We are back on the road early the next morning, and by mid afternoon we’re pulling into my new driveway of my new house in my new town to start my new life. I liked my old life. At least I did once Rowan entered it. Life with her is truly all I really want anymore. As we unload and unpack I let my mind drift to her. I imagine she is here with me, smiling at me in that most amazing and radiant way. Her eyes alight with joy at a shared life together. We’re unpacking, but it is our new town to start our new life … together. It’s the most pleasure I’ve felt since making love to her in the early morning hours of the day before. It feels like so long ago, yet she’s only been away from me for a short while.
We work late into the evening, taking time only to order pizza and scarf it down. We have all the furniture unloaded, in place, and re-assembled by the time we finally call it quits at midnight. The next day starts early, and we finish unloading all the boxes before lunch. By late afternoon, I’m dropping my father at the airport to catch his flight back to Grand Rapids, and I’m finally alone in this place. And I don’t want to be here.
My job will start on Monday, leaving me the entire day tomorrow to wallow in my self-pity. And that is exactly what I do, rising occasionally from the couch to put something away. I wander to the nearby liquor store and buy a bottle of wine. Again I spend the evening drowning my sorrows in a bottle, only to find that I have to fight my restraint to pick up the phone and call her. But I manage to keep from dialing each time I’m overcome with my need to hear her voice. And by the next morning I’m arriving at Brighton and Brinks to a very warm reception from my new firm.
My office is amazing with incredible views of downtown Denver and the mountains beyond. It is everything I’d ever dreamed of, and I curse myself for thinking this was what I wanted. Fortunately, I’m brought on a jury selection team almost immediately and put to work; I don’t think I could stomach my life right now were it not for work. And as I delve into my case and research, I find my first measure of peace since leaving Grand Rapids. It hardly keeps Rowan out of my mind, but it makes being away from her more tolerable in some small way.
Days start ticking off the calendar, and I stay as busy as possible, putting in ridiculous hours at work to avoid being alone with my thoughts more than I have to. But every night I end up fighting my despair the second I lay my head on my pillow. It is then I miss her the most—when my brain stops moving for the day and the memories of her are allowed to flood my mind, causing agonizing grief. It has been nearly three weeks now since I last saw Rowan, and I’m desperate for the torture to end. It must at some point, but it hasn’t faded an ounce, and I can’t help but wonder if it ever will. I can’t imagine her sharing this pain, and I wonder if it is as awful for her as it is for me. The idea of her suffering this, too, only makes my own anguish all the more palpable. I pray she’s doing better than I am.
Chapter 24
I hate my life. The six weeks since Logan left have been the hardest I've experienced, overshadowed only by the memories of my mother’s death. Ronnie and Sara seem intent on dragging me everywhere and anywhere, trying to perk me up, but I’m hopeless. I want them to believe I’m fine so they’ll just leave me in peace, but I can’t pretend I’m not in hell. Smiling makes my mouth hurt; laughing is impossible.
So when Ronnie suggests a shopping day in Grand Haven, I inwardly groan but outwardly try to be a good sport. The trip there fills me with anxiety. I dread the images that will plague me from my last time there. I want to see nothing of that time as it will be more excruciating than I can stand. But the images and the memories are everywhere. We eat lunch in the harbor on the very same street Logan and I enjoyed the farmers’ market only a few months ago. It is warm and sunny, but my heart is cold and dark. The lighthouse is visible a few miles down the coast, and I swear if Ronnie suggests a drive out there, I will scream. All I want is to be at home in bed, sleeping. It is my only safe haven—though even my sleep is often interrupted with memories of Logan.
He is doing well, so Ronnie says over lunch when Sara asks. Involved in a big case and staying very busy. Her eyes are on my face as I refuse to look up from the spot I’m studying on the table. I don’t want Ronnie to see the pain in my eyes, and I know she is searching for it. I’m glad he is okay, but I want to hear nothing more about it. The reminders hurt, and in some ridiculous way I resent him for being okay. I’m not okay. Why the hell should he be? It isn’t fair, and I resort to throwing a temper tantrum inside my head while I focus on the worn and scratched surface of the table in front of me.
When Ronnie drops Sara and I off later that afternoon, I have a letter waiting for me from the admissions department at the University of Michigan. They need a copy of my social security card for their records, and my guts clench at the realization this will mean a trip back to home sweet trailer park. If Logan were here, he’d kill me for even considering it… But he’s not here, and I have little choice but to go. It is mid afternoon on a Tuesday, so my father should still be at work. There’s no time like the present, and I tell Sara where I’m off to before running out the door.
Chapter 25
When I arrive and enter the trailer, I’m taken aback by the state of the place. Not that our trailer was ever anything to write Better Homes and Gardens about, but I have never seen it in this state. There is garbage strewn about from room to room. The stench is overwhelming; many months’ worth of Styrofoam take out containers, fast food bags, and old pizza boxes litter every piece of furniture and every square inch of floor space. Well, if I didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary, the smell of this place was all the motivation to work quickly I would need.
I proceed first to my father’s bedroom closet. And while I find a collection of gratuitous porn magazines that are more terrifying than they are sexy, a hand gun—again frightening given who it belongs to—and a strange collection of old rusty nails, what I don’t find is my social security card.
As I wander back out to the living room, my eyes land on the side table that sits next to my father’s old smelly recliner. It has two drawers, and I’ve seen my father stash many an odd piece of paper in there. It’s as good as any place to look. The trailer is small, and while cluttered all to hell, there simply aren’t that many places that my social security card could be hiding. I approach the side table, and doing my best to touch only what I absolutely must, I start rifling through the contents of the drawer. I find more overdue bills than any grown adult ought to have, numerous scraps of paper with bizarre notes and messages written on them, and a rather large amount of receipts from the nearest liquor store. Again I strike out finding my social security card, and as I slam the drawers shut I unleash a slew of expletives at the poor old side table.
Giving up is sounding like a better idea by the minute. There may not be very many logical places to keep the card, but unfortunately, there are a good deal of obscure and unfathomable places it could be hiding. Being here is unsafe, and I can just imagine Logan laying into me, but the idea of Logan yelling at me for risking my safety just brings on the all too familiar stab of pain … and a bit of resentment. What can I say; anger has become a very effective means of coping with my loss of him. I often find my daydreams of him becoming charged with fury at him, fury at myself, and fury at life in general for pulling us apart from one another. And my fury now compels me onward. Onward, in this case, means the file cabinet in the kitchen that the microwave sits on.