Page 11 of Letting Go

"What do you know about him?"

"He's great. He's handsome. And he's clearly into you and that makes him perfect."

"I mean his past. Was he married?"

She shakes her head, shading her eyes with her hand as she watches Cory open the back door and launch himself into the kitchen. "You know Cory got that? He got that we were talking about dinners and cooking and that the kitchen is where we would be going next." She shakes her head. "No. Never married. At least as far as I know. He's been working for Nic and Finn for six years or so. Finn took a bullet for him once. And he was in the military for a long time. Marines. Something."

"Seals."

"Yeah. And he was discharged but in a weird way. Something happened."

"That explains why he's so tight-lipped about being ex-military."

She waved a hand. "A lot of military guys are like that. Plus, you're not such an open book yourself. I mean really. Where were you all this time?"

This is the first anyone has confronted me about leaving, and a slight buzzing in my chest warns I can't bear to tell her how much I missed them. It's so horrible and so embarrassing that the two combine into a flash of pure, unadulterated humiliation.

Laurel elbows her way into my silence. "Devon said you were living in Portland for a year." Her smile fades. "A whole year and you never contacted me. Never contacted us. Devon said she told you about Cory. I sent a birth announcement, but it was returned."

I look at the grass between my toes. "I didn’t know about him until last year. I have no excuse."

She pulls on my arm. "I'm not looking for excuses. I love you. I just want to understand why you stayed all those years. And last year too, when you were so close—less than an hour from here."

"I know. I know. I was just scared," and then I lower my voice so only she can hear me. "I know that's a chicken-shit thing to say, but it's the truth."

Her hand still clasps my arm. "What were you so afraid of?"

My bottom lip starting to quiver, and crying is not happening. The last thing I want, or need, is pity. Worse, that I'm using tears to leverage her good faith and love.

"I was just afraid you wouldn't take me back."

"Me personally?"

"All of you. I don't know. I was coming from a really awful place—"

"Which you can’t talk about now—"

"Right. Later, maybe…"

Her face darkens.

"…Definitely." I take her hand. "I thought you’d be mad. Devon just kept writing me letters, convincing me to come—"

"Home." Laurel shakes her head and drops her hand from mine. "Devon is from the nineteenth century with her love of paper. She still tests pens in stores. No excuses. You could have emailed me."

Swallowing, I press my hands deeper in my pockets. "I understand that now. It took me so long to trust that she really wanted to see me and then when you both showed up in Portland…" now the tears are there, hot and heavy along my lower lid. I brush them away.

Laurel wraps her arms around my waist. "I'm just so glad you're back," she says.

I squeeze her hard and then let her go. "Seeing the two of you just sitting in that café was surreal. You made it all so easy." This came with a twinge of guilt. In a way, I wish our reunion had been harder. I deserve to be reamed out.

"What did you expect?"

"Well, I didn't expect the bracelet you found of mine." I hold up my wrist. The little charms dangled. They were all of animals. Dogs, cats, bunnies, hamsters, goats.

"That was Devon's idea. She thought it would make you feel at home. Like you belonged. But seriously, what did you expect?"

I shrug. "Screaming. Yelling. Drama. Tears-of-guilt-and-shame. The whole thing. The kind of guilt that's so black and thick you can't extricate yourself from it. And then when Travis walked through the door, I just knew everything was going to be fine."