Chapter 12 #2
I’m relieved Jay filed the police report. After how Ray reacted when he showed up last night, I was worried he’d come after Jay again, and I’m not leaving him alone to deal with that. I’ve decided to stay in Portland for at least a couple of weeks to help him and ensure he’s safe.
I found an affordable short-term rental nearby.
I’ve been considering looking at commercial property on the West Coast, and being here will give me more opportunities to look at options.
Thankfully, Martha agreed to keep Maisy and Daisy in her apartment while I’m here, so I don’t have to worry about them.
Heather heads home, and Ronda goes out to buy groceries since she just returned from vacation. That leaves Jay and I alone for a bit.
“Have you done much hiking around here?” I ask as I help him unpack the few things he has with him in the spare bedroom.
With him taking a leave of absence from work, we have some breathing room, and I’ve been brainstorming ideas for simple distractions to break up the monotony of unraveling his relationship.
“I did, when we first moved to Portland,” he says, folding a T-shirt into the pile. “But since Ray and I got together, I haven’t. He isn’t the outdoorsy type.”
So many of the things Jay used to love got shelved while he was with Ray. I can see how that quiet erosion must have chipped away at his confidence. Part of what I want to do while I’m here is to help bring some of it back.
Flying in, the stunning views of the Columbia River Gorge and the tall, snow-capped mountains that towered over the landscapes of Oregon and Washington struck me. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve always loved hiking and being outdoors, but I don’t get enough of that living in New York City.
“There are some great trails nearby,” I tell him. “You need to be careful with your ribs, but it looks like there are some easy hikes along the Gorge that won’t be too hard for you.”
Jay looks up, a small smile ghosting his face. “Yeah, the trails down by the river are some of my favorite spots. Give me a few days to rest, and I’m in.”
The next day, we head to Jay’s house to pack what he needs. This will be the first time he’s going back since the assault, and I’m not sure how he’ll respond. Heather also seems to gauge his reactions as we walk through the door.
“You doing alright?” she asks him as he pauses and looks down at a spot on the floor.
He’s silent for a few moments, his fists clenched. I want to reach out, wrap him in my arms, but I know I need to be careful. Instead, I place my hand on his shoulder to let him know I’m here if he needs me.
Finally, he nods. “I’m okay. I won’t let him get the better of me.” Steeling his shoulders, he marches down the hall without looking back.
The three of us move quickly through his house, packing clothes and personal items into boxes and totes. We’re fast and efficient, not lingering too long in case Ray comes back.
Being in his space gives me some insight into his style: neutral walls, a few sleek modern pieces, and warmer, older accents that make it feel lived in rather than staged.
I try not to picture what our own home might look like—my movie collection beside his books, our clothes sharing the same closet—but the image keeps slipping into my mind, anyway.
Before long, we have everything jammed into my rental car and Heather’s SUV, and we’re back on the road to Ronda’s house to get Jay settled.
After that, the days blend into a comfortable, slow-paced routine. During the day, I work on last-minute school projects and investigate property listings in Portland while Jay rests and completes the tasks Heather assigned him.
We’ve kept our conversations superficial, avoiding deeper topics because I can tell he’s not ready for those yet. With his injuries still fresh and obvious, staying at a friendship level is easiest for both of us.
We hang out at Ronda’s in the evenings, watching shows, having movie marathons, and eating loads of ice cream. Ronda reads in the den, and we take over the living room. It’s like we’re teenagers again.
“What are we watching tonight?” I ask, planting myself in the spot I’ve claimed on the couch.
I’ve seen all the Star Wars shows before, including most of the animated ones, but watching them with Jay is an original experience.
Jay scrolls through the selections of shows we haven’t watched yet. “Obi-Wan‘s next on the list. I’ve watched it three times, and every time I discover a hidden gem I didn’t see before.”
“Cool,” I say, grinning. “Out of all the shows, this one’s my favorite.”
We binge, pausing between each episode to chat about our favorite parts and things we didn’t catch in our previous watches.
As we get closer to the last episode, Jay’s becoming rigid and uneasy.
I know what’s going to happen, and I realize the confrontation between Obi-Wan and Darth Vader—the intense face-off and the painful betrayal—might impact him in a way he’s not ready for.
Before the big finish, I make a suggestion. “Hey, it’s pretty late. We could just watch this tomorrow.”
Jay whips his head around to look at me in surprise. “What? No, we can’t stop watching now. It’s not like either of us has somewhere to be tomorrow.”
“Are you sure? The last episode is pretty intense.”
He shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking, but I’m fine.”
“Alright,” I say, backing off and letting him decide what’s best for him.
I keep sneaking looks at him to see how he’s taking the powerful scene unfolding on the screen. It’s pretty clear how Jay’s feeling, and I’m worried about the repercussions of him watching it.
“You okay?”
He just nods without looking at me, still watching.
Once the show’s over, Jay flips off the TV. Usually, we’d spend an hour hashing out the complexities of the characters and the foreshadowing for the movies that follow, but Jay’s just sitting there, stiff and wringing his hands.
“I’m gonna go to bed,” he finally says, getting up and not looking at me.
“Sounds good. Mind if I crash on the couch tonight?”
I want to be here in case he needs something.
“Yeah, of course.”
I don’t sleep well, getting up several times to listen at Jay’s door. I hear nothing wrong, but I keep checking anyway. Around seven, I hear Ronda head out for work, but I just pull the blanket over my head and drift back to sleep after a rough night.
We both wake up late, groggy and in desperate need of caffeine. Jay looks rough, with black circles under his eyes.
“Sleep okay?” I ask while we’re pouring our coffee.
He shrugs. “Not really. Had a bad dream, then didn’t sleep much after that.”
“Sorry. That wasn’t the best thing to watch right before going to bed.”
Sitting at the kitchen table, he lets out a deep sigh. “It’s my own fault. I wanted to power through. I didn’t think it would bother me, but it did.”
“Give yourself a break,” I say encouragingly. “You’ve been through a lot, and you never know what’s going to be a trigger.”
“If only I could wave a magic wand and fix myself,” he says, sounding defeated.
Grasping his hand, I give it a good squeeze. “It’ll take time, but you’ll get there.”
On a beautiful spring morning, we pack the sandwiches and the small snack boxes Ronda made for us into a backpack, then head to the Gorge.
The April rain has finally eased, leaving the air clear and crisp; the sun peeks through ragged clouds, and everything smells like wet pine and stone.
Ronda’s got Jay using warm compresses, special creams, and a blend of vitamins, and his bruises are improving. He’s moving with less stiffness; the soreness in his ribs and back is easing, so he only reaches for over-the-counter painkillers when he really needs them.
He’s not fully healed; that will take weeks, but the edges have dulled enough that he’s ready to go outside for a bit, and I could see the relief in his face when we made our plans.
We start at Crown Point, awestruck by the vastness of the Columbia River stretching below. The Vista House is a beautiful stone dome with opal-like glass windows that glow in the morning sun.
We walk through the cool, echoing rooms, reading the plaques that tell the site’s history, and take photos like tourists.
Standing at the overlook of the gorge, with the sun casting a glow over the sprawling river, it’s the perfect spot for a selfie.
“Hey, take a picture with me,” I say, sidling up next to Jay with my phone in hand.
He stiffens, and his smile disappears instantly. “I’d rather not,” he replies, looking sheepish.
He’d been laughing and having a good time until then, and I feel like I ruined the moment.
“It’s okay,” I reply, trying to sound encouraging.
Ronda helped him put on some makeup to hide his fading bruises, but they’re still noticeable. I understand his hesitancy, and I won’t push him to do anything he’s not comfortable with.
On our drive down the scenic highway, we stop at a few smaller waterfalls, take short hikes, then spread out our picnic lunch and eat on a rock, talking about dumb things, like the worst movies we’ve both seen or our favorite playlists.
Our last stop is the famous Multnomah Falls. I’ve seen it before in photos, but it’s something else in person; the grand scale of it steals the breath right out of you. The top section pours from a height that makes you feel small.
We’re standing on the man-made bridge over the lower waterfall, the mist dampening our faces, blurring the edges of the lush greenery and the moss-covered rocks. The surrounding air is filled with the scent of wet stone and damp earth.
“This is awesome,” I say, because there’s no better word.
Jay looks up, moisture clinging to his dark eyelashes, reflecting the deep blue of his eyes.
“This was one of my favorite places when we first moved here,” he says quietly. “I used to pretend you were standing beside me. In my mind, I would tell you all about it, and I knew you would love it.”