87. December 26

The day after Christmas, I turn on my computer and find an email from Jocelyn.

DEAR CHRIS:

I’VE MADE A MISTAKE.

THIS ISN’T GOING TO WORK OUT.

I NEED SOME SPACE. PLEASE, CHRIS—JUST GIVE ME SOME TIME TO THINK THINGS OVER.

JOCELYN

I stare at the message like it’s in a foreign language.

This is the same girl who just said “I’ll never have to wonder anymore.”

The same girl who just spent Christmas with me, much of it side by side and in one another’s arms.

Mistake?

Isn’t going to work out?

Space?

Time?

I want to think it’s a joke, but nothing about it sounds like a joke.

I email her back.

WHAT’S GOING ON?

And then a few minutes later I email again.

JOCELYN—WHAT’S WRONG? WHAT’S HAPPENING?

Then, after not getting a response, I get the phone and call her.

I just get their answering machine and hear her aunt’s voice. I leave a message.

I leave two more that morning.

Nothing.

The day passes and I hear nothing.

It’s only in the afternoon that I start to worry and wonder.

Mom is at work, and it’s snowing. I know the roads are bad.

All I can do is sit in this house and worry and wonder.

A thousand voices tell me something, but none of them enough. All of them are insufficient.

By the time night comes I can’t take anymore.

I go below our deck where my bike is stored and find the tires shredded like fragments from a bomb blast. They’re not only flat, they’re slashed. Beyond repair.

Wind whips my body as I look into the wilderness and wonder who did this.

I go back inside and wait to hear from Jocelyn.

Wait to understand what’s going on.