Page 92 of Embracing Trust

I’ll get to that later.

More scrolling.

Ryan: I’m sure you’re not going to take my calls or answer the door if I come by. I’m sorry. If you’ll just let me explain. It’s not what it looks like.

The fourth text is also from Ryan. I wipe a tear away and set the phone aside.

I’ll have to read the text later. I can’t deal with any more right now.

When the coffee pot lets out its last gurgling protests, I grab my favorite travel mug from the cabinet and fill it with my hot, dark, liquid cure-all. I add some milk and sugar today. I take a fortifying gulp and let out a sigh. A few dribbles make their way to my shirt and I realize that I’m still wearing the khaki skirt and white t-shirt from last night.

No wonder I couldn’t sleep.

Although I feel like taking my coffee to bed and never getting up again, I manage to make my way back to the bathroom. I strip my clothing, shower, wash my hair, and put on some clean shorts and a comfy t-shirt. When I see my reflection in the mirror, I tear up. My face is pale except for my red nose and bloodshot eyes. I look like I haven’t slept in a week.

I slip on my shoes, pick up my travel mug, and make my way outside. I start down the beach with no particular destination in mind. The warm sun envelopes me and the ocean waves crash onto the sand, it feels safe—like home.

I plunk my butt down on the sand and sip my hot coffee. The ocean waves roll into the shore and the sandcastles and footprints succumb to the power of the incoming tide. The sand is left smooth as if it had never been touched. If only I could lie down at the water’s edge and by letting the water roll over me, it would somehow smooth my damaged self.

I stand, walk to the water’s edge, and use my toe to draw a heart in the sand. It doesn’t take long for the water to roll in again and fade my art. I stand until the ocean completely erases my drawing.

I plop down on the sand and draw my knees to my chest. I wrap my arms around myself and close my eyes. The reel from the previous evening plays over and over in my head. I reach for my phone and scroll to the text I received from Ryan yesterday morning.

Ryan: Morning. Want to invite you to my parents for dinner tonight. Just be there a little before six. Busy day. Talk later. No need to answer. Working with saws. See you then.

The text arrived just a little after seven, which seems early for him to be working. Working with saws? It seems odd. None of it makes sense. He was angry when he arrived at his parents’ house and found me there. Maybe because I figured out what he’d been up to.

Things were going well for me until all of this blew up in my face. I had everything—like I held the whole thing in my hand, and someone stripped it away. I’m usually not dramatic, but it’s like all the best parts of me are gone—only the ugly parts are left. I was riding high—too high, and now I’m down here. In my new reality.

A shadow appears behind me. I turn to see Merilee standing behind me.

“Hey, I’ve texted and called. You haven’t answered. I figured if you were still in bed with Ryan, you at least needed to come out for some food.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and hold up my coffee mug.

Merilee plunks down next to me. “Actually, I didn’t bring any food.” She studies my expression.

I bite my lip and my eyes fill with tears.

“Oh shit. What happened?”

Merilee listens to my entire saga from the previous evening. She doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t offer advice—she just listens. When I finish the story and break out into sobs, she wraps her arms around me.

“I’m never going to trust anyone again,” I say through sobs and tears.

Ryan McCormick was my first love and although I can’t change that and I can’t change the fact that I still love him, but I have to let him go. I can’t continue to put my faith, my trust, and my life into someone who is going to disappoint me. I’ve reached a point in my life where I realize I matter. I matter much more than that.

How long will it take me to move on from this though? How long will it take me to let him go?

I remember when I was eight years old, my cousin Teddy died in a farming accident. We went to Uncle Ted and Aunt Caroline’s for the funeral. I remember Mom hugging her sister, Caroline and, comforting her. Aunt Caroline asked Mom how long it would take to get over losing Teddy. A year, she asked. Two years? Mom answered her sister that there’s no magic formula for getting over loss. You can’t tell someone something like five years, six months, thirteen days, and seven hours—it just doesn’t work like that. I saw Aunt Caroline last year and she cried when she reminisced about Teddy. It had been over eighteen years since Teddy died.

How many days until I don’t cry when I think of him? How long will my heart hurt? And will it ever stop?

Chapter Forty

Ryan

After I returned from Beach City, Patrick and I sat up most of the night talking. It had been a long time since I connected with my brother like that—probably the last time was when we were growing up and shared a room.

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