Tucked under the edge of the sofa, I saw a pair of her flip flops. I shoved them in the bag and walked all around the house dragging the bag behind me. I paused at the bottom of the stairs, panting. All that was left was the studio—the pictures.
The memories.
Leaving the cumbersome bag, I walked up the stairs, my feet feeling heavier with each tread. Outside the door, I paused, glancing toward Elliott, who was lying with his face buried in his paws, low whimpers in the back of his throat. I knew he could sense my anger, and it was upsetting him. I wasn’t entirely sure myself where all my anger had come from after so many months. With determination, I stepped inside and yanked the collage board out, planning on carrying it downstairs and disposing of it. Instead, I leaned it on the wall and stared. Her sweet face, Megan’s sweet face, with those wondrous eyes, stared back at me. Ice-cold fury morphed into pain. Twisting, ripping pain that made my throat tighten and hands shake. Weariness draped over me, as I realized: she was still there, in my heart. As firmly entrenched as my hatred of my parents, was my love for her. No matter what had transpired, no matter how much I wanted to hate her, I never would. I couldn’t forgive or forget, but she would always reside there. She would always be with me.
I fell back heavily against the wall, my legs too shaky to hold me up. I had to leave this place. Go away and start over. It didn’t matter if I emptied the entire house; she would still exist within these walls.
I slipped the board back to the front of the pile. It didn’t matter if I tried to hide it. I could see it, and her, every time I closed my eyes.
Quietly, I shut the door and went back downstairs, calling Elliott to come with me.
I left the bag where it lay.* * *Later that night, I was startled by three sharp raps at my door. Elliott stood up—a low whimper in his throat, meaning whoever was at the door wasn’t a stranger. Warily, I approached it, the evening light casting a shadow through the covered glass, showing me it was a woman. My heart skipped a beat and my hand tightened on the knob. The person on the other side was small; surely it wasn’t Megan. She couldn’t know I was here. The house down the beach was empty. I hadn’t seen anyone since I arrived back.
I opened the door, surprised to find Karen standing on the other side. Her expression was less than friendly, a scowl on her face as she gazed at me.
“So, it’s true. You’re back,” she snapped as she breezed past me, stopping in the hall.
“Do come in,” I murmured, sarcasm dripping from the words. “Make yourself at home.” I walked past her into the living room. “Can I get you a glass of wine? Or would you prefer my balls on a plate?”
“Since I don’t think you have any, I’ll take the wine.”
I arched my eyebrow at her but fetched a glass and poured her some wine, unclear as to why I wasn’t simply ordering her out of the house.
“How did you know I was here?”
She tossed her hair in defiance at my annoyed tone. “Chris was here last week. He said he heard Mrs. Cooper on the phone with you arranging the house to be cleaned and groceries brought in.”
“Ah. I should have emailed, I suppose—less ears. Shame the place I was staying at had very little internet access.” I sat down in the chair across the table from her, feeling weary. “What do you want, Karen?”
She slammed a large manila envelope on the table in front of me. “I brought you this, Zachary.”
I eyed the thick package with suspicion. “What is it?”
“The truth.”
“According to you, you mean?”
“Listen you egotistical, insufferable man. Take your head out of your ass and read what’s inside.”
“I don’t think I’m interested in more stories, but thanks anyway.”
Her eyes narrowed in anger. “Are you always this pig-headed and stupid?”
“So I’ve been told.” I pushed the envelope back toward her. “Thanks for dropping by.”
“Have you really been that out of touch?” she asked, her voice incredulous. “Have you not been keeping up with the news?”
“Aside from the local paper, which is a weekly publication where I was staying, and is about six pages in total, no. I didn’t need to read more bullshit and gossip, but I can fill you in on the current price of local fish, if you’re interested.” I sighed, growing impatient with the conversation. “Whatever”—I swallowed, having trouble even saying her name—“Megan sent you here to tell me, I’m not interested.”
“She has no idea I’m here.”