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Fog.
The breakup of the fog began with the photo.
I never knew quite how I did it, but one morning, right before I left the bedroom. I touched the photo, same as always. Only this time, I was somehow too strong. I knocked the frame off the table. It hit the hardwood floor, and the glass shattered. I stared. I couldn’t fathom quite how it had happened. I had touched the photo a thousand times, and it never fell off the table. What had I done wrong…or right? I wanted to leave it on the floor, all the glass, everything. I wanted to find my path through the fog and get Emily to daycare and me to work. I wasn’t prepared for any deviation from the worn ways through the fog. The mouse knew one way through the maze. Change the maze, and the mouse starves.
I couldn’t leave the mess. Broken glass was a threat. I fetched the broom and dustpan. On my knees, mindful of the glass, I swept up everything. I was careful. No blood. I grabbed the frame and replaced it on the table. It wasn’t the same. Maybe it was the lack of glass. Maybe it was the angle of the light. I didn’t know what it was. I knew that it was different, changed. And it was changed for a reason. It was an omen or a sign of some sort.
Wayne had changed.
I needed to change also.
The message seemed obvious. I needed to find the sunshine that would burn through the fog. A new path, I had to walk a new path. For the first time in years, I called in sick. I told Emily to put on her swimsuit. We were going to the beach.
There was no fog at the beach. We were greeted by gulls, pelicans, and waves that rolled onto the sand in a never-ending march. I watched as Emily dug holes in the sand before she filled her bucket with water and filled the holes.
Another sign.
It was time to empty my current life and refill it with something new, something that, like water, would stimulate life. First, a broken picture frame. Second a hole filled with water. The fog had retreated. The sun warmed my skin. I waded into the waves with Emily. The ocean welcomed us. There was no fog there, only the waves and spray and call of the birds. Life beckoned. Full day chased away the cold, gray fog.
I heard them before I saw them.
The chant was familiar. The cadence was as old as Roman legions trotting over stone bridges. I turned. Boots, camo, tees, and sunglasses, and the leader carried a flag. Marines. I knew them. Young, training, running in the sand to build strength and stamina. For some seconds, the fog returned. I stood in the shallow waves, staring as they ran past, disappearing in the glare from the white sand.
“Was that daddy?” Emily asked.
“No, no, it wasn’t,” I answered as I wiped a tear from my eye.
The fog retreated with the Marines. I looked into the blue sky and smiled, really smiled. I had banished the fog for the moment. I needed a way to keep it at bay.
For the next week, I fought the fog that I found creeping back into my life. It waited for me at work. It welcomed me to my parents’ house. It walked Emily into school in the morning. It was worse when it rained, as there was no sun to guide me. The cold fog was a lurking monster, a thing with the patience of a mountain. I knew it would win if I did nothing. I replaced the glass in the picture frame. I would drift back into my familiar tracks. I would forget the everyday. It would own me.
Change.
I had read once that if people really wanted to change, they needed to move. If a recovered addict returned to the “hood,” the clean addict would more often than not revert to the dirty addict. An ex-alcoholic would soon be an alcoholic if he visited the bars. I had to move. It was that simple and that scary.
I didn’t know the headhunter. She sounded nice, and asked if I would be interested in another job somewhere other than Wilmington. I was about to hang up when I remembered the glassless frame.
“Where?” I asked.
“Chicago.”
Chapter three
Ihadforgottenhowstressful moving could be. Even with my new employer paying the moving company, I still worked like the devil to carefully pack the valuable and fragile items I couldn’t bear to have broken. There was no guarantee that everything would make it to Evanston without some breakage. I could only do my best. My computer and jewelry would travel in Tesla, along with Emily. I intended to stop for two nights along the way, which would be fun for Emily. She liked restaurants and motel rooms. I simply wanted to reach my new house before the movers arrived.
The “new” house.
It wasn’t new. In fact, it was fifty years old, with brown brick, a new roof, three bedrooms, a basement (rarely found in Wilmington), new stainless-steel appliances, a good furnace, and an air conditioner that was on its last legs. The realtor assured me that air conditioning was rarely needed in Evanston. A breeze from the lake would keep everyone comfortable. As a girl from the South, I took the information the realtor gave me with a grain of salt. Where I came from, it was the furnace that was not used too often. Still, the house had built-in bookcases, a large fireplace, hardwood floors, and a playroom for Emily. Cable and wi-fi would allow me to work from home when I needed to. Best, it wasn’t too far from the bank building and my new, larger office and its windows. Windows were a plus.
Online maps showed me where I would be living. Evanston was just north of Chicago and home to Northwestern University. I had the idea that Emily and I could explore the campus on hot summer days. Lake Michigan, a vast lake, was a mile away. It had a beach and cold water. I wondered if Emily and I would be brave enough to swim. Somehow, I didn’t think so. We would have to find a pool somewhere. I had managed to enroll Emily in the local school system. That realtor praised the schools, but then, what would one expect from a salesperson? I knew some kids might make fun of Emily’s accent. I told her she could handle that. If they teased her, it was because they were listening to her. That was a good thing. I expected tears. What eight-year-old didn’t cry on occasion?
We did beat the moving van. A night camping out in front of the fireplace with the pillows and blankets we had packed pleased Emily no end. I read to her by flashlight, so cool. Unlike Emily, I didn’t fall right to sleep. Different house, different sounds, and hardwood floor, it was well after midnight when I drifted off. As was my luck sometimes, the movers arrived at 7 AM.
At noon, Emily and I ran to the closest burger place and brought back lunch for the moving crew. They were thankful, but I could tell that what they really wanted was cash. Who didn’t? Emily and I kept out of the way, which was a good thing. We sat outside and studied the changing leaves. We were used to autumn in North Carolina. The trees were very different from down south.
“Does it snow here?” Emily asked.
“Sometimes. I’m not sure how much. Not too much.”
