Page 71 of Love Me Again

Maybe this would be symbolic. Open the present. Tell him she was done, block him, the end. Yes, a kind of ritual to end everything.

She got up and pulled the present out of her bag, where she’d put it and hadn’t looked at it since. She placed the present on the musty bed, then sat down cross-legged and stared at it.

It was even more worse for the wear now. Wrapping paper torn at the corners. She could make out the box underneath, but it didn’t give any kind of indication what might be in the box.

“I’ll open it,” she muttered aloud. “Then I’ll just toss it in the trash and say goodbye.”

But she couldn’t bring herself to rip the paper with wild abandon. She carefully ran her finger along the seam to break the tape. She recognized the paper. She’d bought it in a little store in Big Sky. It had moose in fuzzy hats and scarves and she’d thought it was cute.

She’d wrapped her father’s gifts in that paper last Christmas. Alone. Missing Boone and pretending not to because she didn’t want her dad to worry.

Not a happy memory. Reliving it, she crumpled the carefully torn wrapping paper in her fist and tossed it toward the trash can. It hit off the lip and fell to the floor.

The box was plain and white. Boone had always been good at giving gifts. His presents always made her feel seen and understood. He’d never been good with words, but he’d always shown his love with his actions.

Funny how now his words were what haunted her.

What do you want?

I’ll be damned if we lose out on a future because I made a mistake.

I hope you know you can always come home.

She didn’t have a home. Or a family. She didn’t have anything. She inhaled deeply. Because it was a relief to have nothing. Nothing left to be taken away. Just Josie Tyler—no. She’d go back to Josie Symington. And she’d be on her own two feet.

She ripped off the top of the box, ready to toss the whole thing in violent protest, but she froze instead.

Inside, tucked into a tuft of green tissue paper, was a delicate suncatcher in the shape of a bluebird. With shaky hands, Josie lifted it out of the tissue paper, held it up to the ugly orange light of her motel room. Tears burned her eyes. It was beautiful, and a bluebird…

She shook her head. He didn’t remember. It was just a coincidence. Or maybe Boone before his accident had remembered, had done something sweet, but Boone had said himself he wasn’t the same man.

She moved to put it back into the box, but there was a little note tucked into the tissue paper. Unable to stop herself, Josie lifted it out, exchanging the suncatcher for the note.

It was written in Boone’s truly atrocious handwriting so that it took her a little time to decipher some of the words. Especially when a few tears fell onto the paper and smudged the ink.

Jo,

You always say seeing bluebirds reminds you of your grandma and makes you think she’s watching out for you, so I thought you should always have her watching out for you. Merry Christmas. Love, Boone.

The tears were falling so hard now, she couldn’t see. She wiped them with the back of her hand, then put the bluebird and the note back into the box. She’d never be able to throw them away.

So she might as well read his text.

It made her cry harder. Especially the last part.

I’ll love you forever, no matter what.

“No. No. You gave up on us. On me. You left. You don’t get to do this to me.”

She swiped left on the message, stared at the little trashcan icon. Delete. Block. That’s what she needed to do.

She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“I texted Josie when and where your surgery is. She didn’t respond, but she’s got the information.”

“Thanks, Mol.” Molly was the one driving him to the hospital. Boone had managed to talk Mom out of it by saying Cora needed her more than he did. She’d have every opportunity to flutter and take care of him once Molly drove him home after the surgery.

He’d let her. He’d learned a lesson, he promised himself. No matter how much he felt like a failure, he was going to let his family take care of him. That was what family was for.