“And that was basically my summer,” I said, sitting forward in the oversized chair. “What do you think? Have I made progress?”
Dr. Heichman stared at me behind his glasses, his pen frozen against his notebook. He’d asked, “What did you do this summer, Alex?” and I’d given him the most accurate answer I could think of. If he wanted the shortened version, he should’ve given me a time limit.
He cleared his throat and set his pen down. “Well, it sounds like you did tremendous soul-searching,” he said. “I’ll agree there are still things for us to work on, but you’re getting there. This has been a definite step in the right direction.”
“It’s been a leap,” I said, flicking my attention toward the old-fashioned clock on the edge of his desk. I hadn’t used up the full hour my parents paid for, but it was close enough. Much better than my pre-camp time.
He followed my attention to the clock, his brow arching. “Would I be pushing my luck if I asked you to continue discussing your summer?”
“That’s pretty much it,” I said, standing. “Went there. Came back. Currently trying to show everyone how much I’ve changed.”
“That will take time.”
“I’ve got plenty of it,” I said.
I grabbed the complimentary bottle of water and walked across the room, pausing in front of the new portrait on the opposite wall. Gone was the horrible Rembrandt knockoff. In its place, a more colorful seascape.
“Who did this one?” I said, pointing to the painting.
“A local artist named Sczcotchy.”
I glanced at the canvas again. The mixture of blues and greens captured the complexity of an ocean, while oranges and golds shimmered behind it, reflecting sunlight through the depths.
“I like it,” I said. “It’s good. Much better than the Rembrandt.”
“I took your suggestion,” he said, a small smile threatening his otherwise-neutral expression.
I grinned to myself and clutched the doorknob, opening the door to a mostly empty lobby. Inside, reading the newest Good Housekeeping magazine, was my mom, sitting in the same chair as always. She looked up from the pages, her eyes meeting mine.
“We’re done,” I said. “And I’m happy to report I made it almost the entire hour.”
“Did you really?” she said, glancing at her watch. “Who are you and what did you do with my daughter?”
“Same me, just tweaked a little from all those Yoga for the Soul sessions I had to do while I was away.”
“You did yoga?”
“Nope,” I said. “I tried it once and was miserable. You should know me better than that.”
She chuckled and tossed the magazine on the coffee table in front of her. Her heels click-clacked as we made our way to the exit.
Outside, late August’s heat left everything sticky. My mom’s car, parked along the sidewalk, glistened beneath the afternoon sun. The lights flashed to life as I reached the passenger side. She slid into her seat, buckling the seat belt as I reached for mine.
“Early dinner?” she said, pulling the car onto the same downtown street we’d driven a million times before.
“Long as it’s Ellie’s Café,” I said. I shifted, taking my phone from my back pocket. A text from Grant had appeared on the screen. My heart fluttered. We were a couple of weeks from being out of camp, and my feelings hadn’t changed. Maybe there was hope for us.
Grant: Plane landed. I’ll be on campus in less than fifteen. FaceTime date tonight?
“He make it safe?” my mom said, earning my attention.
“Currently on his way to campus,” I said, typing out a response.
Me: Only if we can coordinate with Ben & Jerry’s
Grant: And I’m taking a detour to United right now;)
I stowed my phone out of sight. My mom’s gaze was steady and unmoving. The idea of me having a boyfriend was still an adjustment for her, but Loraine had helped ease her and my dad into it. Who could make a better case than someone who’d known Grant since he was fourteen?
No one. Loraine was my best bet.
“So remind me: He’s a freshman at Tech?”
“Sophomore,” I said. “Sports-management major. I think he’d minor in business if he could, but rumor has it he’s trying to get on as a manager for the basketball team this year. I don’t think he’ll have time.”
“Sounds like he has a good head on his shoulders.”
“Most of the time,” I said, nodding.
I glanced out the window again, my heart cinching slightly. I wouldn’t be able to schedule a visit until Thanksgiving break, but if we were lucky he’d come here in October. Until then, FaceTime dates and nightly phone calls would have to work.
Maybe it was better that way. I had to face my past here, and the people I’d neglected entirely too long. One person in particular.
“Would it be okay with you if I went out for a little while tonight?” I said, looking at my mom. “It will be max an hour. I just … I have something I need to do.”
“What time you planning on leaving?” she said.
“Probably as soon as we’re back. I’d rather get there before it gets too dark. I won’t be gone long. Promise.”
Her hands were tight on the steering wheel. She was still nervous when I went out after dark, but if she wanted me to change she had to give me the freedom to do it. I knew that. So did she.
“You can go,” she said, nodding. “But be careful.”
“I will.”
Hours later, as the sun set behind a canopy of trees, I steered my car down the old country road leading to Baker’s Swamp. The sky, streaked with vivid oranges and golds, contrasted the bitter memories of this place.
One held beauty. One held pain. Neither outweighed the other.
Silently, I pulled my car to a stop and took in a breath. My emotions balled at the base of my throat, the sinking feeling of loss heavy in my stomach. Too much time had passed, but I could do this. I had to do this. It was part of moving on.
Outside, a breeze ruffled the cypress leaves around me and brushed its way across my skin, sending goose bumps up my bare arms. Rocks crunched beneath my shoes, and then the path leading to Nikki’s memorial shifted from pavement to newly trimmed grass.
It had been over a year since the accident, but the memories had yet to fade. Like the small white cross on the side of the road, and the fresh wreath of flowers someone had recently brought, this place and the person I’d lost here were more than a memory.
My arms crossed my chest as the stillness of dusk settled over me. There were so many things I wanted to say to her, so many things I wanted to apologize for, but the words wouldn’t come out. I stood there, wrapped in silence as the events of the past year flitted through my mind.
There were still issues to work through, and emotions to handle, but at least now I had a starting point.
I had a second chance at living. I had the opportunity she never did, and I wouldn’t waste it.
“I got this,” I said, my voice barely a whisper on the breeze.
And I swear I heard her say, “I know you do.”