I find a pair of athletic leggings, a sports bra, a T-shirt, and my University of Alaska sweatshirt hanging over a chair in my bedroom. A pair of tennis shoes and pink socks are on the floor under the chair. I set my clothes out when I review my schedule every evening. Must be Jazzercise day. I don’t even have to remind myself to know that it’s Monday. Ruth’s always taught Jazzercise on Mondays. I started going to her class when I was in college and would come home for breaks and holidays. Now it’s part of my routine and helps to keep me in shape. After I dress, I head out to get myself organized for the day.

The view of the harbor is clear; the clouds have thinned, and a pale-blue sky peeks out from between wisps of white and pink cotton. Steam rises from a coffee mug on my desk, infusing the air with an earthy aroma of spice and berries. I take a sip and savor the rich flavor. For a few moments, I relax, let the caffeine move through my body, waking me up at the same time that the sun stretches yellow fingertips of light across the spiky tips of pine trees.

Pinned to a small bulletin board beside my desk is a note. The one that Tate left me before he left Whittier. I’m sorry. I love you. It still hurts to read it, because when he left, I felt like I’d lost a part of me. Eventually, I came to understand why he did. His dad’s abuse was a suffocating shadow that trailed Tate wherever he went. He had to leave in order to find out who he was. But I was sure he’d come back, and when he didn’t, it hurt even more.