Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
Hollie
The day before Thanksgiving
My fingers felt cold as I twisted them together beneath the table and my nerves hummed with tension.
At least, off the witness stand, I could finally breathe.
Gabriella sat next to me with her chin held high, her onyx hair pulled into a luxurious braid over her right shoulder.
She was everything I could ask for in an attorney—strong, stubborn, and in complete control as she supported me through this dizzying process.
Tempted to pick my cuticles, I tucked my hands under my thighs and stared straight ahead. The couple times my eyes wandered to the defense table, I almost broke.
We were so close to finishing this thing—I had to stay strong.
A few beats of silence settled over the courtroom before Judge Byrd leaned back in her seat.
“Based on the evidence presented today, the father’s failure to appear, and the fact that he still remains in contempt of Court, the Court is granting the mother sole legal custody and is approving her request to relocate to the state of Texas. ”
My eyes fluttered closed, tears immediately flooding them. Sheer will kept me from crumbling onto the table as a blend of feelings crashed through my chest, swinging like a pendulum between heartbreak and elation. Joy and sorrow. This would change everything.
Everything.
I pressed my lips together to still the way they trembled.
The Judge continued, “All pending motions are granted. Thank you.”
The clerk crowed, “All rise.”
With trembling legs I stood, smoothing the front of my skirt.
As the judge departed, my eyes flicked to the defense table—empty.
Hurt and rage warred in my heart, dampening the joy of our victory.
Up till now, I had hoped Garrett would see the light.
That the summons to court would jolt some sense into him.
But it didn’t. How would I tell my girls he didn’t even bother to show up?
That he gave them up willingly? As happy as I was to receive full custody, I was heartbroken that my two beautiful daughters would grow up without a father actively involved in their lives.
Gabriella turned to me, her eyes twinkling. “You’re free, Hollie. We did it.”
I turned to her, blinking back the moisture in my eyes. “I couldn’t have done all this without you.”
“Not just me. You’ve got a great support system.” Her expression turned more serious. “But, just to remind you, don’t pack up and leave yet. You have to wait for the written order. I’ll get on it right away, but it could take a few weeks to process.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” I waved her off. “We aren’t going anywhere right now. We’re pretty settled at my parents’ house.”
“What about your cowboy?” Gabriella smirked. If we weren’t forced to keep our relationship professional, I could see us being good friends. She was sassy, smart, and very invested in my love story.
I gave a slight laugh, finally feeling bits of relief trickle through my veins. “We aren’t in a hurry.” But even as I said those words, longing pierced my heart.
Goodness, I missed him.
A hand rested on my shoulder. “Holls.”
I turned to see Mom. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she fisted a tissue as she reached out to hug me. I buried my nose into her shoulder, finding comfort in the floral perfume she’d worn since I was a child.
Mom’s voice was hoarse with tears, “I know you feel torn. I can see it on your face.”
I nodded as heat pressed into my eyes again.
She leaned back then patted my cheeks. “But I’m proud of you, Hollie.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She wiped her tissue along her bottom lashes. “What are you going to tell Izzy and Nora?”
I took a long, shuddering breath. “I don’t know. I honestly need some time to think about it.”
“Of course. I’m going to head home and help Estelle with the girls and get dinner on the table.
You come home when you’re ready.” We walked together to the parking lot, where we headed toward our cars.
Inside the Volvo, I blasted the heat and tapped through my phone’s notifications.
As expected, the family group chat was filled with fingers-crossed and well-wishes and I missed a couple calls from my dad, who was somewhere in the mid-West. But the only notification I gave my attention was one single text from Jesse.
I know you have family you need to update, but call me when you can.
I texted back.
I will in a little while. I think I just need some quiet right now.
His text came back immediately.
I’m here. Whenever you’re ready.
My mind fell numb as I drove, the engine humming nearly lulling me into a trance.
The feelings in my chest were so big, I couldn’t sort them behind the wheel.
So I shut them down. I flipped the blinker and almost exited onto the interstate until I remembered my house sold in the beginning of September.
I cut the blinker off and wondered how long I would keep doing that.
As much as I loved my parents, their house didn’t feel like mine.
Hopefully it wouldn’t take too much longer for me to emotionally settle in with them.
The court house was so far off my typical path that I got disoriented driving and had to pull up my maps app.
It routed me down some roads I hadn’t driven since I was a kid.
Even though I was only a few blocks down from my parents, I gaped out the windows as I drove, absorbing the way the world had changed.
Braking at a traffic light, my gaze skittered to the left side of the road, where the old bowling alley stood—a thread of my past still hanging on for dear life.
Its neon sign glowed and cars littered the sparse parking lot.
I huffed in disbelief. It still existed? It was still open!
Driven by a force outside myself, my hand reached for the blinker and I made a left hand turn. Ignoring all the parking spaces, I did the only thing I’d ever done. I drove around to the back and parked so that my headlights bathed the cinder block wall.
The back of the bowling alley hadn’t aged a day.
Before I’d even decided what I was doing there, I exited the car.
Leaving the door ajar, I took tentative steps toward the wall.
I blinked the blur away and cleared the lump in my throat as I reached forward and dragged my finger tips along the blocks until my fingers found divots—my tally marks.
How, after all this time, could you still see them?
Faded by years, they had almost disappeared.
Fog lifted from my mouth as my breath puffed in disbelief.
Staring at that wall, my stifled feelings clenched my throat. Tears pooled in my eyes and I bit down on my lip. Every hard thing I’d swallowed down bubbled to the surface as a tsunami of hurt crashed over me.
I was brave here—dancing and watching, making beauty with a shadow.
I could come here and completely strip down to my most vulnerable self.
As a child, I processed things here that were heavy and dark and I’d leave with my head held high.
In some ways, the Hollie behind the bowling alley was my best version—raw and unafraid, open and bold.
I missed her.
And suddenly, like a winter gust of wind, words spoken over my heart splintered through my soul, tearing apart my armor.
If he took dancing from you, take it back. Every chance you get.
A sharp breath filled my lungs as tears raced down my cheeks.
Take it back.
I took my girls back. I took my future back. I could take me back, too.
Glancing down at my clothes, I realized my black flats, panty hose, and suit skirt wouldn’t be very conducive to dancing, but I didn’t really care.
I knew what I had to do. With shaking legs, I returned to the car and dropped into the driver’s seat, pairing my phone to the sound system.
Not wanting to overthink it, I picked the first song that popped in my head—the song I played the very first time I danced here.
Patrick Watson’s To Build a Home.
The first chord pulsed though my ears and barreled into my spirit, tearing every wound in my heart wide open.
Clutching my chest, I got back out of the car, and walked into the light.
This was where I’d found my heart as a dancer while my family’s foundations quaked.
And now, here I was, fully transformed by the trials of life—a dancer on wobbly knees, relearning how to move without fear.
My eyes closed as I let the beats flow through me like current. Then I raised a hand, swaying forward. I reached for something beyond the shadows, pulling it to my chest and pressing it into my heart. Tears slipped from beneath my eyelids as I moved for the fragility of love and life and loss.
For the way we’re tethered to the earth.
For the pain of letting go.
For the girl who blamed herself.
For myself, reaching out and up.
Forward.
Over the last few months, I’d learned with my therapist that it was okay to grieve the things I’d wanted for my life—a marriage that didn’t break, love that wouldn’t fade, and a father for my girls.
I had worked so hard for those dreams—dug into the cold ground of his heart with my bare hands, built us with my blood and tears, took the fall when we needed a scapegoat, and laid my heart on his altar.
And after all that sacrifice—it didn’t work.
We still fell to pieces.
My shadow moved with me, dark and looming, but powerless to hold me back.
I swiped my palms over my cheeks, weeping. This was my goodbye. Beat by beat, I let go of that girl who thought she had to wear a brave face. I let go of the words that held power over me. I let go of my fears of melodramatic and silly, of too sensitive and insecure, of too much but not enough.
And I just let her dance.
I did everything I could for the father of my children.
And now, I could say goodbye.
When the final piano notes of the song rang in my ears, I collapsed and sat for a long while, just crying. The release in my soul was so strong, I pressed my palms into the frigid asphalt, leaning against deep sobs. When they began to abate, I lifted my head, swiping my sleeve over my cheek.
I stood—a thousand pounds lighter.
With a weak smile, I rose and returned to the wall, following the line of tally marks all the way to the end. Searching the ground, I found a shard of gravel and dragged it over the wall, counting out loud.
“Seventy-six.”