BooksBarbecue
Back At Dawn
Chapters (39)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
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  39. Copyright

I hugged her again and vowed to stop back later and then returned to the emptiness below. I grabbed my father’s letter off the kitchen counter. The rain had started and I moved the chair in front of the window and propped my feet on the sill while keeping the letter in my lap. A cool wind pushed through, bringing with it the scent of the freshly fallen rain, and on the other side of the unshaded window, Lake Michigan stretched eastward, dusky looking and barely visible over the blank backsides of the buildings opposite, and further out, nothing more than a speck against the darkening sky, the small, green light of a faraway boat slowly flickered, dim one second, bright the next, like the soft whisper of a long-neglected dream one tries dismissing but never can quite forget.

The rain fell steadily and water dripped from the branches of the small oak. I watched them, drooping under the weight of the rain but continually shaking free and bouncing back up again with dogged determination, the leaves a verdant green, but with the fall chill and the shortening days, I could feel them ready to change color. Then, on the sill, something caught my eye reflecting in the light. I reached over and plucked away a piece of the rim of the glass I had shattered against the hole in the wall. I turned it over in my fingers, remembering the day I’d thrown it, a day when Carolyn was still here. Then I took a deep breath and chucked it out the window and continued watching the rain, feeling the wind on my face, the weight of the letter in my lap. Thomas jumped up and stared out with me, both of us silent, watching. Both waiting for the trains.

DECEMBER 24

What more can I say to put this mess to bed? Is that even a realistic goal—putting it all to bed—or am I merely creating more idealistic expectations, just as I had done with Carolyn? I’m assuming the latter.

Four months have gone by, and thus began a new season of wind and snow and cold that rages on even now. It doesn’t let up. Four months since she left. I never did hear from her. I still don’t know where she went.

The days passed. Most of the time I had trouble passing with them, but I got by. Somehow.

Call it resilience. I’ve gotten over worse, I suppose. Would I say I’ve gotten over anything? Maybe. Maybe not.