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“You may go.”
I walk out the door, shutting it behind me.
His words are haunting, but I know I’m doing the right thing. It would be impossible for her to be happy with the man who caused her husband’s death.
Thirty
Brinley
It’s been ten days without Van. I’ve gone over a million scenarios of how we can make this work, but all I see is the pain on his face when he said he’d lost no one until that night. I could clearly see how much that one night haunts him. He worries about me, but I’m a reminder of that loss for him too.
I grab a box and pack up the pictures of Sawyer, going through my drawers and putting away any reminder of him. It’s time I move on. It’s time I find my future, and it’s not going to be in memories of Sawyer.
I realize that every night, I think about Van more. Missing Van more. Yearning for Van more. My sketchbook sits on the floor, and I pick it up, sitting on my bed and flipping through the pages. How did someone who only knew me for a few short weeks know exactly what I needed? How was he able to slowly and gently ease me out of my grief to find myself again?
I tear out the sketch of him naked on my couch and shove it in my drawer. After I’m done packing up my old life, I seal the box with tape and push it to the back of my closet—out of sight but there if I ever want to go through it. Then I grab my purse and sketchbook and head down to my SUV. I stop at the storage locker with all our furniture from the house in it, all of Sawyer’s clothes. Then I call the Salvation Army and tell them I have a locker filled with things to donate and schedule a pickup time. Next, I message Lance and Easton and ask if they’d be willing to meet the Salvation Army here whenever they want to schedule the pickup. They both answer yes. Then I message just Lance and tell him I need a plane, and he responds immediately, telling me he’ll take care of it.
I leave the storage locker, drive over to Bailey Timber, and park next to my mom’s car, heaving out a long sigh when I do.
“Here goes nothing,” I murmur.
My heart hammers the entire elevator ride and the walk to my mom’s office as if I’m on death row.
Will she be mad? Will she cry? I have no idea what her reaction will be. I was her replacement and now she’ll have to start over with someone else.
Her secretary isn’t there, so I knock on her door.
“Come in,” Mom says.
She’s sitting in her desk chair, her reading glasses on, looking over what seems to be a contract.
“Hey, Mom,” I say.
She looks up and drops everything, including her glasses. She probably thought I’d never come out of my apartment.
“Look at you,” she says, sliding her chair out from the desk and standing to walk toward me. She hugs me hard. “It’s so good to see you. You look very put together. Come, let’s talk.” She leads me to the couch.
“I was cleaning out the storage locker. I’m flying to Kodiak after this. I want to get a copy of the report. I want to heal and put this behind me. Then I want to find Van.”
She pats my knee. “I’m so proud of you. This isn’t the easiest decision.”
“I love him, Mom. And I have no idea if he’ll want to be with me, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering if there’s a chance for us.”
“Do you want company?”
I shake my head. “But there’s something else.”
She waits patiently. Here goes nothing.
“When Van was here, and we got closer, he kind of pushed me to do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”
“Yeah?”
I dig into my oversized purse and pull out the sketchbook. I hand it to her, and she rests it in her lap. She glances at me and lifts the cover. She doesn’t say anything but flips through each page, pausing on some longer than others. Then she hands it back to me and we sit in silence.
“Mom?”
She nods and it’s then I notice the tears she’s trying to swallow back. “That seals it. You’re your dad. I’m not sure what you got from me.”
