Page 44 of Somewhere Without You

Forty Two

Before

The grass was warm beneath my back, prickly in places but still soft enough to forget the world for a little while. Logan and I lay side by side in the field behind Gran’s house. The sky above us felt wider somehow as clouds drifted lazily above.

“Thatone’sdefinitelya dog,”I said, pointing upward.

Logan’s lips quirked.“Looksmore like a misshapen rabbit.”

I gave him a gentle shove. “You have no imagination.”

He didn’t argue, whichwasweird.Normally,he’dthrow some witty comeback, something sarcastic and stupidthatwould make me laugh.Butthis time, hewasquiet. Too quiet. I turned my head.

Logan now sat cross-legged beside me, picking apart a stem of grass—his shoulders slumped in a waythattold me somethingwasn’tright.

“What’s wrong?”I askedgently.Buthe didn’t answer right away.“Logan. . .”I pressed, sitting up beside him. A soft breeze blew through the field, brushing the hair from my face, but he still wouldn’tlookat me.

“I’m leaving,”he said at last.

I blinked, confused.“What, like right now?Butwejustgot here.”

He turned, his dark eyes meeting mine. Theyweresad and distant, not the rich brown theyhadbeen earlier.

“I joined the Army.”

A shadow swept across his face. Above, a tall cloud, drooping like a weeping willow,hadmovedin front of the sun.

“What?”I asked, confused. “Why?”

He didn’t answer at first—justplucked a dandelion from the ground and rolled the stem between his fingers.

“Mom’s getting worse,”he said.“So the way Iseeit, I can either stay here andwatchherslowlydestroy her life, or I can go and try to make something of my own.”

I tried to process what hewassaying, my mind spinning in a dozen different directions. Katherinehadbeen gone for four years now, married, with a baby on the way—a whole new life she built without me.

I thought of Mom—how thirteen yearshadpassedsince her death and yet Gran still refused to speak her name. I thought of the father I never met, who disappeared before Iwasold enough toevenremember his face.

Why did everyone always leave?

Iknewwhat Logan’s momwaslike—a tornado of a woman whose addiction destroyed everything she touched. I didn’t wantthatfor him. I didn’t want him to suffer.ButI didn’t want him to leave me either. Didthatmake me selfish?Probably.

Hewasall Ihadleft, besides Gran—andevenshe spent more time in her garden than with me these days. SometimesI’dcatch her in the flower beds late at night, the moonlight clinging to her silver hair, her hands deep in the dirt like shewastrying to bury something she couldn’tgetaway from.

“Whendo you leave?”I asked, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

He hesitated.“I ship out for basic tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”I repeated, stunned.“Buthow isthatpossible if youjust—”My words trailed off as realization clicked into place.“How long have youknownabout this?”

“Emily, you’ve got to understand—”

“How long, Logan?”

He stared at the ground.“Six months,”he confessed, so quiet I almost didn’thearhim.

“Six months?”An ache twisted in my gut.“You’veknownyouwereleaving for six months and you’rejustnow telling me?”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Andyou thought waiting until the day before wouldn’t upset me?”I shouted, on my feet now.

The fieldwasstill, the clouds indifferent above us.Butinside, everythingwasunravelingjustlike it always did.

Logan stood upslowly, brushing his hands on his jeans, not meeting my eyes.Thatmade it worse somehow. Like he couldn’tevenface me after whathe’ddone.

“I wanted to tell you,”he said.“I almost did. A dozen times.Butevery time Ilookedat you, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I didn’t want toseethatlookon your face.”

“Whatlook?”I snapped, heart pounding.

He gesturedvaguelyat me.“ That one. Like I’vejustripped the ground out from under you.”

I folded my armstightlyacross my chest, trying to hold myself together.“Maybeyou shouldseeit.Maybethenyou’dunderstand what thisactuallymeans.”

Logan ran a hand over his face, frustrated.“It’s not like I’m dying, Emily.”

“No,”I saidcoldly.“You’re leaving.Justlike everyone else.”

He flinched.Thathit the mark.Good.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,”he said, softer now.“I’mjusttrying to find a way out.”

“Out of what?”I asked.“This town? Your mom? Me ?”

His silence said enough.

I turned away, staring out over the field, where the wind bent the grass and the cloudsjustkept moving like none of this mattered.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him not to go,thathewasmaking a mistake—but I didn’t.

Becausemaybeitwasn’ta mistake.Maybehim leaving meanttherewasnothing left holding me here either.

“Whendo you leave?”I asked again, quieter now.

“Bus picks me up at six,”he said.“From the high school parking lot.”

I nodded, more to myself than to him.

“You don’t have to come say goodbye,”he added, voice uncertain.“I’dunderstand if you didn’t.”

I laughedbitterly.“Yeah, well. You’ve been saying goodbye for the last six months, Ijustdidn’tknowit.”

I dug into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out a small, heart-shaped rockI’dfoundlast week and wrappedin twine.

His birthdaywasnext week, and Iwasgoing to give it to himthen.

I’d wanted to turn it into a necklace, butwe didn’t have enough string, so I ended up tying it into a bracelet instead.

Ihadplannedonfinallytelling him how Ireallyfelt, howI’dalwaysfeltbutcouldnever bring myself to admit.Maybeitwasbecause everyone I ever loved always left.

“Here,”I said, tossing it at him, not caring where it landed.“Happy fucking birthday.”

Logan didn’t say a word as he bent down to pick it up.Andhe didn’t try to stop me when I turned and walked away through the tall grass, back toward the housethatneverfeltfull,evenwhen itwas. The clouds above shifted again,thatwillow-shaped one unraveling into nothing.

Justlike us.

I didn’t bother showing up to say goodbye, despite Gran’s protests.IfLoganhadn’tcaredenough to tell me when he made the decision to leave,thenI didn’tseewhy I should care enough towatchhim go.

A few weeks after hewasgone, letters started arriving—each one addressed to me in his familiar, messy handwriting. I never opened them. Why should I? Whatcouldhepossiblysaythatwould mend the raw, aching holehe’dleftbehind? The onehe’dcarvedout of betrayal,thenleft abandoned to rot.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away.

Instead, I tucked them into an old hatbox inside my closet.Evenin my anger, I couldn’t let them go. Theywereall Ihadleftof him—a fragile reminder of the friendship we once shared.Eventually, the letters stopped coming. I figuredhe’dfinallygiven up, realizing Iwasn’tgoing to write back.

Then, on a dreary August afternoon, the phone rang.

By now, Loganhadalready graduated bootcamp.WhenGran called up the stairs saying the callwasfor me, I paused—half hoping itwashim on the other end.

“Emily?”

Butitwasn’tLogan’s voicethatbled through the phone. ItwasKatherine’s.

“Hey,”I said, swallowing my disappointment.“Is everything okay?”

Itwasa surprise tohearfrom her considering wehadn’thearda word innearlyfive months. Ever since she left, itfeltlikewe’dbeen shelved. Her calls always came out of nowhere, and they always left something bitter behind.

“Everything’sgreat,”she saidbrightly.“Perfect,actually.”

Everything will be perfect. . .

“That’sgreat,”I said, forcing cheer into my voice.“How’s Grant? How’s the new baby?”

“Grant’s. . . Grant,”she replied.“AndBella is the most amazing little thing I’ve ever seen. Istillcan’t believe I made something so beautiful.”

“I can,”I said with a smile.“I’mreallyhappy for you, Kat. You got everything you ever wanted.”

“Yeah. . .”Her voice dipped a little.“Almost everything.”

I laughedlightly.“What? Living in California with a rich, handsome husband and a perfect baby isn’t enough for you?”

Katherine laughed along with me.“Itis—butit’d be better if Icouldshare it with you.”

I waited, expecting her to say more.Whenshe didn’t, the silence filled in the blanks for me.

“Are you asking me to come visit?”

“I’m asking you to come stay ,”she said.“Butonly if you want to.”

My eyes glanced toward Gran, whowashunchedover the kitchen sink, hummingsoftlyto herself. Shehadn’tspokento Katherine since the night she left.

“What about Gran? I can’tjustleave her here alone,”I whispered, pressing myself against the wall likeit wouldmuffle the conversation.

Katherine didn’t hesitate.“Emily, you can’t keep putting your life on hold for everyone else. She’shadyou for thirteen years. That’s not nothing. You’re not some keepsake she gets to keep tucked away on a shelf. You deserve to live your own life.”

I stared at the floor, at thewideplank woodI’dscrubbeda thousand times.

“I don’tknowif I can,”I admitted.“She wouldn’t say it, but I think she needs me.”

“Maybeshe does,”Katherine offered.“Butmaybeyou need you more.”

Her words landed like a stone in my chest.

“You’ve got to stop shouldering whatever misplaced guilt you’re carrying,”she continued.“Mom died. I left.Andyou. . . you stayed. You always stay.ButEm,thatdoesn’t mean you’re supposed to.”

My throat tightened. I didn’t respond right away. I couldn’t. The idea of leaving this place—of leaving Gran, itfeltwrong. Disloyal,even.Butthe idea of staying, of living out the rest of my life in this small, miserable townthathated us,wassuffocating.

“You wouldn’tjustbe starting over,”Katherine said, her voice hopeful.“You’dbe starting something that’s yours .”

There was a long pause between us.

“Okay,”I said at last.“I’ll come.”

Katherine’s cheer erupted through the phone, loud enoughthatIhadto cover the receiver with my hand. I shot a nervous glance toward Gran.

“I’ll take care of everything,”she said, her voice bubbling with excitement.“Flights, pickup—youjustfocus on packing.”

After we hung up, I stayed rooted in the kitchen, the phone still warm in my hand.

Gran didn’t turn around. Shejustkept scrubbing the same dish in slow, rhythmic circles, like shehadn’thearda thing.

“How’s your sister?”she askedcasually.

“She misses you,”I said, testing the waters.

Granfinallyplaced the dish in the drying rack beside the sink and reached for another.“She made her choice,”she saidsimply.

I swallowed hard, setting the phone down on the counter.

“She invited me out for a visit,”I let out,carefully.

Gran didn’t answer right away—justcontinued rinsing the plate in her hands, running it under the water like it might wash away whatever Iwasn’tsaying.

Finally, she said,“You do what you need to do, Emily.”

Thatshould’vefeltlike permission—but it didn’t.

I left the kitchen and headed upstairs. In search of my suitcase, I dug through my closet, passing over the hatbox without looking at it. I didn’t have the heart to open Logan’s letters. Iwasn’tready to unpack allthat, butmaybeme leaving wouldeventuallyhelp megetthere.

AsI started packing, I caught my reflection in the mirror.

Ilookedlike someone stepping into a new life, but I didn’tfeellike her yet.

Therewasa strange pull in my chest—a gnawing guilt I couldn’t quite shake.

AndIwasn’tsure if itwasbecause Iwasleaving. . .orbecause Iwasexcitedto go.