Page 57 of Somewhere Without You
“No,”I said, shaking my head.
“Good,”she breathed,clearlyrelieved.“Honestly, Em. . .maybethis whole thingwasn’tsuch agreatidea, you being outtherealone.”
“I’m not alone,”I ran my hand over Winston’s head.“I’ve got a dog.”
“You got a—? Youknowwhat, we’ll circle back tothatlater.”
“Andthenthere’s Logan. . .” I began.
“Logan?”she repeated, surprised.“You’re not—”
“No, nothing likethat,”I said, cutting her off.“He stopped by to help fix a few things around Gran’s house. You shouldseeit, Kat—it’s falling apart.Anyway, I haven’t seen him in over a week, which isprobablyfor the best. . .”
Please deposit fifty cents to continue this call,an automated voice interrupted.
“Listen, I’ve gotta go,” Katherine said, her voice suddenly rushed. “I’ll call you again as soon as I can.”
Ihadn’tspokento my sister since the day I left the hospital. I didn’t want to admit itthen, butI’dbeen so angry at her for leaving me again.Formaking me go through this alone.Andnow, with her voice fresh in my ear, I didn’t want to let her go.
“Kat. . . ?”I whispered, unsure if shewasstillthere. But Icouldfeelher on the other end—almost like she didn’t want to let go either.“I miss you,”I admittedquietly.
“I miss you too.” Her voicewasheavy with longing. “I’ll call again soon.”
Thenthe line clicked.Andshewasgone.
I sattherefor a moment, phone still pressed to my ear, listening to nothing. Winston leaned into my side, his warm body steadying me.
I rose and crossed the room, pulling back the curtainsjustenough to peek outside. Morning sunlight filtered in, casting a golden haze over a cloudless sky.
Butthe beauty of it didn’t settle anything in me.
I turned away from the window andlookeddown at my phone, Katherine’s last words ringing in my head.
It’s bad, Emily. . .
MaybeJacksonhadfinallyrealized how far thingshadgone.Maybehe regretted it—regretted everything.Maybeus being apart made him understand how much he still loved me.
I headed downstairs, but the moment my foot hit the last step, my eyes landed on the broken window.
. . .Ormaybehejustwanted to finish what he started.
Behind me, Winston let out alowwhine, circling near the front door.
“How about a walk?”I asked, reaching for his leash.“Wecouldboth use some fresh air, don’t you think?”
Thirty Three
Winstonboundedahead,hisleash draped loosely in my hands. We’d wandered to Appalachian Point—a public trail not far from the house. Gran used to bring us here when we were kids for days of scavenger hunts. We’d search for vibrant leaves, oddly shaped rocks, and anything else that caught our eye.
Eventually, it changed over the years. Paved pathshadreplacedthe old dirt ones, and a steady stream of tourists gave it a more polished, less wildfeel. We stopped coming after a while. Gran preferred the quiet trails behind her house, and so did we.
The air around us buzzed with the steady roar of rushing water. Waterfalls dotted the mountains—some thin like ribbons, others crashing inpowerfulsheets.I’dseenthem before, butcouldnevergetover how enchanting theywere. The way the sunlight caught the spray made themlooklike something lifted from the pages of a fantasy novel.
Winston paused to sniff at alargemoss-covered boulder while I leaned against the trunk of awideoak tree—its thick branches giving little relief from the impending heat of June lurking around the corner. Up ahead, a couple walked hand in hand, chattingquietly, and for some reason. . . it made me think of James.
SinceCharleston, Ihadn’tbeen able togethim out of my head. Some nights, lying in bed,I’dre-readhis letters—thesmellof earthy wood smoke clinging to the pages. I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what hesmelledlike.
I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my skin. Itwasstrange—Jameswastechnicallydead, and yet I kept catching myself wondering where he might be right now. In this exact moment.Couldhe have walked this trail? Stood where Iwasstanding? Basked in the beauty of these same waterfalls?
