Page 1 of The Now in Forever
CHAPTER 1
SUMMER SOLSTICE
NOW
Dust particles catch the light of the lamp and float through the air like lazy fairies, mocking my frenzied movements. It’s already past midnight, and according to my color-coded schedule, I was supposed to be showered and cozied up on the couch by ten. But I still have about four boxes worth of stuff to pack.
How did this happen?
Taking in the room with the odds and ends, I notice a theme: It's all stuff that wasours. And according to the freshly signed settlement, it’s now solely mine. It shouldn’t be this hard. Chad and I split years ago. It’s just now with the papers actually signed and the perfect timing of losing my job, the grief feels fresh.
Picking up a tiny glass bird we bought on a trip to Venice, my palms sweatier than I realized, it slips through my fingers onto the hardwood floors and shatters into hundreds of pieces. Metaphors normally are my life blood—filling my English teacher's heart with joy. My writing is littered with them. But the spot-on accuracy of this one is too much for me.
Wiping sweat off my brow, I sweep up the mess and throw the rest of the stuff in the donation boxes. A funny little wind-up toy, a mug that says best person, a sprig of dried lavender from our wedding day now all gone.
My purge stops when I get to the closet and run my fingers along the stiff suit jacket that's hung in the very back behind one of my grandmother’s sweaters since we moved into this house. Small holes cover the shoulders, and pins, some rusted, still cling to the lapels.
If Chad ever saw this jacket in here, he never asked about it. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. Even after that terrible signing. It’s my proof of our perfect day. Often, I wonder if that day was really perfect or if my mind has shaped it that way, like an old photograph, over-exposed and blurred, leaving only the sharpest details. Everything else faded into oblivion. Like my grandparents’ wedding photo hanging in the hall of their farmhouse.
But it did happen. We shared that moment in time together, and it was beautiful. Right now, though, this jacket, my souvenir, my proof is just another reminder of my shit luck with love. Lately, shit luck with everything. It’s all too much. I walk it over to the trash pile and tuck it in a bag. It’s time for a fresh start.
“…tomorrowis a new day with no mistakes in it yet,” my audiobook says, and I pause it to bask in that line. My favorite line, from one of my favorite books. My comfort read…and I need some comfort.
Even with my shades, the sun is glaring, and my iced coffee is gone. I pick up the plastic cup, rattling the ice around to be sure. All rattle, no slosh. Definitely gone. My legs are that kind of achy where they need to stretch, and I feel like I’ve been driving for hours, probably because I’ve been drivingfor hours.I left at five this morning, and it’s almost four in the evening now, and that’s with the one-hour time difference from Helena to the coast.
Stopping at Grandma’s adds a couple hours to the trip, but there’s no way I can be anywhere close without stopping to say hi. My Subaru bumps down the familiar dirt road until her massive red barn comes into view, then her light-blue house—in need of a new coat of paint, but other than that, just the same as the last time I was here, a little over a year ago, for the funeral.
On the porch, Grandma’s rocking in her chair. The one next to her is so empty it looks hollow. Grandpa’s chair. Have I really not visited since he passed? I get out of the car, feeling the blood rush around my tired legs.
Grandma’s sipping a glass of wine, the summer sun still going strong, twinkling on the red liquid and catching her white hair, making her look ethereal. There’s an empty glass on the table between the chairs, and I wonder if she got it out for me or if she always has it there—a habit from all those years she grabbed two for their rock on the porch.
“Hattie-Bear.”
My chest warms at the nickname. She clasps either side of the chair, her wiry forearms flexing with the motion, but I hold up a hand, hurrying up the stairs.
“Don’t get up. I’m coming to you.”
Her arms relax, and she sits back. I lean down to her, placing a kiss on her soft cheek, inhaling her rose-powdered perfume she’s used my whole life.
“Sit. Sit. Have a glass.”
I hesitate. It feels wrong to sit in his chair, so I pour myself less than half a glass—I still have a ways to drive yet—and perch at the top step, angling myself to face her.
Grandma looks at me, her face full of concern. “Where are all those kids going to go to school?”
She says it like we’re mid conversation. Like we’ve been talking about this for hours.
I take a sip of my wine while she waits patiently for my answer. “They’ll bus to schools nearby, I guess.”
“It doesn’t make sense. Why would they shut down a school?”
“There weren’t enough kids to fill it anymore.”
Grandma leans forward in her chair, her blue eyes shimmering. They’re so much like mine, it’s both comforting and jarring. Same dark rim around the iris, same white flecks making them look like a gem of some kind. “What’s your plan, then?”
I smile, but a heaviness tugs at the corners of my lips. Ah yes, aplan. I always have a plan. “Look for another job. Chad’s sure the house should sell quickly, so that’s good.”
A new job, a new life.
