Page 50 of The Strawberry Field
Jake nods slowly.“I don’t know why it makes me feel so guilty. But it does.”
“My mom never got over it,” I say.“And I understand. Losing a child…” I pause.“It rewrites everything.”
“Your parents created that scholarship in his name, right?”
“They did. There was a settlement. They didn’t want money to be the end of his story.”
“They were good people,” Jake says quietly.
“They were. It’s nice to talk about them with someone who knew them.”
We sit in the sun a while longer. It filters through the trees in golden shards. Then Jake says,“Why did you move to New York?”
I take a moment.“I don’t know. Maybe guilt. Maybe I needed to become someone else. I think I was trying to run from the old me.”
“I liked the old you,” Jake says, his voice low.
I glance at him. Our eyes meet and hold. I don’t look away.
“Did you feel at home there?” he asks.
“No,” I admit.“Not even a little. But I stayed. Almost ten years.”
“That’s a long time to stay somewhere that doesn’t feel like home.”
“It is,” I say.“I got caught up in the work. The pace. The routine. I stopped asking myself if I liked it.”
“Are you glad you left?”
“I wish it had happened differently. But now that I’m gone, I wonder how I lasted so long.”
Jake nods.“City life never suited me. Nature’s what helps me stay centered.”
“It’s easy to forget the world’s chaos out here.”
“Exactly. But I think that’s part of the problem—how much noise we let in. The news. Social media. It’s designed to keep us anxious.”
“They know we’ll stick around for the next crisis.”
“It’s no wonder people forget how to breathe.”
“I’ve been guilty of that,” I say.“Forgetting to be here—in the only moment we actually have.”
Jake looks at me sharply, concern flashing in his eyes. I want to reassure him. I want to say I’m fine.
But I don’t.
Because I don’t know if I am.
I hop down from the rock.“We better keep going if we’re going to make the top.”
Jake rises and slings the backpack over his shoulders.“Let’s go then.”
We climb in silence. Hattie moves beside him, still energized. I follow, steady, even as the silence stretches.
Eventually, Jake hands me another bottle of water. We drink. Take a rest. Walk some more.
After nearly an hour, we reach the top. Hattie plops down and stretches out, panting.
