Page 44 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
But crying solves nothing, and so eventually I force myself up. I have my own flight to catch after all. I shower and dress. It takes less than an hour to finish packing. My clothes and toiletries fit in two suitcases, and I’m taking nothing else with me.
The last thing I do is remove my engagement ring and the little silver medallion that was also a birthday present. I place them both by the framed photo of us in Colorado, smiling, sunburned, his arms around me as we stand atop a mountain we’d climbed together. “Home is where you are” is what isengraved on the back of my medallion. Adam Kelley is no longer my home. He’s chosen someone else.
I don’t leave a note. Everything I needed to say, I’ve already said. He just wasn’t listening.
* * *
The airport is a nightmare of Thanksgiving travelers, harried parents, crying children, and lines that snake endlessly through the terminal. My flight is delayed, then delayed again. I should be frustrated, but I feel oddly calm. For the first time in months, I’m moving toward something instead of away from it.
When the plane finally takes off, I watch Iowa disappear beneath me, growing smaller and smaller until it’s nothing but a memory.
Hours later, as the plane begins its descent into Portland, my heart starts to race. By the time we land, I’m a mess of emotions — relief, fear, excitement, grief.
And then I’m walking through the terminal, wheeling my suitcases, scanning the crowd. I spot them before they see me — Uncle Peter’s tall frame and graying beard, Aunt Charlene’s soft blue pantsuit and white cardigan in sharp contrast to Rachel’s vivid floral dress. My family.
For a minute I freeze. What if they’re angry with me for the way I left so soon after Grandma’s funeral? I’d been terrified of being the burden my mother always claimed I was, and so I’d left, afraid that if I didn’t, they would have asked me to leave.
Then Peter sees me, and his face splits into a huge grin. He moves through the crowds, and before I know it, I’m enveloped in his arms.
“She’s home, Charlene,” I hear him mutter hoarsely, as my aunt and cousin catch up to him. “Our girl is finally home.”
13
Chapter 13
Adam
I stare at the ceiling of the stateroom, listening to Rhonda’s soft snores from one bed and Millie’s restless shifting in the other. The connecting door to my family’s room is mercifully closed, though it doesn’t completely muffle my mother’s voice as she complains to my father about the quality of the sheets. This is day one of five on this floating prison, and I’m already contemplating how fast I could swim to shore if I jumped overboard.
“Adam?” Millie’s whisper cuts through the darkness. “Are you awake?”
I consider pretending to be asleep, but guilt prevents me. “Yeah.”
“I can’t sleep,” she says, her voice small and vulnerable in a way that once would have triggered my protective instincts. Nowit just makes me tense. “I keep thinking about Dad. How he’d have loved this ship.”
“I know,” I say, because what else can I say? Eric would have loved it. He’d have been wearing a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt, telling bad jokes, making everyone feel at ease in a way I can’t.
I hear the rustle of sheets as Millie sits up. “Could we go for a walk? Just around the deck?”
“It’s almost midnight,” I protest weakly.
“Please? I just… I need some air.”
Another rustle, and I catch her silhouette in the dim light from the porthole, hair mussed from tossing and turning, shoulders slumped. I sigh and reach for my phone on the nightstand, checking for any messages from Caitlin. Nothing.
“Fine,” I say, sitting up. “Just let me put on some shoes.”
Five minutes later, we’re walking along the deserted deck. The night air is warm and heavy with salt and the distant rumble of the ship’s engines. Millie walks too close, her arm occasionally brushing mine in a way that doesn’t feel accidental.
“Thanks for coming on this trip,” she says, leaning against the railing. The moon catches in her dark hair, silvering it at the edges. “Mom’s been… well, you know.”
“Yeah.” I keep a careful distance, positioning myself a foot away. “It’s hard for everyone.”
“But especially for you.” Her hand moves across the railing, closing the gap I created. “Being stuck here with me instead of with Caitlin.”
The mention of Caitlin’s name sends a jolt through me. I’ve texted her six times today, called twice. Nothing.
“It’s fine,” I lie. “She understands.”
