Page 51 of Somewhere Without You

Forty Eight

Golden light slipped between the canopy of leaves, casting fractured beams across the magnolia trees.

Their petals floated to the ground around me, but they didn’t wilt as I stepped over them.

The gravel driveway was bone dry—despite the storm that had passed.

And the air was no longer sticky with humidity but crisp and light.

In the distance, the old farmhouse stood peaceful and still against the rise of the mountains. But something was off. As I walked closer, I saw fresh paint on the siding, a newly stained porch gleaming in the sun, and the barn that had been crumbling for years, now stood tall and sturdy.

Where the hell was everyone?

I closed my eyes and saw a snapshot of Maddie, her face twisted with rage. And Logan. . . Oh God, Logan. Where was he? Was he ok? He had to be.

A breeze stirred, carrying with it the faint sound of someone singing. Ifroze, fearing it was Madeline, back to finish what she’d started. Moving cautiously, I crept around to the back of the house.

But what I saw stopped me—not from fear, but from disbelief.

Bent over a bush of blooming violet hydrangeas, was Gran. Her back was facing me as she pruned, her white hair braided neatly beneath a wide brimmed hat.

“Gran?”

She turned, and I staggered back. Her face was younger, her eyes clear, and radiant. She looked like the Gran I remembered from when she first brought Katherine and me here, not the old, weary woman she had become when we left.

“Well don’t just stand there, Emily,”she said with a warm smile.“Grab a shovel and dig in.”

I couldn’t believe it. Tears stung my eyes as I rushed to her, arms flinging wide as I wrapped myself around her.

“Oh my God, Gran. . . you’re alive.”

I breathed her in—basking in the comforting and familiar scent of patchouli and sage.

But she gently pulled me back, her gaze soft.“No, my darling girl. I’m not.”

I searched her face.“Does that mean. . .”I looked down at myself, my hands gliding over my body, but I was whole, and unbroken. No blood. No pain.

Gran smiled.“You’re alive. You’re just. . . wandering.”

“Wandering?”I echoed, confused.

She eased herself down onto a bare patch of earth and patted the ground beside her. I followed, still unsettled.

“Your body’s still in the world,”she said,“but your soul is lingering. You’re not quite here. Not quite there. But somehow. . . here we are.”

I blinked.“How is that possible?”

Gran tilted her head, her gold eyes twinkling like they always did when she was about to say something that sounded like nonsense. “There are places in between. Cracks in the world where time and reason don’t exist. And sometimes, your soul manages to slip through.”

I thought of the storm. The way Logan’s body jolted, then crumpled to the floor. The crack of the gun.

Then nothing.

“Where’s Logan?”I asked, bracing myself.

Gran leaned over and plucked a blossom from the hydrangea bush, tucking it behind my ear. “I can’t tell you that, even if I wanted to,”she said softly.“It’s not for me to say.”

“But I need to know,”I insisted, my voice rising.

She looked at me with quiet patience.“Some truths don’t come all at once. They arrive when you’re ready—when your heart can bear the weight of them.”

I hesitated, torn by a longing I couldn’t explain.“I miss you Gran. I miss you so much.”Heartbreak lodged itself in my throat, too big to swallow.“I’m sorry I left. I shouldn’t have abandoned you. But I’m here now.”

She cupped my face in her hands.“Oh, my sweet girl. Life is too short to carry the weight of regret on your shoulders. You had to live your life. You were never meant to spend it tethered to mine.”

Tears slid freely down my cheeks.“I want to stay here with you—in this garden, in this peace.”I glanced at the open field beyond us, the tall grass swaying like a sea beneath the breeze.“I won’t leave you again. I promise.”

Gran gently took my hand in hers.“If you stay too long. . .”she whispered,“you might forget the way back.”

I wavered. I didn’t want to leave her again—but deep down, I knew what it meant if I stayed.

“What would you do?”I asked.

She rose slowly to her feet, her silhouette glowing in the gilded light.“I’ve already made my choice,”she said, reaching out her hand to me.“And one day, you’ll make yours. But not today.”

I stood beside her, reluctant but understanding.“Where do I go?”I asked, my voice trembling.

Gran turned her gaze toward the farmhouse.“There,”she said, nodding toward it.

I followed her eyes, confused.“I don’t understand—”

But when I turned to question her, she was gone.

No sound, no footsteps—just the lingering scent of patchouli and the shimmer of light dancing where she’d stood, like the moment itself had folded in on its own secret.

Carefully, I stepped onto the porch, the railing smooth beneath my palms. The porch swing, once broken, now hung sturdy and brand new.

The oak door creaked open easily. But the moment I crossed the threshold, everything changed.

I wasn’t in Gran’s farmhouse anymore.

I was standing in the old rental house on Wildwood Loop.

The same faded recliner sagged in the corner, and the familiar sound of Montel Williams drifted from the television.

“Hello?”I called out, shutting the door behind me.

“In here,”a voice answered.

A voice I hadn’t heard in years.

I rounded the corner into the kitchen, stumbling over my own feet as I struggled to take in the sight of my mother.

“Hey kiddo,”she gleamed.

Her auburn hair cascaded down her back in soft waves as she stood at the stove, flipping pancakes.

I sank into a chair at the counter, unable to take my eyes off her as she slid a purple Barney plate in front of me.

“Mom?”I managed, barely able to get the word out.

She didn’t answer me—just smiled softly and turned back to the stove.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the microwave door. My cheeks were round, my hair an unbrushed mess. Even the familiar gap where my tooth hadn’t yet grown back, stood out.

I was six years old again.

“What’s wrong, Emmie?”she asked, glancing over her shoulder.“I thought blueberry was your favorite?”

I gazed down at the stack of steaming pancakes, syrup slowly trickling down the sides, butter melting gently on top.

“They are,”I said quietly, still trying to understand how she could be here, alive and whole.

I picked up the fork, my hands small and clumsy, just like they used to be. I pierced a corner of pancake and lifted it to my mouth. The light, fluffy texture melted over my tongue. I took another bite, and this time, a burst of tangy-sweet blueberry exploded across my taste buds.

Mom turned off the stove and sat across from me, chin resting in her hand as she watched me eat.

“Slow down, honey,”she chuckled.“It’s not a race.”

I nodded, trying to swallow both the food and the lump forming in my throat.

“How are you here?”My voice didn’t sound like mine. It sounded like that six-year-old version of me—higher and unsteady.

She shrugged, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.“Same way you are.”

“But you’ve been gone for years. You. . .”my voice trailed off.

Mom leaned in a little closer, her expression warm.“Sweetheart, love doesn’t vanish just because a person does.”

Tears welled up again, spilling over before I could stop them.“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

She reached across the counter, wiping a tear from my cheek with her thumb.“You didn’t need to. I always knew.”

“I was so mad at you,”I admitted, shame burning in my chest.“When Katherine told me what you did, I didn’t understand. I still don’t.”

“Not everything is meant to be understood,” she said softly. “No matter how much we wish it were.”

I dropped my gaze.“Would you have still done it if you’d known how much Katherine and I still needed you?”

She smiled, that same quiet, knowing smile she’d given me when I’d skinned my knee or told her I wanted to live on the moon.

“Emmie,”she said gently,“I never stopped being with you. Even when you couldn’t see me.”

A peaceful silence settled between us. Then she stood and moved around the counter, kneeling beside my chair so we were eye to eye.

“You have a choice to make, baby,”she said.“You’re not meant to stay here.”

I shook my head stubbornly.“But you’re here. And Gran. I feel. . . whole.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the way she used to when I was little.“You feel safe. That’s different.”

I looked around at the familiar comfort I’d lost so many years ago. But something inside me shifted as a quiet understanding began to take root.

“If I go,”I said,“will I lose this?”

Mom’s eyes shimmered.“Not all of it. The love always stays. But the rest. . .”Her voice caught.“Is meant to live in your heart, not your footsteps.”

I didn’t want to go. But somewhere beyond this space, someone was waiting.

I pushed my plate away, slipping my small hand into hers as we stood. Her grip was soft and warm—just like I remembered, as she led me down the familiar hallway.

At the end stood the bathroom door, closed and waiting.

“In there?”I asked, my voice heavy with fear.

She nodded.

The last time I’d passed through that door, I lost her. The thought of stepping through it again made my legs feel like lead.

Mom knelt beside me, her hands resting gently on my shoulders. Then she kissed my forehead. “Be brave,”she whispered.

I drew in a shaky breath and turned to face the door. My hand hovered over the knob, but before I could bring myself to open it, I looked back one last time.

“I love you,”I said, more steady now.

Her smile was radiant.“I love you too, Emily. Tell Katherine thank you. . . for everything.”

“I will,”I promised. Then I closed my eyes and walked through the door.