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I run my fingers through my hair, check my complexion in the mirror, and then slide out of the car, pressing down my wrinkled white t-shirt and denim shorts with my palms. My knees are weak as I walk up to the front porch steps. I catch my breath, and I try to ignore the anxiety building up in my chest.
I think about the first night J.R. and I met, the way he looked at me back then with his beautiful, blue eyes. I visit that night often in my thoughts, and then I wonder how in the world we ended up here.
I left him. I did it. I got us here. I deserve to have a door slammed in my face. Knox doesn’t deserve it, though, and she’s why I’m here.
I lift my hand, hesitate for just a second, and then knock. I wait. My heart is pounding. I can’t feel my legs. My palms are sweaty. I feel slightly lightheaded.
I wait.
No one comes to the door. I knock again.
I wait.
And wait.
I wonder why we never installed a doorbell.
I wait some more.
No one comes to the door.
I stand on the porch a little while longer, trying to decide what to do next. I could leave. He’ll never know I was here. No. I can’t do that.
I decide I’ll follow the path to the beach. We have a dock along the way and a boat. There’s a good chance he is there. When he wasn’t on the road or writing music, he could be found piddling around on the boat passing time.
As I follow the path, I’m reminded of how beautiful this little trail is. Though we carved the path, the edges came naturally lined with exotic trees and flowers. I smile a little as my feet track over the sandy ground.
The path opens at the end, to the beach. The ocean spreads out beyond that obviously, and then off to the right, just before the end of the trail, the path splits off into the boardwalk that leads out to our dock.
I hesitate for just a moment before I make my way across the boardwalk. I’m walking quietly, as though I’m afraid I’ll wake a monster. Still, the wooden boards creak beneath my feet, and I find myself grimacing with each step. The sea breeze moves through my hair, and I feel myself wanting to melt into the salty air. It’s the smell of home, and it comforts me.
I’m more than halfway across the boardwalk when I raise my head to look out ahead of me. J.R. He’s standing there, having already caught sight of me, looking at me as though he’s just seen a ghost.
His long hair is in a braid, and it trails down his right shoulder to his chest. He’s wearing an open, short-sleeved shirt over a gray tee and a pair of black shorts, and he’s barefoot. Always barefoot when he can get away with it. Me, too.
We both sort of stare each other down for a moment. Time has frozen between us. Then, with much hesitation, we begin walking toward each other. It’s good to see him. He looks good. The same. His blue eyes are hidden behind a pair of black Ray-Bans. I feel like my old self, my heart leaping at the sight of him. I haven’t felt this in years, and it feels good.
“Hi,” I say as we come together in the middle of the boardwalk. He doesn’t look happy to see me. Not even in the least bit.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. J.R.’s tone is flat. He’s emotionless, his brow furrowed.
I feel my heart shatter inside my chest as I see years of pain on his face. He looks as though a wound has just been ripped open again.
“How are you?” I ask him.
“What are you doing here?” he asks again, only this time between gritted teeth.
Maybe I expected a cold welcome, but I guess I shouldn’t have expected a cordial initial conversation. It’s obvious to me now that this meeting probably isn’t going to go the way I had hoped it might. It’s definitely going the way I assumed it would.
“Can we go in the house?” I ask him.
“No,” he says quickly.
“Okay.” I fidget with my fingers nervously. I take a deep breath and consider leaving. I know I can’t, but I turn away from him, anyway. I drop my shoulders, sigh, and then turn back to him. “Well, I’ll just say it then.”
“Say what?” He shifts his weight to his left, but his face is still hard, positioned on me.
This isn’t right. Not here. I’m not going to dump the news on him right here.
