Page 56 of Collins
The drive to his house doesn’t take long in a town this small. If you could draw a straight line across the lake from Nan’s house to where we’re turning now, down his long gravel driveway, you’d be there in minutes. But the road winds around the water’s edge, hugging the shoreline, stretching the trip closer to twenty minutes.
Cattails sway along the sapphire surface of the lake, their feathery tops brushing against the wind. Tall grass bends and the smell of fallen leaves drifts through the open window, earthy and fresh. I focus on everything I can see, everything I can smell, grounding myself in the moment so the panic doesn’t set in. Because that’s what this feels like. Panic waiting just beneath my skin, ready to claw its way out from under the crushing weight of everything I’ve kept buried for so long.
Tonight, I have to tell him the truth. And when I walk out of this house later, I know I won’t be the same person who walked in.
All I can do is hope I won’t be walking out alone.
Trees line both sides of the long driveway, their branches arching overhead, welcoming us as we make our way toward the house. At the end sits a place that steals my breath. It’s modernin the clean lines and massive windows that reflect fading light, but there’s something about it that feels softer than that word allows. Warm. Inviting. Almost like a cottage tucked into the trees. That is, if cottages came with sparkling glass walls and the kind of space that stretches wide instead of cozy and small.
Collins reaches up and presses the button clipped onto the visor. The garage door slowly rises as the truck rolls forward. We pull into a wide, spotless garage, and the space feels like a collection of the man I’ve spent the last ten years hoping the world has been kind to.
Fishing poles lean neatly against the far wall, in a way that tells me they’re used often, not just for show. A large riding mower sits parked beside them. Work boots and running shoes are lined up in careful rows along the concrete. Then my eyes land on something else quite shocking.
A massive black truck sits parked in the next bay, its paint gleaming under the garage lights. It looks brand new, sleek, and spotless. The complete opposite of the old white truck we’re currently sitting in.
“I didn’t know you had another truck,” I say, glancing over at him. “It’s really nice. Do you drive it often?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he shifts the truck into park and climbs out, the door shutting with a solid thud before he walks around to my side. When he opens my door, the cool night air rushes in again. He reaches into the backseat for my bag as I step down onto the concrete. His hand settles at the small of my back, guiding me toward a door that leads into the house.
We step into a laundry room just off the garage, and the first thing that hits me is the smell. Everything smells crisp. Clean. New. But woven through it is something deeper—tobacco and vetiver, warm and comforting. Familiar.Collins.
The scent wraps around me like an aromatic hug, intimate in a way that surprises me. It doesn’t feel strange being here. Even though I’ve never stepped foot in this house before, something about it settles over me like a memory I didn’t know I had.
He leads me through the laundry room and into the kitchen, and I can’t help the way my eyes widen, taking it all in. The ceiling stretches high above us, vaulted beams drawing the space upward in a way that makes the whole room feel open and airy. The kitchen itself looks like it belongs in a magazine. Sleek countertops, brand new industrial-style appliances, everything polished and intentional, the man has impeccable taste.
Such a stark contrast to our old surroundings.
My heart swells with pride. He did this. He really did well for himself. Every detail feels thoughtful, from the warm wood accents to the soft lighting. And then I see the view.
Beyond the wide sliding glass doors, the lake spreads out in the fading evening light, the water reflecting streaks of pink and gold from the sunset.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathe.
He smiles at my compliment, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something heavy sitting behind it—something weighed down by everything I haven’t said yet. By me. The realization hits like a bruise to my heart. I’ve hurt him. I’ve been hurting him for years without even being here.
The thought alone brings tears to my eyes.
“Johnnie, what’s wrong?” he asks softly.
“I’m so sorry you’re sad because of me.”
His brow furrows, like the words physically pain him.
“Right now,” he says carefully. “I’m just sorry that bringing up the past upset you so much. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He exhales slowly, dragging a hand across the back of his neck. “I just…want you to trust me with your truth. All of it. Everythingyou haven’t said yet.” His voice tightens. “I’m trying to be patient, but it’s hard.”
My vision blurs.
“John,” he continues, as he leans against the counter, arms crossed at his chest, voice rougher now. “I’d be lying if I said you didn’t absolutely break my fucking heart when you left. That’s putting it mildly.” He lets out a humorless breath. “Yeah…a part of me is bitter. I won’t pretend it isn’t.”
My chest aches so badly it feels like breathing might split me open.
“I just don’t understand what went wrong,” he says quietly. “I loved you so much. I thought you loved me too.” His jaw tightens. “And then you just…disappeared. Gone.”
I can’t even see him anymore through the sheen of tears filling my eyes.
For a long moment neither of us speak.
