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Deep down, I agree.
He’s so much of my life, though, that I’m not sure I need time and space to welcome any potential memories back. Knowing he’s right doesn’t wash away my fear of the unknown, but I find comfort in having him to come home to when I return.
As much as I’m anxious to discover my old life, I’m also excited. Céline Schroder. It explains why Tuesday didn’t sound like me when I first heard it. Tuesday has become my identity, though, and represents this new life I’m living. It’s the one I want to live.
I put his T-shirt on top of the pile of clothes in the case, claiming it as mine.
“How’s it going? Anything I can take to the door?”
I quickly shut it so he doesn’t see the shirt because I need it more than he does. “No,” I reply, glancing over my shoulder. “Everything will fit in one case.” I zip it closed and am about to pull it from the bench but stop and stare at it as reality dawns. “One case. My entire life fits in one suitcase. It’s not even the largest suitcase you had either.”
Strong arms that make me feel safe wrap around me from behind. His warmth permeates between our bodies, and I lean back, melting into him and wishing I could always be this person. I like me with him.
I grin because I really like him with me, too. Yet, somehow, the next step in my journey doesn’t include him. Everything about that feels wrong, because the way he’s holding me feels so right. He makes it hard to walk away. Walk away for now. Only for now.
He lowers his chin to rest it on my shoulder. “You’re braver than you realize. Don’t be scared, baby,” he whispers, then rubs his hand over my heart. “I may not be with you, but I’m always in here.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and instead of fighting against the pain and loss I’m already experiencing, I give in and let them fall. Curling forward as sobs wrack my frame, I’m scooped into his arms and carried to bed. He settles on the mattress with his back against the headboard, cradling me on his lap. My name, the one he calls me, whispered in prayers of gratitude. “My life is better because I met you, Tuesday . . . lost without you . . . find your way and come home to me again . . .”
I take his words, soaking them into my soul to keep me warm when he’s not around. “I will.” Looking up into his eyes that gleam for me, my breath catches, but I finally manage to say, “It’s not over.”
“We’re not over, baby. We never will be.”
I don’t think for one moment I’ve felt like the wealthy woman the bank statement claims I am. It’s too surreal, but it begins to sink in when we pull up outside the mansion listed in the file. We opted to drive with the logic that it would take less time than dealing with the airport.
It was time we needed.
Hands clasped for hours.
Kisses to my neck.
Whispers in our ears.
Promises to keep.
Commitment.
It’s all so much that my heart broke a few times. Loch held me, making me feel better, but like at the apartment, I worry it might only be a temporary reprieve from the pain ahead. What’s ahead for me to discover?
Through the window, the home looks magical, with snow falling gently, like one you’d find in a snow globe or a picture-perfect Christmas movie set. “Do you think it’s mine?” I ask. “Or my family’s?” Nothing seems far-fetched anymore or out of the realm of possibility. Every day, I receive new information in some form that gets me closer to solving the mystery of me.
Today, the house.
But what else is waiting for me?
Birchwood wreaths with red bows adorn each window, and candles anchor the sills. It’s so inviting, but none of it makes any sense. Curiosity has questions running wild in my mind. Where are the people who live here? Tucked inside by a roaring fire? At work? We’ve sat in the car for a good five minutes, and no one has come out to see who might be here. Who decorated?
Odd.
Loch’s leaning over to see out my window when the smallest of shrugs pops his shoulders. “Guess we’re about to find out. Do you want me to knock?”
I glance at him as if he has all the answers. “Maybe no one is home? Then what?”
“Then we come back later.” He rubs my leg. “Do you want me to stay until you feel more comfortable? Safe.”
When I glance back at the house, I see nothing but a welcoming image before me. How bad can it be? “No, I can do this alone. It’s my home, after all.”
