Page 36 of Anywhere with You

Petition for Divorce.

I made myself breathe slowly out and in.

There were a lot of pages, a lot of words, little yellow tabby things to show me where to sign.

I skimmed each page, signing as I went, until…

There it was.

Bridget was taking the house. But she was giving me the store.

I let out a breath that I’d swear I’d been holding for weeks. I had been so sure that she would ask for it all, and what could I have done? My financial contributions had been tiny, compared to hers. She had paid for more than three-quarters of the store.

She could’ve taken it, the building, the inventory, everything, or demanded that we sell it and split the money. She probably should’ve. There would be no return on her investment now.

So why hadn’t she?

I sat staring at the papers for ages, while the question turned in my head. I could only come up with one explanation.

Bridget had loved me.

How strange, to doubt it so completely for so long and to discover the truth buried in a stack of legal papers.

I remembered the first time we’d come inside this empty building, how her eyes had lit up as she talked about what we should do, what colors to paint the walls, how to arrange the shelving, where to put the register.

She’d always had a good eye for design, and I loved how the store had turned out with her help.

I remembered, years before, when she would watch me sing in the evenings, my bare fingers on the strings, her eyes adoring.

I remembered her briefly trying to learn how to play, too.

It lasted until her first blister. I brought her an ice pack, assuring her that it was just part of the process.

She had stared at me and said, “Why would you do this to me? To yourself? Do you love pain, or are your fingers made of rocks? I’m switching to drums.” And I’d laughed.

Later, I’d taken her to a friend’s house, and she had spent an hour playing on his drum set, headbanging like an eighties rocker.

I remembered putting a ring on her finger and pulling her close to me, amazed that she said yes.

In my office, I wiped the tears from my face, but I was smiling, too, feeling lighter than I had in months.

All those memories that had felt tainted were returning now, bright and new, not because Bridget had left me the store, but because of what it meant.

She hadn’t spent the last fourteen years lying to me.

She had loved me. She’d wanted to be with me.

Our marriage had been real and good and wonderful, for years and years.

Of course, I was still angry with her. She’d walked out on me.

But at least she’d done it fast, ripping-off-the-bandage fast. She hadn’t let me linger in hope, gone with me to therapy, let me try to make amends once she knew what she wanted.

The fact that Lorenzo was what she wanted still baffled me and probably always would.

But I could look at our shared past without flinching now, and that was something.

I did my best to dry my eyes with my sleeve and get back to the paperwork. I picked up the page, starting back at the top and skimming it again.

Bridget also…oh. I dropped the page. It fluttered to the floor, and I had to stoop to pick it up again.

She wanted to split the contents of all our accounts. Fifty-fifty.

I only ever dealt with the business account and our shared checking account, for bills. I’d known she was putting money in savings, but I’d never bothered to check how much. To be honest, I’d kind of forgotten it existed.

And now, now along with the store, I had twenty thousand dollars to help keep it running.

* * *

Once I was finished freaking out, I called Mom to check on Badger and let her know that I was back in town.

“Now,” she said, “I’m sure you’re worn out, so don’t worry about coming to get him right away. Are you at the store? I knew you would be. Go home and get some rest. You can pick Badger up in a day or two, once you’ve recovered from all that travel.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I told her.

“Figures.”

It took me fifteen, but as soon as I pulled into the driveway, Mom opened the door, Badger in her arms.

I took him and buried my face in his fur as he yipped and licked me in my ear.

“Gross,” I said, kissing him. He was fine. He was healthy. It didn’t even seem like he’d lost an ounce of weight or fur from his ordeal in the onion patch. I squeezed him too tight as I walked inside, then set him down as Dad approached.

“Oh my Honey,” Dad said, squeezing me almost as tightly as I’d squeezed Badger. “I’m so glad you’re back. I’m glad you went, but your mother had to hide my keys when I saw your video about being stranded in the desert.”

“Yes, at that horrible little cottage next to those horrible hot springs,” Mom said, grinning.

“That Cara looks like she thinks the world of you,” Dad said. “She keeps looking at you like she thinks you’re Taylor Swift.”

“She’s sweet,” Mom said, in a tone like she was defending Cara from being called a fangirl. “I know I made a fuss, but it’s been wonderful, seeing you so happy. I was wrong, and I’m glad.”

I had honestly doubted that they’d kept watching the Mesmio reels, remembering that I’d avoided talking to them about our car trouble when we were on the phone. I was surprised that they hadn’t been calling every five minutes to offer to come get me.

Were they treating me like a real adult? Finally?

“The hot springs were beautiful, but I did feel so bad for you both when the car broke down before you got to the redwoods,” Mom said.

“She’s been obsessing over your Mesmio like it’s a soap opera,” Dad teased. “But in all seriousness, we were worried. Are you okay?”

“I’m so traumatized that I may need another vacation.” I tried to joke, but with both of them here chattering, and Badger rolling against my ankles, every hard thing I’d faced in the last few days seemed to hit me all at once, and I felt my eyes start to fill.

I tried to swallow back the tears. I couldn’t have even said what I was crying about, and I probably would’ve stopped, but Mom noticed and put her arms around me.

Then there was no way I could stop. So much for being a grown-up. I leaned into my mommy.

She and Dad hugged me from either side, and I tried to let go of everything I’d been carrying.

But there was too much. There was still Cara, who I’d abandoned, who’d lied to me about my own marriage.

There was the stress of worry over Badger.

There was the store, rescued from the brink of bankruptcy, and mine, truly mine.

I cried over every good and bad and hard thing, every change that had come, and all the challenges still ahead of me.

And for a moment, I tried to look at it all the way I’d looked at the canyon, at the stars, at the sands, the way Mary Oliver would, as something vast and unique, something pushing the boundary of the word beautiful to make it bigger, make it encompass more.

Because if I couldn’t see my own life that way, what was the point of any adventure?

Eventually, I pulled myself together as much as I could and told my parents the lie that they’d probably told me often, growing up.

“I’m just tired,” I said. “It’s been a long day, and I’m sure all I need is some rest.”

I rejected my mother’s pleas to stay in my old room, told them I’d call tomorrow, and took Badger home.

Just inside the front door of my house, I hugged him close to me again, then put him down, letting him run around with joy and bounce against my legs only to run around again and again.

It was wonderful to be home again, almost as much as it hurt. I went straight for the wine.

Badger sniffed corners and jumped up on all the furniture, barked at a plant, then rolled onto my feet, begging for belly rubs.

“You’re a pest,” I told him. “But I don’t know how I could’ve faced this without you.”