Page 21 of Return to Us
I rub my fingers against the paper, feeling the anxiety coursing through me. A part of me wants to read it, to remember it in a different way. But this was all feeling. This isn’t me just telling my story about the crash in a detached way—this is me at my rawest and most vulnerable.
“I’m scared.”
“You’re not alone. You’re not in that plane. You’re on the ground, safe, and alive,” she tells me. “One step at a time.”
“One page at a time.”
She doesn’t move, and I lift the cover, wanting to be brave. Wishing that for just a few minutes I can be the Jessica I was before the crash. The one who was strong, fearless, and ready to handle any situation. This version—the scared girl who wants to hide—isn’t who I want to be.
I can feel the tremors moving through my body, but I use all my effort to focus on the words. I read, doing everything to just say the words without actually hearing them or taking them in. They’re my memories, the dreams that haunt me each night, but I won’t allow them to hurt me.
The words fall from me as I flip pages with shaky hands. I continue speaking, knowing that if I stop, I won’t be able to go again. At some point, there is nothing left on the paper to read.
After a minute, Dr. Warvel reaches out, her hand grasping mine. “Jessica, I need you to look at me.”
I feel cold and numb as tears fall down my face. When my eyes lift to hers, I can barely make out her features, and I turn away. Shame, anger, and frustration at the weakness I feel is too much. I should be over this, Jacob is. He’s happy and enjoying his time with Brenna. Elliot just moved in with his girlfriend, and Jose reconciled with his wife. I’m the only one who is falling apart. Why can they all find a way through this but I’m . . . stuck?
“I can’t,” I confess. I can’t . . . to it all.
“You can. You did great just now. Look at me.” I force myself to meet her gaze again. “You didn’t live it just now, Jess. You told the story that was written on the paper. Each time you can read these words, you’ll find it a little easier, and we’ll see where the holes are, plug them, and keep working. I know you’re frustrated, but you are making progress.”
I wipe away the tears that continue to fall. “I d-don’t feel l-like it.”
She smiles softly and hands me a tissue. “Look at what has happened already. You’ve spoken to Grayson, who was a big part of your original story, and told him you were sorry for what happened all those years ago. You and your mother are spending time together again, and you’re working. Those are not small feats. And the biggest one you still don’t even realize.”
“What’s that?”
“You spoke that entire story with only two errors in your speech.”
* * *
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Winnie asks as she stands in the dressing room, disapproving over every outfit I try on.
“I do.”
She sighs deeply, shaking her head as I turn, trying to show her how it’s not that bad. Sure, it’s a bit plain, but I’m running the front desk, not going to a board meeting.
“I’m not so sure, Jess. You just got back, give yourself some time. Why do you need to work anyway? Isn’t the airline going to have to pay out a ton in settlements?”
That is going to be years down the line. I have savings, but with what I’ve been helping my mother with, that’s going to run out in six months. She barely makes ends meet, so there is no way I would ask her to take care of me financially. The thing is, as much as I need the money, it’s really about working, contributing, and living again.
I don’t want to be dependent on anyone.
“It’s not that simple, and I need to get out.”
“But working for the Parkersons?”
“You love them.”
“I love Stella. And even then, while she may be one of my best friends, I can only take her in small doses. We all know the way her family feels about us.”
Winnie and Stella have been friends since they were kids. They ran in different circles, but were close in their own way. I guess it’s fine for the Parkerson’s daughter to be friends with us but it isn’t okay for one of their sons to marry one of us.
“And here I am—the help.”
“That’s not funny,” Winnie says, grabbing a coat that she likes.
I take it, knowing my sister won’t relent unless I try it on. “It’s the—” I struggle. The words again not forming.
