Page 32 of Letters of Faith
Stupid. I was stupid.
My legs ache as I push them through the final curve of my run.
I’ve run the same route since I was fifteen, and I haven’t missed a day in the last two years. Nate and I started running this route during our freshman year of high school. He wanted to join the football team, dragging me along with him. I didn’t realize I would also fall in love with the game. We ran this route a lot over the years. When he got sick and couldn’t run anymore, I ran every day for him, and I haven’t stopped, no matter what the weather calls for.
A brick house lies just ahead, and I angle my body towards it—Nate and Georgia’s house.
Georgia hasn’t been here since the day of the funeral when I droveher over here, but I’ve come over periodically over the year to keep it up. It will be ready for her when she’s ready to return. It’s the least I can do, and with the weather dipping into freezing temperatures, I want to make sure the heat is on so none of the pipes burst.
This morning, the weather channel was calling for snow that was supposed to start late into the night, but it looks like they were off by a few hours because flakes are falling around me, landing on my eyelashes. I blink them away, jogging a few more steps until I stand on the front porch. Reaching for the front door, I slip the key from under the rug and shove it in the lock. My hands are frozen, so it takes me a couple of times before I successfully unlock the door and shove it open.
The house is older, with a brick exterior and white shutters framing the windows. The inside is cozy, with a fireplace in the living room and an updated floor space, so it’s open to all the other rooms. When Nate died, Georgia asked me to take the life insurance and pay off the house. It’s the only good thing that’s come from his death.
Finding the thermostat, I turn the heat on and head over to the fireplace to get it going. The cold permeates the air, and I flip the hood of my sweatshirt up to ward it off. As the furnace and fireplace run, I take a minute to look around.
Nate haunts the walls of this house. I’ve left everything the way I found it, only cleaning up where it needs it. Nate’s jacket lays across the back of the couch, where Georgia always kept it for the days after chemo. Pictures from their wedding hang on the wall behind the couch. Nate’s happiness that day was contagious. There are even a few shots of me hanging on the wall, and what’s more, I’m smiling.
Georgia asked me why it had to be Nate once, and the truth is, it’s an answer I want myself. I don’t understand why one of the best men I’ve ever known was taken while I got to stay. I wish it had been me instead of Nate—for Georgia’s sake. She deserved to have her happilyever after. Not that she can’t still have it. I know she doesn’t see it yet, but one day, she’ll heal. Someone else will love her, but there will always be a blip in her life where her happily ever after was tainted.
The idea of her loving another man causes jealousy to burn in the pit of my stomach, but I knew Georgia deserved better in high school, and that’s still true today—no matter how much holding her last night, defending her, felt right. Just like I did with Nate, I’ll cheer on the next man that comes into her life—as long as he’s good to her.
There’s a recliner next to the window that Georgia used to curl up in and read. I sit in it, glancing at the snow floating down and blanketing the grass beneath it. There’s a table next to the chair, and I reach over, grabbing the bible lying on top. Turning it in my hand, I run my fingers over Nate’s name engraved into the leather. Flashes of Nate on one of his many trips to the hospital, sitting in the bed reading this book, run through my mind. Even until the end, Nate kept his faith.
Flipping it open to where the bookmark lies, I begin to read the first verse I come to aloud.
“To every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die, a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted. A time to kill and a time to heal.”
The last words stick in my throat. Unable to read further, I close the book and place it back where I got it.
A time for everything.
The thought almost makes me laugh. In my life, there’s only ever been a time for heartache—first as a kid, then when my mom died, and now that Nate’s gone. I’d like to know when the healing time is coming because it seems long overdue.
______________________
The sun is starting to set when I get back to my house. I haven’t heard from Georgia all day, which is strange. She usually always checksin at least once—not that she has to. She’s entitled to a day without me in it, but when Nate first died, she sunk into this hole I was afraid she would never find her way out of. I made her go to the doctor, and they diagnosed her with depression. She started taking medicine and checking in with me every day.
Looking towards the guest house, I notice that none of the lights are on. Her car is still in the driveway, though, so where is she?
Unease settles in my gut.
“There’s no need to get ahead of yourself, Grayson. She could be out with a friend,” I grumble to myself, even though I know that’s not true. Aside from last night, she doesn’t go out.
Veering off the sidewalk that leads to my front porch, I walk over to Georgia’s door, careful of my footing as the snow starts sticking, making the concrete slick.
Once I’m in front of her door, I raise my hand and knock, waiting for some kind of life from the inside, but there’s nothing—not a sound. I pull my phone from my pocket and swipe so it brings the screen to life. I was hoping I’d missed a call or text on my way home, but again, there’s nothing.
Tapping my finger against the screen, I debate my next plan of action.
On one hand, I could be overreacting, but my gut tells me I’m not. I’ve learned to listen to that feeling a lot over the years—it’s the one thing that’s never failed me.
Swiping my thumb across the screen, I dial Georgia’s number and press the phone to my ear, waiting for it to ring. This time, I do hear noise inside the apartment. Her phone rings from inside, and that knot in my gut squeezes a little tighter.
There’s a flower pot just outside of the door. I keep an extra key under there just in case of emergencies.
Bending, I grab it, then hesitate. Right now, there’s a line between Georgia and me labeled Nate’s girl, but that line has started to blur forme. If I barge in to check on Georgia, will I be going as Nate’s best friend or something more?
The answer has me hesitating a few seconds longer until a running memory of Georgia lying in bed with the lights off for weeks runs through my mind.
