Page 8 of Peripheral Vision

I’ve got her. - J.

The smile that curls my lips is involuntary. A cold, self-satisfied grin. Jeffries doesn’t waste time.

I tap my phone’s screen again, quickly composing a response:

Good. Get everything. I need it all by tonight.

Another vibration.

Understood. She’s been on the move a lot lately. Changingaddresses, I think.

That’s no surprise to me, considering I’ve witnessed her efforts in person, but that isn’t information that needs to be shared. I let the phone drop back into my pocket. The thoughts swirling in my mind feel sharper now, clearer. This isn’t just about getting close to her anymore. It’s not just about finding out where she’s been or what she’s been up to. It’s about making sure she understands. I walk past the familiar street corners, the shadows growing longer as the sun begins to set. The city is always alive, but it feels quieter now, less forgiving—like it’s holding its breath. Dylan’s life is about to get much smaller and I will be at the center of it, whether she realizes it or not. I may not be able to talk to her yet, I may have to bide my time still, but my little muse has no idea that she’s already captured in my frame while I’m still in her peripheral vision.

Chapter

Six

DYLAN

As soon as I get home, I kick off my heels and start up the stairs to get out of the suffocating material of my dress. My anxiety from the funeral paired with the boiling heat do not mix well. I reach behind me and walk around the various moving boxes in my room as I attempt to unzip my dress, but it keeps catching on the material. My mind racing takes my focus out of orbit even more as I attempt to change the angle on my zipper, and I end up falling feet over ass over one of the boxes.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, I decide to just lay there as Alaska comes up to me and lays her head on my stomach.

“Yeah, I miss him too,” I whisper as I stroke her head. I’ve been fighting the tumultuous whirlwind of the last two weeks and am slowly losing the battle, if the indication of wetness on my cheeks gives any inkling. I’ve always prided myself on my aptitude of strength but… “I’m tired of being strong, Dad.”

I wonder how much weight one person can carry on their shoulders before their bones start to crack and crumble to dust. I feel as though thousands of little chips have been slowly destroying my resolve, from the moment I came into this world until now. Dozensof little moments that make up this one big one as I realize that I am honestly, truly, alone for the first time in my life. Each time my dad left on a deployment, my time left behind was difficult, always holding my breath until I got the report that he was coming home, alive. And even then, my grandmother was well enough until I turned seventeen. That one year supporting her and myself as she slowly deteriorated wasn’t as empty as it is now. My uncle?—

I sit up and anger rises through me. “That bastard…” He didn’t come. He didn’t come to his own brother's funeral. I only spoke with him shortly once we got the news, and the despair that I swore I heard in his voice convinced me that he would be here. Granted, he never vocalized for sure… but still. I look for my phone, considering calling him, but my soul is too tired to continue caring. Too tired to care, but not tired enough to get rest. The house is almost packed, the furniture and a few small items I have emotional attachment to being the only things left. If it wasn’t because of my sweet neighbors and a few of my dad’s friends, this process would still be in the beginning stages. I stand up, giving the zipper on my dress another tug before it finally releases, and I quickly change, making the decision to get the few small items organized together and into my car so that I’m ready to make my leave tomorrow.

I gather everything from photo albums, picture frames, wall art, electronics, military awards and memorabilia, and some of my dad’s favorite shirts and jackets, and put them in a box together, setting them by the front door. As for everything else, most of it is going to Goodwill and shelters for those in need. The chips in my shoulder continue to break off until the pain radiates to my chest as the past I’m saying goodbye to becomes rooted in time.

Takingone last long look at the house before I drive away, I turn the key to the ignition and give Alaska a scratch on the head, where she is sitting in the passenger seat. The movers are already on their way over to my rental while I’ve been dragging my feet. While we have had to move around some, nothing has ever quite felt like home like this place. I’m not sure if I truly believe that, or if it’s because Dad is dead, and this is one of the last places I have warm memories of him. Either way, I guess it doesn’t matter now. I put the address into my mapping system, turn onPink Skiesby Zach Bryan, and back out of the driveway. I give a small wave to the neighbors where they stand on their porch, Thea included, before stopping by the exit gate and handing over my credentials once and for all, including the house key. The guard doesn’t say much, only nodding his head in thanks and wishing me luck.

The drive, mercifully, isn’t too long; five hours give or take, and I call Thea when I arrive to let her know I’m safe. If there is anything I’m grateful for at this point in my life, it’s that she cares enough to check in regularly with me. I’m not sure if she does it because she worries about me on some deeper level or if it’s because she knows that she is the only other person I have left, but I don’t question it. Sometimes it’s better to love blindly than forage fruitlessly for what could be someone's own vanity. Not that I would ever consider Thea vain. As I turn the ignition off in my truck, I search beyond where I parked on the street to find my landlords waiting by the garage as they guide the movers inside the house. Every box has been labeled with what is in it and where it should be located, so ideally, I won’t have to lug about too much when I start to unpack. Hopping out of the driver's seat, I whistle to Alaska to follow along with me so she can adjust to the new smells and meet my landlords too.

“Dylan,” the older lady whose name is escaping me says as she reaches out to me with both hands. Grasping my hand between the two of hers, she shakes it and goes on to say, “This is Grant, my husband, and although you and I had been introduced when you came by to sign the lease, Clara.” Thank goodness she saved me theembarrassment of having to admit that I forgot. She releases my hand, and I reach out to shake Grant’s. He wasn’t present the day I met with Clara.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for allowing me to stay here.”

“The pleasure is all ours. When Clara told me the reason for your moving to the area, we knew in our hearts that you were the right choice. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances, and I’m sorry for your loss. What your daddy died doing, albeit tragic, is also a great honor to his country.” He releases my hand and offers me a soft smile that turns into an airy chuckle as Alaska bounds up to us. “And who is this lass?”

Smiling, I bend down to ruffle her fur. “This would be Alaska.”

“Ah, what a fun name. She must like the snow.” He winks, and I don’t miss the irony in his statement being that we live somewhere where snow is a foreign concept.

“Is there anything we can do to help you get settled in? Would you like us to bring dinner over to you later so that you don’t have to cook amidst unpacking?” Clara asks.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose. You guys have done enough just by renting this to me and being my welcome party.” Standing up, I ring my hands, feeling uncomfortable.

“It’s not a bother, Dylan. Our children and grandchildren live states away, we’d love an excuse to cook for someone else for once. Please. Do you have any allergies?”

I shake my head. “Thank you, truly. That is so kind of you both.”

Clara offers a broad smile as she and Grant begin to walk down the driveway. “We will be back after a while. You have our phone number, so don’t hesitate to call in the meantime if you need anything else.”

I wave them off and call Alaska back from where she started to follow them and enter the house. The movers have all but finished, the last boxes being placed before I receive the invoice, and I inwardly groan at the level of work I have ahead of me. In hindsight,maybe paying the company to reassemble some of my furniture would’ve been worth it after all. I don’t have to do it all at once, as many others would tell me, but the other version of myself finds that completely unacceptable. So I get to work, starting in my bedroom. This way if I don’t finish, at least I will be able to fall into a comfortable bed at the end of it.

Over the next several hours I make decent headway, finishing my bedroom and the bathroom and moving onto the kitchen and living room just in time for Clara and Grant to knock on the front door. “Shit.” I should’ve considered setting up the dining table first since it is sans legs right now. “Coming!” I yell.

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