it. I transferred my roots to the Upstate of South Carolina when I started at the university, but after graduation, J.R. and I moved back here. I’m not sure why. As rough as my childhood was, it made zero sense that I wanted to come back home. But I did. We did.
When I left J.R., I moved back to the Upstate to be closer to Kelley. It was the only thing that made sense back then, and J.R. never knew exactly where I had gone. He had looked for me, though, and he had even paid Kelley a visit one night. I was with her then, and I spent thirty minutes hiding in a closet while he shouted at her for not giving up my whereabouts. Staying in that closet was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Everything inside of me was screaming at me. Begging me to run to him. But I was runningfromhim. The worst part was it was for no real reason.
This town hasn’t changed. It remains the same. It’s got an retro charm that tends to remind me of simplicity, goodness, happiness. The island is stocked with historical cottages that have been exposed to the salty elements for nearly a century. There are no high-rise hotels or huge resorts. There are “Protect the Sea Turtles” signs everywhere. People riding bikes. People walking their dogs. Dogs walking their humans. It’s just Tybee. Small, cozy Tybee. It’s my home, no matter my history here.
I turn my car down a small, one-lane dirt road: Beachside Circle. It’s a little street, lined with tall oaks covered in Spanish moss. I’ve always loved the cottages along this road. Most of them are painted in pastel colors. I like to think of it as a rainbow, with our home being the pot of gold at the end. J.R. always thought that was slightly corny.
Our tiny, white cottage is tucked back at the end of the street, behind some oak trees, with a small, dirt driveway that allows parking for two. Our cottage has a long front porch with black rocking chairs and a front porch swing. The front door is an old door we salvaged from an eighteenth-century home that was being torn down on the island years ago. We hung gray hurricane shutters on the windows and carved out a small dirt trail that starts in the front of the house and twists back to the ocean.
When J.R. and I bought the place, it was a train wreck. J.R. thought I was insane for wanting the house so badly; but it was cheap, and cheap was what we needed at the time.
“It should be bulldozed,” J.R. had said.
But being the innovator that I am, I sketched out some renovation ideas for the old cottage. We hired out some contractors, did a little of the work ourselves, and six months later, had a brand-new home.
“I’m glad we didn’t bulldoze it,” J.R. had told me as we lay in bed together that first night in our home. I had smiled, proud of what we had accomplished.
It was a beautiful home. It still is. Even as I sit in front of it now, I can’t help but think how happy Knox would have been growing up here. How perfect we would have looked bringing our baby home to this house.
I park in my old parking spot, to the right of J.R.’s truck. The reality of what I’m doing here sets in, and my heart begins to pound. My palms go clammy. Maybe Kelley was right. Maybe my plan isn’t the greatest. He could slam the door in my face. That would be terrible, wouldn’t it? Drive all the way down here only to have him slam the door in my face.
