Page 103 of Somewhere Without You
“Almost,”I replied, walking to the edge of the porch. I bent down slowly, feeling the blood rush to my head as I sifted through the rocks, carefully picking out a few that called to me. When I stood again, I took a deep breath.“Now I’m ready.”
Inside, I slowly braced myself for what I might find. Katherine had worked tirelessly to clean everything, replacing the broken furniture with new, more modern pieces. I appreciated the effort, but it left me with a strange emptiness. My eyes fell to the floor, landing on the spot where Logan had taken his last breath, right beside me.
“Emily. . .”Katherine’s voice curled over my shoulder, soft and tentative. But I waved her off.
“I’m fine,”I said, folding my legs and sitting down beside the spot. The floor was stained, a dark mix of mine and Logan’s blood, a reminder of the night that would forever haunt me.
“I tried to get it out,”Katherine said, her voice tinged with guilt.“I was going to call someone to redo the floors—”
“No,”I cut in firmly, despite the rawness inside me.“I want to leave it.”
One by one, I placed the stones on the floor, arranging them into a circle. An infinite loop. A never-ending cycle.
I pushed myself to my feet, my fingers gripping the back of the new couch for support. My attention wandered to the mantel, where a new urn sat, quietly waiting.
Katherine followed my stare, and I saw the sadness flicker across her face.“I figured we’d do it together,”she said, crossing the room.“Whenever you’re ready.”
I took a deep breath, my eyes never leaving the urn. “It’s been long enough,” I whispered. “We shouldn’t make her wait any longer.”
Katherine nodded as she lifted the urn with a tenderness that broke something inside me. Together, we stepped back outside, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on my chest.
The garden was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the early afternoon creeping over us. The air held the faint scent of blooming jasmine and freshly turned earth, a gentle reminder that life moves forward even after loss.
“You fixed the fence?”I asked, my eyes tracing the freshly painted boards and the new gate standing firm and bright against the yard.
Katherine carefully lifted the lid.“I only finished what you started.”
Together, we tipped the urn gently, letting the fine, pale ash catch the breeze and scatter over the soil. Winston sat close, his eyes calm but watchful, as if understanding the gravity of the moment.
I closed my eyes, imagining Gran’s laughter being carried away on the wind, her spirit blending with the life around us.
When I opened them again, Katherine set the urn down and folded her hand in mine.
The garden seemed to breathe with us, alive with memories and new beginnings. For the first time in a long while, I felt a quiet peace settle inside me—a promise that while grief never truly leaves, love keeps us rooted, growing stronger.
I paused for a moment, breathing in the warm, fragrant air. Glancing at Katherine, her hand still holding mine, I knew that whatever came next, I wouldn’t have to face it alone.
Winston let out a soft bark, pulling me gently from my thoughts. I smiled, feeling the warmth of the moment settle deep inside me.
Sometimes, letting go isn’t the end—it’s the start of something new.
Fifty Two
Later
“That’sthelastbox,”Dani said, setting it on the floor before flopping onto the couch.
“It’s the only box,”I replied, raising a brow.
She smiled, stroking Henry’s fur as he settled into her lap.“Perks of traveling light.”
Outside, Winston barked from somewhere off in the field, sending off a symphony of other barks as several more dogs joined in.
The Harrison County Animal Shelter lost its funding, but thankfully, none of the animals had to be euthanized. Thanks to Katherine and Grant’s generous donation, we were able to rebuild the barn, allowing Dani and I to open up our own shelter, here at the Magnolia House.
We named it:The Hart Meadows Rescue Garden.
Between referrals from local and out-of-state shelters, and help from privately funded donors, our numbers were manageable—usually fewer than twenty dogs and just a couple of cats at any given time.
