Chapter 15
~~ Lorelai ~~
I’m standing in front of the route display at the station. Normally this is fun for me. Choosing for myself where I want to go next has been empowering this last year. My therapist has been happy with the confidence I’m gaining in making decisions for myself, even though she feels I’m taking too many risks in the way I’ve been traveling.
I had started to head west but found the ocean air called me back. So I’d followed the coast up. The colder it had gotten, the clearer my head was of the static and fear. So I kept heading north.
I know I”m going to have to go back to Miami at some point to take care of my grandmother’s estate, but her grouch of an attorney had reluctantly hired a service to keep it from falling into disrepair while I made up my mind what I wanted to do. I spent so little time there after she tracked me down that it doesn’t feel like home.
I find myself thinking about the childhood James had described and the longing I’d felt when he was telling stories about his colleagues and friends. Those are the kind of people I want to meet, the kind of neighbors I want to have.
Before I can change my mind, I approach the desk and pull out the shiny black credit card I’m still not used to using. I buy a ticket to Bearberry Bay.
With all the stops, I’ll get to my destination around dinner time. That won’t leave a lot of time to look around and find a place to stay, so I spend some of the driving time on my tablet looking for a motel. There is a cute bed and breakfast right in the middle of downtown, but they don’t have a vacancy tonight. I end up making a reservation at a motel by the interstate.
It’s far enough outside of town, I’ll need transportation. This doesn’t look like a town supporting ride services, although there is a city bus that makes a circuitous route. I consider renting a car but immediately dismiss that idea. I know I can afford it now, but the part of my brain shaped early by destitution won’t let me spend that kind of money on something I won’t ever own. There are two used car lots within walking distance of the motel, so I make a mental note to check them out after I get a good night’s sleep.
An incoming notification sends me to my email app to find my Educational Psychology professor following up with me on his offer to write a recommendation letter. I send back a grateful acceptance reply. I learned so much in his class about myself and how my early environment shaped my auto-responses. It was almost as helpful as therapy.
I go back to searching the town until I know the general layout of the streets by heart.