Page 70 of To Build a Home
“Oh, sweetie, it wasn’t mine to throw out. I’m sure there are plenty of other things in that garage that you thought were gone forever. We will slowly make our way through it.”
I hug this book to my chest and transform back to the first time I held it in my hands. All fresh, new pages.
Opening the first page, my loud laughter and snort causes both my mom and Gabby to startle.
I twist the book around and show the first page. In colorful block lettering it reads, “FOR PAYTON ROSE MOSBY’S EYES ONLY!”
The next page causes me to laugh even more. “SERIOUSLY IF YOUR NAME ISN’T PAYTON ROSE MOSBY, DO NOT KEEP READING!”
God, I was ridiculous back then, but this thing besides my very first one—RIP, thanks to Ollie—held all of my secrets. I close the book, unsure if I’m ready to see what sort of secrets it will reveal.
“Well, I will leave you to get reacquainted with your old friend, and I’ll get this little one ready for her bath.”
“Mom, I can do that. You don’t have to.”
She lifts Gabby out of her seat. “Nonsense. Let me spend time with my girl while you’re here.” She says it as if she knows that this is only temporary. She’s right, though, isn’t she? The only reason I’m still here is because Ollie said that Rhy went into work. My phone has stared at me like a ticking time bomb, but what I have to say isn’t a conversation to have over a text or thephone. It’s for us to be face-to-face, so I’ve been biding my time here until he gets off.
“Thank you, Mom.” I stare down at my childhood diary as if it holds the keys to the world’s most dire questions.
“Of course. And Payton?” I finally break my staring contest with the inanimate object.
“I hope you know you will always have a home here. But I want you to remember that home is where your heart is, and I believe, truly believe, that your heart is with Rhyland. It always has been.” She then turns her attention to Gabby. “Rub-a-dub-dub, it’s time for Gabby to get into the tub,” she says as they walk out of the room.
I choke on a sob because that makes me recall the first time Rhyland took us to the farmer’s market.
Grabbing the book, I settle into my dad’s favorite reading chair in the living room and wrap myself around his blanket. If I wasn’t writing in my room, anyone could find me writing in this chair. If anyone else had sat in Daddy’s chair, he would have kicked them out, but not me. He would kiss the top of my head and say, “Take your time, sweetheart.”
I bring the blanket to my nose and inhale as if it would still smell like his cologne, but alas, it doesn’t.
I settle into the chair and open the pages. There are little colorful doodle designs in the corner, but the ones that garner my attention the most are the notes “I love Rhyland” and “Mrs. Rhyland Cole.” God, my younger version of myself was obsessed with him. Who am I kidding—did I ever even grow out of it? No, I don’t think so.
I flip back to the first page, and just as Mom told me upon my arrival—I start from the beginning.
Chapter 33
Rhyland
It’s just after ten when I pull into the driveway and put my truck in park. My heart drops to my stomach to see that the other side of the driveway is still empty.
A part of me had hoped that I would come home and see her vehicle. Especially when I saw Ollie finally return—and all in one piece, at that. I had to take that as a good sign. Although if he came in with a black eye or scratch or two, he would have totally deserved it.
Of course, we were so busy today that I couldn’t talk to him. While their conversation was none of my business, I only needed to know one thing. I needed to know she was okay.
Once the kitchen closed for the night, I had two options—sit around until Ollie’s shift ended and talk, or head home and hope she would be there. But choosing option number one meant the chance of making her wait if she had come home.
However, sitting here alone in the driveway, looking at the dark house in front of me, I realize hope is just a four-letter word. It was the one thing that I held on to today.
I drop my head back against the headrest and close my eyes, exhaling a harsh breath.
Maybe I went about this all wrong. I should never have let her go. I thought I was doing the right thing, but what if all I did was end up pushing her away?
What the fuck was I thinking this morning?
Fuck, was all that seriously only this morning?
The empty house taunts me with what could have been. I couldn’t stand to be here in the house without them earlier. How am I to do it now? How am I to crawl into bed, surrounded by sheets that smell like Payton?
I contemplate not going in at all. I could put my truck in reverse and head back to Tilley’s. Maybe spend the night in the kitchen, getting lost in cooking, or sit at the end of the bar and wallow away with a beer or two. Anything to take my mind off feeling like this.
