Page 39 of Christmas Home

I laughed. “Qualify? I don’t know if I do, but sure. If it’d keep me out of legal troubles, I’d go.”

Justin nodded, then hesitated. “As your attorney, I would be remiss not to tell you that the prosecutor is going easy on you this time. That’s as much about me playing the guilt card as anything else. He won’t do that a second time, Clyde. You’ll need to keep your nose clean. I know and trust both women offeringcounseling at the health clinic. If it can help, iftheycan help, please try to take advantage of that, okay?”

I nodded, knowing what he was really telling me. Don’t let myself get caught up in another situation where I have to fight to escape a man. I closed my eyes and swallowed what little pride I had left. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew the patterns he was alluding to. I knew I’d put myself in bad relationships…every time.

However, I hadn’t had a fucking clue that Jimmy was the bad man he was. What I did know was I was attracted to men like him. Either that, or I attracted them to me.

I thought of Ruther and wondered if I had also misread the signs with him. I didn’t think so. I couldn’t see him being violent with me or anyone else for that matter. Unfortunately, the only thing I knew for a fact right now was that I couldn’t trust my instincts when it came to men.

I resolved then and there that I would take advantage of this opportunity. No, I wasn’t foolish enough to think a therapist could fix me. Hell, my mom and sisters had gone to shelters and taken therapy. It hadn’t fixed them.

It had helped my sisters avoid toxic men and bad relationships, though. Maybe that’s all I could hope for as well—learning how to live without a man. I glanced through the window to where Ruther had stayed up the street.

I hiccupped as I suppressed the emotions and laid to rest the hope that I’d unconsciously kept in regard to him. He’d already moved back to New York, but I’d indulged in the fantasy that we could be more. And that’s all it’d ever been, a fantasy.

I need to stay focused on the positive. I’d begun to build a nice life here, and that was a first. If it meant I would be alone, at least I’d be in a community where I felt wanted.

thirty-three

Ruther

As the fall weatherbegan to blow into the city, I felt a new kind of purpose. My sessions with the therapist confirmed that I had, in fact, felt renewed in Crawford City. With his help, I decided I was ready to shed the pain of my past.

I never loved living in New York. I don’t think I realized that until now. I mean, I loved my city. I loved the restaurants, nightlife, and Broadway shows. I loved being able to decide to do something on the spur of the moment and have whatever I wanted at my fingertips.

But, as someone now in their forties, I realized I no longer needed any of that. I wanted quiet walks along small-town sidewalks. I wanted people who recognized me and waved or stopped to ask me questions a regular New Yorker would feel were impertinent or nosy.

I wanted what I’d lost as a child in that awful fire that’d taken so much away from me. The panic attacks had lessened, thoughnot gone away. Even now, when I thought about the house, about the fire, I had to do some heavy processing to get past it.

The biggest panic attack since returning to New York came when my therapist recommended that I make plans to tour the house next time I was in Crawford City. “Clearly,” I said as I rubbed my eyes with my knuckles, “I’m not ready for that.”

Interestingly enough, I didn’t have any such reaction when admitting I was going to try to relocate to Crawford City. “I don’t know if it’ll be my forever home,” I told the therapist, “but I know New York isn’t. I feel dead here. Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of everything I didn’t accomplish.”

“Like gaining your father’s approval?”

I laughed bitterly. “Exactly. I felt something…something different when I was in Crawford City. A sense of belonging. Does that make sense?” I asked, and he nodded.

“Tell me about the process. How do you plan to move?”

We’d spent the past month talking about the particulars and how I felt about it all. Me selling my newly renovated apartment, contacting my estranged relatives about selling our family’s brownstone, and becoming deeply enmeshed in Crawford City.

“What about your assistant?” my therapist asked in our last session.

“That’s the hardest part, that and leaving my late cousin Farlow’s husband. I feel like I’m going to lose the only people left in my life who I care about.”

My therapist and I had talked about my close relationship with Corey several times, so he already knew my feelings were friendship-based rather than anything romantic.

“You need to talk to him, probably before you do anything else,” he’d advised me.

He wasn’t wrong. I needed to clear things up with Corey. I no longer ran a large company, and while I still dabbled in real estate, my business dealings these days really couldn’t beconsidered more than pet projects. I’d kept my assistant on to help me navigate all the stuff in my life, but even without a therapist telling me so, I knew that was disingenuous.

I invited Corey over after a family member officially signed on Dad’s brownstone. I poured him a glass of wine and sat across from him as I explained the transaction details.

He nodded but didn’t respond. “Corey, I’m moving to Crawford City. I’m going to liquidate all my New York holdings,” I said, deciding it was best to pull the bandage off all at once.

“And what do you need from me?”

I chuckled. “Honesty. Do you see yourself living in Crawford City? In following me there?”

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