CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Callahan
I sit in the car and watch Ledger’s plane take off from the airport until it’s a speck of silver in the pinks and oranges of the morning sunrise.
With my hand on the steering wheel and my head leaned back against the seat, I try to unpack the past twenty-four hours.
But how is that even possible?
How do you process your world being rocked?
How do you lay down the anger you’ve worn like armor for the past year without feeling like you’re missing something?
And how do you fathom going home to slide into bed with a woman when all you’ve ever done is slip out of one quietly to avoid complication?
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself as I chew the inside of my cheek. Is this what normalcy feels like? A family that’s working on things, a woman you can’t wait to be with, and a job that takes up the space between?
The sun rises. Slowly. Steadily. It rises over the horizon with a quiet beauty like always.
Which horizon will I be watching it from in the coming weeks? What beach, what country, what mountaintop will I be admiring it from?
The thought used to bring me peace in the early days of this venture. It used to be my fallback to get me through.
Then why does it sound less appealing now?
Why does it seem less . . . everything?