Page 92 of Chasing Smoke

Letting you go is the second.

That’s what this letter is. I’ve been carrying you around like a stone clenched in my palm for two years, and my hand is sore and tired. Today, I need to set you down.

There are so many questions that I’d give almost anything to be able to ask you. I draft them in my head when I wake up in the middle of the night, like you might still come home from the station in the morning and sit on the edge of the bed so I can ask you. Did you still love me when you died? Did you love me for years and then fall out of love with me and were either too kind or too much of a coward to say so? Did you love me and love her too in some other part of your heart that I didn’t even know existed? Were you going to tell me about her like Fowler said? Were you going to leave me? Was she a mistake you couldn’t figure out how to unmake? If I had asked you when you started to pull away, if I had asked what was going on, Caleb, would you have told me the truth?

The hardest part is coming to terms with the fact that there’s no version of my life where I’ll ever know. None of those questions will ever be answered because you’re no longer here to answer them. I have to close our book with the last chapters missing and try to make peace with the blank pages. Some days I can. Some days I can’t, but it’s something I’ll have to accept and live with. I know that, but it’s hard.

We had a good life together. Not a perfect life, but a good one. I was happy for a long time. I don’t want the last chapters to erase the first ones, and I have to keep reminding myself that they don’t. Two things can be true—we were happy, and then presumably at some point, you weren’t. But no one can take away those happy years from us. I won’t let them.

You never had the chance to tell me some of the things you were going to. But I have something to tell you too.

I’ve fallen for Ansel.

It wasn’t one moment. It was a hundred small ones that I didn’t even notice as they were happening. He showed up. Then he kept showing up. In your absence, he’s been a good friend—supportive, caring, protective, and loving. Somewhere along the way, I started to see him as more than your best friend.

I’m going to say it plainly—there was never anything between us when you were alive. Not one look. Not a shared moment. Not a single second that either of us crossed a line. Neither of us would have ever done that to you. This thing between us is new. He didn’t take anything from you. You’d already given it up.

I think I have a real shot at happiness, and I hope that wherever you are, some part of you—the best part, the part I want to try to remember you by—can give us your blessing.

After you died, I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again. And after I found out about Madelyn and the baby, it made me question it even more. But I’ve seen the future I might have, just glimpses here and there, and I’m going to take it. I’m not asking your permission. I don’t need it. But I want you to know that I’m running toward that future full force now.

I’m not leaving you behind or forgetting what you were to me. But from this point forward, I’m going to turn my gaze on what lies ahead, instead of looking over my shoulder at what lies behind. There’s a life waiting for me on the other side of this letter, and I’m grabbing it with both hands.

Thank you for the many years of happiness. Thank you for being the man you were before the man you became. I loved that man with everything in me. But this is where I put you down.

I’ll always carry your memory with me, but you’ll no longer be a shadow at my back.

Goodbye, Caleb.

Yours,

Collins

Tears wet the paper as I sign my name. But these tears are different. They’re not born of grief or sadness. They’re a cleansing. They mark a fresh start. A new beginning.

With the letter in hand, I walk into the family room, then set it on the coffee table and go to start a fire in the fireplace.

Originally I had planned to keep the letter so that I could revisit my words from time to time in case I felt myself sliding backward. But I know now that I don’t need to revisit this letter because the words aren’t just written here. The words are me. No written reminder is necessary when I can look inside myself for guidance.

Once the fire is going, I take the letter from the coffee table and toss it in the fireplace. The paper flutters down, where it catches fire and burns. Once it’s reduced to ash, I close the glass front of the fireplace and go upstairs.

I open the lid of my jewelry box, slide off my wedding band and my engagement ring, and set them inside the slots of black velvet.

I flex my hands a few times, then close the lid. I thought that when I finally removed my rings, I would feel naked, or like something was missing.

But all I feel is freedom.

FORTY-ONE

Ansel

Ipull up to Collins’s house, unsure what I’ll find. Yesterday had to be difficult for her, but I couldn’t get a sense of her mood when I texted her earlier to firm up our plans.

Whatever I expected, I did not expect this.

Collins stands in the doorway with a feline grin, wearing a lacy pale-blue bra and panty set.

I just about swallow my fucking tongue.