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Elizabeth and I took a different route for our run the following morning. Rather than heading toward the beach, we ran east out of the neighborhood, the San Diego downtown skyline to our left, and toward the bridge. We cut southward along the golf course and down toward the condos and townhomes across from the Hotel Del. We ran halfway down the strand before U-turning and heading for home.
“You took it easy on me,” I said, still covered in sweat, as we walked up the driveway.
“My recovery day,” she said, smiling. “You got lucky.”
“Figured you were worn out from your late night.”
She frowned. “I got home about midnight.”
“That's late when you're my age.”
“It's early when you're mine,” she said. “But we just hung out. Got coffee and then ice cream and walked the harbor.”
I opened the front door and she told me about how her friends from high school were doing, catching me up on their boyfriends and college and the things that occupied most of your time when you hit twenty years old. While she talked, I mixed up waffle batter and poured the mix into the waffle iron. I cut up some fruit and threw it in a bowl and she put out plates and silverware while she talked. It was nice hearing her ramble. It reminded me that even with everything she had endured in her short life, she was still normal. Yes, she had things she was still dealing with, but she'd come out not that much different than any other young woman her age.
She was far tougher than I was.
As we ate, I told her about what I'd learned about Patrick Bullock the day before. She listened as she devoured one waffle, then a second.
“So you think he did it then,” she said. “Killed himself?”
“I don't see a path to anything else,” I told her. “Which is both good and sucks.”
“How so?”
“Well, it's good because there's closure,” I said. “Closure in the sense that his family and friends know what happened. There shouldn't be much mystery.”
She stabbed at a strawberry with her fork. “Right.”
“But it sucks because then you have to ask yourself all of the questions that come with that,” I said, sipping from my coffee. “The whys and the what-ifs. And sometimes, those are pretty painful.”
She nodded. “For sure.” She reached for another strawberry. “I do that sometimes.”
“Do what?”
“The what-ifs,” she said. “What if I'd followed you into the house that morning. How literally everything else would've been different. For us. For Mom.”
Something pinched in my gut. I took another sip of my coffee. “Hard not to think about those things. I thought about them the whole time you were gone. They ate me up.”
“I don't mean they keep me up at night,” she said, glancing at me. “Just that sometimes I go down that rabbit hole and I just wonder.”
“Me, too,” I said. “But it wasn't your fault for staying outside. Any kid should be able to stand outside in their own front yard for as long as they want, much less five minutes.”
“I know.”
“I hope so.”
“Let's not turn this into Good Will Hunting,” she said, finishing her water. “I know it wasn't my fault. It's just something I think about sometimes.”
I felt the pinching subside. “Fair enough. And like I said. I do, too. I think you can't help but do it. Even if you haven't gone through something like we have or what Patrick’s family is going to deal with, I think it's normal to think about the roads you could've taken and how that might change who you are.”
She nodded, lost in thought.
I'd done it the whole time she'd been gone and then again after Lauren was killed. I'd seen a million different paths that I hadn't taken and I did stay up at night, wondering why I hadn't taken them and angry with myself for not seeing them. It was a frustrating exercise, but one that was probably going to be with me forever.
“So,” I said, wadding up my napkin. I couldn’t wallow. Not now. “What's the plan for today?”
“Jenna asked if I'd go look at an apartment with her,” she said. “She needs to move. Her roommate is a nightmare. She doesn't wanna go by herself.”
“Ah, okay.”
“But maybe we could have dinner?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I don't have anything going on tonight.”
I nodded. “Okay, that works.”
“What are you going to do today?”
I gathered up her plate and stacked it on top of mine, my stomach tangling at what I had to do. “I'm gonna go talk to Mike.”