Chapter 37 Knox
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
KNOX
Iadjust the tripod height and the light umbrella, making sure the shot catches the best angle of the light coming into the bookstore.
Or rather, empty space. We’ve staged the place with a few knick-knacks on the new shelves, put a fake plant in a corner, and a vase of flowers by the register.
But other than that, the space looks depressing and bare in comparison to the organized brown chaos it used to be.
I sigh, checking the time on my phone once again.
She’s late.
She should’ve been here for the photoshoot over an hour ago, and she’s nowhere to be found.
The last time she was late she was bedridden—couldn’t even get up from the pain.
What if it’s the same thing now? What if she needs me to come get her?
I could take care of her. Show her that I can be there for her, no matter what.
Show her that last night was dumb and we should just be together.
I don’t care about the kid thing because all I care about is her.
She makes me happy. And we can be happy, just us two.
We can get a dog or something. I’ll even agree to a cat, if that’s what she wants.
I consider dropping the shoot and heading straight home to her, but I stop myself.
Because I know better than to push her. Even if I’m running on exactly zero hours of sleep.
Even if it feels like every muscle in my body is sore.
Even if it feels like my heart has been ripped from my chest and kicked across the floor.
I know better.
Plus, we do need to get this done—it’s one of two remaining sticky notes still hanging from Walter’s office—and I’m not going to let a bump in our relationship stop me from finishing this.
Because it is a bump. It’s gotta be. Lottie and I cannot be over.
Last night… Last night was just a glitch in the matrix or something.
We’re still together. We’ll get through it. She just needs time.
The bells above the store doors jingle making my heart somersault in my chest. I exhale in relief.
“Finally. I’ve been waiting all day for—”
“Hey, man. I just came to see how the photoshoot was going.” Daniel walks in, briefcase in hand, sad smile on his face.
He knows.
“Hey. Yeah, it’s going good. I’m pretty much done.” There’s no use in hiding the disappointment or misery in my voice. Literally could not possibly care less right now. There’s only one person I wanna see today and she still hasn’t shown up. “Sorry. Thought you were Lottie.”
“Lottie?” Daniel furrows his brows. “I… No. Why would you even think that? Of course not.”
I freeze, something in the look in his eyes sending a shiver down my spine. “What—” I clear my throat. “What do you mean of course not?”
“Well… I—Because she left.”
No. Because... because no. Absolutely not.
“She left?”
His face falls, drags a hand across his mouth. “Are you saying she didn’t even bother to—” He exhales, shaking his head. “She didn’t tell you?”
“Daniel. You’re going to need to explain yourself. Because if what you’re saying is true. If—If—” I will lose it. I will officially lose it.
Daniel looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here—doing his taxes, scrubbing his toilet bowl, having to sit through three hours of C-Span—literally anywhere but in front of me right now.
So when he tells me the words I’ve most dreaded hearing, I know he made it to the bookstore out of the kindness of his heart to check up on me.
“She’s gone, man. I—I thought that’s why you broke up? Because she left.”
“Where the—” I take a breath, try to slow down my heart as it beats a deafening drum against my ribs. She’s gone. “Where did she go?”
“I think you know.”
New York.
“Right.” The need to scream is almost overpowering, but I can’t make myself speak over a whisper.
“That friend of hers. The old coworker? Lottie took the job she offered.”
What job? Madison offered her a job? She never told me about a goddamn job.
Never told me Madison had come through with anything.
“Right.” I nod as if I knew. As if she’d told me.
As if she cared enough to keep me in the goddamn loop about her plans.
As if we really had been partners like I thought we had evolved to and not just the fuck buddies we started off as.
“I’m sorry, man. I really am. I thought she would’ve… I did think it was all very sudden. She hadn’t said anything all day yesterday at the birthday party and then this morning I got a call from her and…” He shrugs, looking a little helpless.
“Yeah. No.”
He says something else, but I’m not listening anymore, the past two and a half months flashing in my head like some kind of torturous reel.
I didn’t even merit a fucking goodbye?
I can’t be here anymore. I really can’t. I need to figure out what my next steps are. Figure out what I’m supposed to do for the rest of my life now that…
“Daniel,” I interrupt whatever the hell he was saying. I don’t care. “I think I’m done here. In more ways than one.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but immediately closes it. I can see in his eyes how apologetic he is, how much he wants to help. But no one can help now. Finally: “I understand.”
I grab my camera and pop the SD Card, slapping it on the counter.
“Here are the photos for the listing. Obviously unedited and maybe not enough of them, but you can hire someone else to do that for you. I’m done.
” I don’t want them in my life—all those photographs of this town, of her, of us—of this fucking relationship we were building even when we thought we weren’t…
I don’t want the reminders. The temptation to revisit them when she’s made it very clear it will never be a reality.
They are merely photos of a moment in time—nothing more.
“If she’s gone, then… Then I’m gone. I can’t be here anymore.”
“Wait. What? No. What about the rest of the tasks we need to complete? And the sale?”
I start breaking everything down, packing up my equipment.
“Jenn can handle whatever’s left. It’s not much, and she’s honestly more than capable.
And you have my email for everything else.
And with regards to Walter’s apartment… There’s still some stuff there—I haven’t cleared everything out.
But I’ll just hire some guys to put it all into storage.
I’ll pay you to clean it up and stage it. ”
I’m done. I’m gone.
It doesn’t take long for me to pack up my things; I just need the basics.
Like I told Daniel, I schedule some movers to get the rest of my stuff—Walter’s stuff—for the following week.
They’ll shove it into some storage somewhere out of sight, out of mind.
All I decide to take with me are my camera gear and some clothes.
But as I’m wrapping up the last of my packing, I don’t reach for my leather jacket.
The sight of it tears at my heart, shreds it, the mix of her scent with mine too difficult to bear.
I think of how sexy she looked wearing it, each time she did waking my caveman instincts.
Mine was all I could think of, despite never realizing she was far from that.
Always keeping me at arm’s length, even after thinking that I’d brought all her walls down.
Never mine.
I toss it on the bed, leaving it behind. Don’t even want to look at it anymore.
It takes me a moment to get to a place where I feel comfortable driving. I have a nine hour trip ahead of me to my mother’s place and it’s not a good idea to drive this distracted, is it? With your heart torn to pieces and your mind a jumbled mess?
Because it isn’t just the reason why I’m leaving that’s got me rattled.
It’s my destination. After all of this, after reading all those snippets of Walter’s innermost thoughts, there is no other option but to confront my mother.
And even if I didn’t, even if I choose to avoid the topic altogether, the fact that most of my professional gear is stored at her house means that I won’t be able to avoid her regardless.
And I know myself. I know that after everything that’s happened, everything I’ve learned, there’s no way I’m not going to question her.
I realize I’m the one who’s throwing myself out of the pan and into the fire, but I can’t keep avoiding my father forever. Or our sudden similarities—both suffering from unrequited love, both betrayed by the women they worshipped.
Finally, I get it together at least enough to walk, only to trip on one of the boxes I left by the front door.
Walter’s journals—so many of them still unread.
With Lottie’s help, I’d gotten through some, never able to face his words by myself.
But now I’m alone. And it’s something I’m going to have to accept, whether I like it or not.
I swing my camera bag strap over my chest on my left shoulder, my duffel bag on my right, and carry one of the boxes of journals all the way to my truck.
Before I start the engine, I shoot off an email to my agent accepting the three-month job—fuck it, who’s gonna miss me anyway?—and slam my hands on the steering wheel hard and loud enough to draw some looks from multiple passersby.
It’s fine. The outsider is leaving. They can add that to the list of shit they’ll say about me.
And without another thought, without any other ounce of hesitation, I leave just like she did.