Page 3 of Everything We Left Unsaid

She opens her mouth to respond, but a knock at the door halts her response.

“I’ll get that.” She gives me a sad smile and wipes the last bit of moisture from my damp cheeks. “Let me get rid of whoever this is, and we can talk.” She motions towards the living room, silently instructing me to have a seat and wait for her in there.

She opens the door and I freeze at the sound of his voice. Deep. Desperate. Demanding. The same exquisite timbre that once made my stomach clench with excitement.

“Is Abby here? I need to see her.”

“Well, hello, Jacob. It’s been a long time.” She’s stalling, giving me the option to run and hide or face the music.

“Please. I have to talk to her,” he pleads. “It’s important.”

I glance at my little girl playing in the floor with her baby dolls and know that no matter how badly I don’t want to do this right now, I have to be an adult and face reality. He’s obviously here for a reason and isn’t going away. I straighten my shoulders and steel my nerves before heading toward the inevitable confrontation.

I place my hand gently on my grandmother’s arm. “It’s alright,” I assure her. She pauses a moment, searching my face for any signs of doubt, before nodding and stepping away.

“Hello, Jacob.”

I fold my arms protectively over my stomach, hoping to hold myself together, my confidence waning at the sight of him standing on my front porch with one hand braced against the door frame. He’s brooding, his hair and shoulders damp. How fitting that this beautiful day has turned gloomy, the rain coming down steadily and the sun shielded by grey clouds. Jo Dee Messina’s “Bring on The Rain” plays in my head as I take in the sight of him standing across the threshold, his body coiled tightly, threatening to unravel. He searches my face, but I don’t give anything away.

Your move, Jacob.

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