50. CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 50
ARI
W e’ve been home for about a week. Ethan only spent two nights in the hospital. I’m not sure if he insisted on being discharged or if that’s all they keep you for when you nearly lose all your blood and need a transfusion and surgery. But I’ve kind of turned my brain off. Call it survival mode, but I just can’t process it all.
Neither of us has been back to work yet. We’ve been spending our days just being together. Cuddling on the couch watching movies. Ordering takeout and eating it in bed. But today I needed some space. Ethan thinks I headed over to visit the Millers, which isn’t a lie, but I’m also making another stop. I was surprised Ethan didn’t insist on coming with me, but he let me go without too much fuss.
Which is good, because I need closure, and it’s something Ethan doesn’t need to be here for.
I lower the radio as Jason Aldean sings about flying over states, and the gravel crunches under my tires as I pull into the driveway. I shut off the engine and sit in the car for a minute, taking in the scene.
Yellow caution tape is wrapped around the rubble where the garage used to stand. It’s a pile of black and gray ash, with beams sticking up here and there. I can make out the torched lawnmower and even the old workbench, but the rest is just wreckage.
The house was untouched by the fire. Whether that’s fortunate or unfortunate, who knows?
Exiting the vehicle, I walk around and lean against the hood of the car, shielding my eyes from the warm sun as I take in the surroundings. I look into the picture window on the side of the house and see the sofa bed I used to sleep on, the living room where Axel beat the shit out of me numerous times, and the hallway where Lena used to stand and do nothing. Sure, she covered for me here or there, but it’s not enough.
I can’t be angry anymore, but I still can’t embrace her either.
I knew she wouldn’t be home, and that’s why I wrote her a letter, in short, thanking her for providing all the bare necessities I needed growing up and for being the only mother she knew how to be. And also asking her not to contact me again. Like I told Ethan at the hospital, I’m just done, and I need Lena to know it. Ethan filled me in on the rest of the sordid story of how Lena has known all along who my birth mother is, and that opened an entirely new wound.
As far as I’m concerned, she’s as dead as Axel.
I walk over to the door at the side of the house and wedge the letter into the space between the door and frame, then turn and head back toward the car, but my steps slow as a conflicting feeling overcomes me.
Not all my memories here are bad.
The sun is bright and warm, and the breeze is blowing through the wheat grass. It’s short now since it won’t be ready to be harvested until the fall. As I close my eyes and start to pull my hair up into a ponytail, I can hear the echoes of our childhood voices—me, Ethan, and Fonz.
“Dude, you got moves like Elvis.”
“Can you ask Miss Vida to make those chocolate brownie things?”
“Hey, wait for me! I can’t pump as fast going up this hill!”
Before I know it, my legs are pumping and pushing me through the yard, away from the house, and into the field.
“Wanna go for a ride tonight, Red?”
“I’ll come to the window after I see the light out.”
“Totally worth it!”
My arms stretch out as I feel the tall grass caress my legs and I weave through it. My head is tipped back, the sun hitting my face—and my smile.
I get to the edge where I can access the creek and slow to a walk as I find the big rock where the three of us used to perch. I slink down, pulling my knees up and hugging them to my chest. Tears fall down my face but they’re not out of sadness. They are cleansing. They are renewal. They are rebirth. And they beg to bring me home.
Which gives me an idea … I just wonder if Ethan will go for it.
ETHAN
I swear to the universe this will be the last time I keep something from Ari, but I had to come alone and see where this leads before pushing her any further. I just can’t stand the thought of setting her up to be disappointed one more time.
When she said she was going to visit Sophie, I had my opening.
The drive was a little over an hour, and pulling into the residential neighborhood, I admire the neat little rows of houses. There are a few beautiful, big Victorian houses with intricate molding and trim in bright colors, and then there are more modest homes, like the one I park in front of. It’s the address I got from Lena.
I don’t exactly know what I was expecting to find, but the white house looks like your typical two-story home with a porch and small yard surrounded by a fence.
Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I exit the Jeep. I’m dying to ride the Ducati, but I don’t have all my core strength back.
My Army boots feel heavy as I climb the few steps to the front door and knock. I wait a minute, then knock again, but no one answers. Walking down the stairs, jamming my hands into my pockets and hanging my head, a voice catches my attention. “They’re probably out back.”
I turn toward the direction the voice came from and see a middle-aged guy standing on the porch at the house next-door, a toddler on his hip. “You looking for Shirley? Or Bonnie?”
“Uh, either, I guess.”
He nods toward the back yard. “I think they’re out back gardening.”
I turn and look around the side of the house. “Thanks.”
Crossing over the grass, I make it to the fence gate. “Hello?” Not hearing a reply, I look around and see a small yard that is exploding with flowers and bushes and plants just towering everywhere. It looks almost tropical. “Hello?”
“Is someone there?” I hear a feminine, older voice.
“Yes. Uh, sorry. I’m at the gate.”
A woman with thick, shoulder-length silver hair comes into view from under an arbor that has roses and some kind of vine-like plant weaving through it. Long black pants flow around her legs, and she’s wearing a blouse covered in, ironically, flowers. “Can I help you?” Her eyes roam over my still-black eye, and nose covered in a splint.
“Y—yes,” I stutter. “Are you Shirley?”
“The one and only.” She smiles. “And you are?”
“Ethan.” I offer my hand, and she takes it. “So, this is going to sound crazy, but my girlfriend has been looking for her birth mother for, well, her whole life, I guess, and I’m just wondering …” I take a deep breath. “Do you have any knowledge of a granddaughter that may have been adopted …”
I trail off when Shirley brings her hand to her chest and her complexion pales. “Say it isn’t so,” she whispers.
Before I can say anything else, another woman comes into view. Her head is down as she lugs a bucket with gardening tools in it. But I can’t miss the full head of fiery red hair. And then she looks up, and as she makes her way toward us, it’s like Earth’s tectonic plates snap into place.