“Will you sleep tonight?”
My eyes drifted to my journal. “Yeah, I think I might.”
She tilted her head. “You sound clearer this afternoon—better. You still look like shit, but you sound more like you.”
“I think I found my path.”
“Writing your story?”
“Yes. I made a decision I want to talk to you about.”
“Sure.”
“You mentioned with the big job Chris is now on, and how busy the salon is, you were afraid this place would sit empty most of the next few months.”
She nodded.
“Would you consider letting me stay on here for a while? I’ll pay rent, of course.”
“What about your place in Boston?”
“I’ll sublet it.”
“Are you…waiting for him?”
“No.” I closed my eyes as I admitted the truth. “He isn’t coming back.”
I shifted in my chair as I tried to explain. “Aside from you, there isn’t anything in Boston for me now, and I like it here. I don’t have a job to go back to; I spoke with Ashley earlier and she’s willing to hire me for some hours during the next while. I can write, work, and find my feet.” I shook my head. “The way I planned to do when I got here, before…Zachary.”
“Are you writing that story for you or to publish?”
“No, it’s for me. Only me. Maybe, though, once it’s out of my head, I can find more words and write again.”
“Any plot bunnies up there?”
“Maybe.” I smiled at her.
“I have to go back to Boston.”
“I know.”
She pursed her lips, studying me. “Will you be okay here alone, Megan? Will you fall apart when I leave?”
“No, I’m done falling apart. I need to move on.”
“Can you?”
I shrugged. “I have no choice, do I? No one can do it for me, so I have to.”
“You’ll have to share the place on occasion when we can make it down.”
“I know. I’m good with that.”
“You know, one of the girls at the salon was looking for a place. She broke up with her boyfriend and literally left everything behind. She’d probably take most of your stuff, if you wanted. The rest you can bring here or store at our place. I can ask her, if you want me to?”
“That would be great.”
She stood up. “Okay. I’m going to call Chris and tell him I’m coming home tomorrow.” She hesitated. “If you need me you’ll call, right? Or if you can’t stand being here alone, you’ll come stay with us?”
Warmth flooded my chest at her words. “You’re such a good friend.”
“Takes one to know one.”
She left the room and I smiled sadly. I would miss her, but it was time. She needed to get back to her life and I needed to find mine. I wasn’t sure if this move was permanent for me, but for now, it was where I wanted to be. I was under no illusion that Zachary would reappear at any time, seeking me out, yet I was loath to leave this place.
Maybe once I finished our story. Maybe once I exorcized the pain and made peace with what happened I’d be able to move forward and find my direction.
It must have happened for a reason. I refused to believe what Zachary and I went through, what we shared, how he started to open up and accept he was worthy of being loved, was for nothing.
I only had to figure out how to find the reason, accept it, and move on with my life.25MeganI stopped tracking the passage of time. The minutes became hours, morphing into days, and three weeks later, I had filled four of my journals. The world around me ceased to exist when I picked up my pen and relived the past months, starting with the events that led up to me coming to Cliff’s Edge and my too brief time with Zachary. Moments I’d forgotten, small flashes of his smile, tender words from his full lips, even fiery explosions of his eyes came back to me as I wrote. Sweet, quiet seconds and dark, angry moments, were all carefully recorded in brutal honesty. My tears often fell onto the pages as I wrote feverishly, gripped in some memory, wanting, needing to get the words out of my head and onto the paper. Every day, I prayed today would be the day the pain would lessen. One more sentence, one more memory aired, would ease the ache that was never-ending. It was a constant reminder of a part of my life that was so intense, fraught with land mines and pain, yet, in so many ways, the happiest I’d ever been.
Karen checked on me often, making sure I wasn’t losing myself in my writing or wallowing in tears. Dixie and I walked the beach every day, some days even succeeding in pretending the house on the bluff was only that: another empty house on the beach. After a few days, she stopped running toward the stairs looking for Elliott. I never made it as close as the stairs before I had to turn back, my chest tightening, my legs starting to shake. I convinced myself I had stopped waiting for Zachary to appear; if my eyes drifted toward the house, it was only by accident. Chris would be pleased to know I was keeping an eye on Zachary’s house. I even looked at the Smith’s house on occasion. I saw Mrs. Cooper in town when I drove in for supplies and a few times I waved at Mr. Cooper when I saw him checking out both vacant properties.