“Hey, what’s up?” Amy said.
“I’ve done something crazy,” Emily replied.
“Go on…” Amy urged her.
“I quit my job.”
She heard Amy exhale on the other end of the line.
“Oh thank God,” her friend’s voice came. “I thought you were going to tell me you’d got back with Ben.”
“No, no, quite the opposite. I packed my bags and left. I’m standing in the street like a bag lady.”
Amy began to laugh. “I have the best mental image right now.”
“This isn’t funny!” Emily replied, more panicked than ever. “What am I supposed to do now? I quit my job. I won’t be able to get an apartment without a job!”
“You’ve got to admit it’s a bit funny,” Amy replied, chuckling. “Just bring it all over here,” she added, nonchalantly. “You know you can stay with me until you figure things out.”
But Emily didn’t want to. She’d essentially spent years of her life living in someone else’s space, being made to feel like a lodger in her own home, like Ben was doing her a favor just by having her around. She didn’t want that anymore. She needed to forge her own life, to stand on her own two feet.
“I appreciate the offer,” Emily said, “but I need to do my own thing for a while.”
“I get it,” Amy replied. “So what then? Leave town for a bit? Clear your head?”
That got Emily thinking. Her dad owned a house in Maine. They’d stayed in it during the summer when she was a kid, but it had stayed empty ever since he’d disappeared twenty years ago. It was old, filled with character, and had been gorgeous at one point, in a historic sort of way; it had been more like a sprawling B&B that he didn’t know what to do with than a house.
It was barely in passable shape back then, and Emily knew it wouldn’t be in good shape now, after twenty years left derelict; it also wouldn’t feel the same empty – or now that she wasn’t a kid. Not to mention it was hardly summer. It was February!
And yet the idea of spending a few days just sitting on the porch, looking out at the ocean, in a place that was hers (sort of) seemed suddenly very romantic. Getting out of New York for the weekend would be a good way to clear her head and try to work out what to do next.
“I’ve got to go,” Emily said.
“Wait,” Amy replied. “Tell me where you’re going first!”
Emily took a deep breath.
“I’m going to Maine.”
Chapter Three
Emily had to take several subways to get to the long-term parking lot in Long Island City where her old, abandoned, beat-up car was parked. It had been years since she’d driven the thing, as Ben had always taken lead driver responsibilities in order to show off his precious Lexus, and as she walked through the massive, shadow-filled parking lot, dragging her suitcase behind her, she wondered whether she’d still be able to drive at all. It was another one of those thing she’d let slip over the course of her relationship.
The trip to get only here – to this parking lot on the outskirts of the city – felt endless. As she walked toward her car, her footsteps echoing in the freezing parking lot, she almost felt too tired to go on.
Was she making a mistake? she wondered. Should she turn back?
“There she is.”
Emily turned to see the garage attendant smiling at her beat-up car, as if sympathetically. He reached out and dangled her keys.
The thought of still having an eight-hour drive ahead of her felt overwhelming, impossible. She was already exhausted, physically and emotionally.
“Are you going to take them?” he finally asked.
Emily blinked, not realizing she’d spaced out.
She stood there, knowing this was a pivotal moment somehow. Would she collapse, run back to her old life?
Or would she be strong enough to move on?
Emily finally shook off the dark thoughts and forced herself to be strong. At least for now.
She took the keys and walked triumphantly to her car, trying to show courage and confidence as he walked away, but secretly nervous that it would not even start – and if it did, that she would not even remember how to drive.
She sat in the freezing car, closed her eyes, and turned the ignition. If it started, she told herself, it was a sign. If it was dead, she could turn back.
She hated to admit it to herself, but she secretly hoped it would be dead.
She turned the key.
It started.
It came as a great surprise and comfort to Emily that, although a somewhat erratic driver, she still knew the basics of what she was doing. All she had to do was hit the gas and drive.
It was freeing, watching the world fly by, and slowly, she shook off her mood. She even turned on the radio, remembering it.
Radio blaring, windows rolled down, Emily gripped the steering wheel tightly in her hands. In her mind, she looked like a glamorous 1940s siren in a black-and-white film, with the wind tousling her perfectly coiffed hairstyle. In reality, the frigid February air had turned her nose as red as a berry and her hair into a frizzy mess.
She soon left the city, and the farther north she got, the more the roads became lined with evergreens. She gave herself time to admire their beauty as she whooshed past. How easily she’d let herself get caught up in the hustle and bustle of city living. How many years had she really let slide by without stopping to take in the beauty of nature?
Soon, the roads became wider, the number of lanes increasing, and she was on the highway. She revved the engine, pushing her beat-up car faster, feeling alive and enthralled by the speed. All these people in their cars embarking on journeys to elsewhere, and she, Emily, was finally one of them. Excitement pulsed through her as she urged the car onward, increasing her speed as much as she dared.
Her confidence soared as the roads flew by beneath her tires. As she passed through the state border into Connecticut, it really hit home that she was actually leaving. Her job, Ben, she’d finally discarded all that baggage.
The further north she went, the colder it became, and Emily finally had to concede that it was just too cold to have the window open. She buzzed it up and rubbed her hands together, wishing she was wearing something a little more appropriate for the weather. She’d left New York in her uncomfortable work suit, and in another moment of impulsivity, had flung the fitted jacket and stiletto shoes out the window. Now she was just in a thin shirt, and the toes of her bare feet seemed to have turned into frozen blocks of ice. The image of the 1940s movie star shattered in her mind as she glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She looked a state. But she didn’t care. She was free, and that was all that mattered.
Hours passed, and before she knew it, Connecticut was behind her, a distant memory, just a place she’d passed through on her way to a better future. The Massachusetts landscape was more open. Rather than the dark green foliage of evergreens, the trees here had shed their summer leaves and stood like spindly skeletons either side of her, revealing hints of snow and ice on the hard ground beneath them. Above Emily, the sky started to change color, from a clear blue to a muggy gray, reminding her that it was going to be dark by the time she reached Maine.
She drove through Worcester, many of the houses here tall, wood-paneled, and painted in various pastel shades. Emily couldn’t help but wonder about the people who lived here, about their lives and experiences. She was only a few hours from home but already everything seemed alien to her – all the possibilities, all the different places to live and be and visit. How had she spent seven years living just one version of life, continuing the old, familiar routine, repeating the same day over and over, waiting, waiting, waiting for something more. All that time she’d been waiting for Ben to get his act together so she could begin the next chapter of her life. But all along, she’d had the power to be the driving force of her own story.