Page 27 of Somewhere Without You
“What isn’t? You’re leaving me here, after everything that’s happened?”The tearsI’dfoughtso hard to hold backfinallyspilled down my cheeks.“I should haveknownbetter. I should’veknownyouweregoing to abandon me. . . again.”
Katherine flinched.“Grant’s already asking questions,”she mumbled.“AndI can’tjustleave my kids without any explanation.”
I wanted to scream, to tell herthatwasn’tgoodenough, but the words stuck in my throat. In the end, Iknewitwasn’tfair to blame her. Shehada life here, agoodone, and itwasn’ther responsibility to care for me anymore.Butthathollow ache in my chestfeltlike a betrayal all the same.
“What about Gran?”I asked.
Katherine fidgeted with the keys to the Focus.“Her ashes are waiting at Wyger’s funeral home in Charleston. Everything’s been paid for.Justgive them your name.”
I swallowed hard.“You’re notevengoing to say goodbye?”
“I said goodbye the day I left,”she replied, her eyesfinallymeeting mine.“I’ve made peace with it. Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
I thought of the last few days—of the doting sister who refused to leave my side. I stoodtherefor a moment, my eyes fixed on the car. Iwasdrowning in a sea of unmet expectations and lost promises.
“Where did youevengetthis thing?”I asked, motioning to the car.
Katherine’s lips twitched upward in a half-smile.“Craigslist,”she confessed. She dug around in her bag and pulled out a small phone, its screen spiderwebbed with cracks.
“Seriously?”I said, taking the phone from her.
“The guy at the pawn shop sold it to me for ten bucks,”she shrugged.“There’s no way to trace it, and you’ll need something in case of an emergency. It’s prepaid, and already loaded with minutes.”
I opened the driver’s side door, wincing at the mustysmellof cigarette smoke and stale fast food. I rolled down the windows, desperate for fresh air.
“BeforeI forget. . .”Katherine said, handing me an envelope. I hesitated before opening it, and when Ilookedinside, my stomach dropped at the sight of dozens of bills stuffed into the small pocket.“There’s ten thousand dollars inthere. It’s not much, and it won’t last forever, but it shouldgetyou by for a while.”
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. “I don’t want your money.”
“You might not want it, but you’re going to need it,” Katherine said, rolling her eyes.“EvenifJackson doesn’t cut you off, he’ll be watching your account like a hawk. I don’tknowif I’ll be able to send more, so only buy what you need.”
I took the envelope with a sigh and shoved it into the glove compartment. Thiswasn’ta“seeyou later,”or“call me when yougetthere.”Neitherof usknewwhenwe’dseeeach other again.Maybenever.
Ifeltmy chest tighten as I climbed into the car. Despite the windows being rolled down, Icouldhardlybreathe. Everything about thiswaswrong. We should be making this trip together.Buther lifewashere now. All Ihadwasthis junky red Focus and an old pink suitcase filled with nothing but broken dreams.
“I guess this is itthen,”I said, though part of mewasstill hopingshe’dchange her mind.
Katherine raised her hand in protest.“I’ve never beengoodat goodbyes, and I’m not about to start now.”Itwastrue. The night she left Windhaven, she vanished into the dark like a ghost, leaving nothing behind but a note on the kitchen table—onethatGran found the next morning.
I wanted to say something, anything, to stop her. To ask her to stay, to tell herthatI couldn’t do this alone.
“I’ve got to go,”she added, as if the wordsweresomehow easier than the silence.
BeforeIcouldrespond, she leaned in through the window and kissed me on the forehead—a quick peckthatfeltmore like a dismissal than a farewell.
Andjustlikethat, shewasgone.
Iwatchedher disappear in the rearview mirror until allthatremainedwasmy own reflection. Iwasa stranger. Ibarelyrecognized myself anymore—bruised, battered, andutterlydefeated.
Ifeltthe tears start to spill again. I wiped them awayangrily, as if erasing them would make it all go away.Butit didn’t. Nothing would.
Iwasalone.Completelyalone.
I shifted into reverse andslowlypulled out of the parking lot.WhenI first arrived in San Diego, itfeltlike the beginning of a fresh start.Butnow, Ihadoverstayedmy welcome. Itwastime to go home.
Fourteen
Gravelcrunchedundermytires as I turned onto the winding driveway, flanked by a canopy of magnolia trees. Sunlight filtered through their thick leaves, casting dappled patterns on the ground and illuminating the soft pink and white petals above. Ahead, the farmhouse emerged from the rolling hills, barely visible at first, then more recognizable as I drew closer.
