Page 117 of The Scars I Bare
But he was healing.
Like I’d said before, I couldn’t forget, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever forgive. But, for Lizzie, I prayed. I prayed he would become the man she deserved.
I’d nearly reached the most current entry in Dean’s journal when I heard Mrs. Joyner’s voice in the hallway.
“I saw Dean on my way here,” she said, “with those lovely children he’s teaching, all jumping into the bay!” she exclaimed. “I do say, Dean does look handsome without that thing on his arm. So muscular.”
She rounded the corner and caught sight of me trying to shove the last bite of my sandwich in my face. “Don’t you agree, Cora?” she asked.
“Sorry, what?” I managed to say, peanut butter sticking to the roof of my mouth.
Jake, standing behind her, chuckled.
“The prosthesis,” she said. “I think he looks better without it.”
I nodded. “I’ve always thought so. But he’s being fitted for another one soon. His original got lost in the boating accident. He said he hastily removed it, knowing it would impair his swimming even more. But the new one he’s getting is a vast improvement. Has a few attachments. Lizzie picked it out,” I explained with a contented smile on my face. “But in the meantime, he’s getting used to being comfortable in his own skin. Finally.”
The conversation seemed to be over Mrs. Joyner’s head, so I offered to take her payment instead. While I waited for her debit card to run, surprised the old woman even knew what that was, I caught her leaning over, reading Dean’s notebook I’d left open.
Figures.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” she said. “Mr. Joyner used to write me love letters, too. Although never so long, it required an entire notebook.”
I curiously tilted my head as I snapped the receipt from the machine, handing it over to her to sign.
“This isn’t a love letter, Mrs. Joyner. It’s Dean’s journal. He’s just letting me read it.”
“Oh,” she said, her bottom lip protruding slightly as she leaned over once more after she signed her slip. She pointed to the last entry before grabbing her purse to leave. “Then, why is he speaking to you?”
I grabbed the notebook with both hands, falling back into the chair.
Recovery Journal: Day 1,342
Today will be my final entry.
You see, I don’t need you anymore.
For far too long, I buried myself in my words, in my pain and anger, and I forgot how to live. I was roaming around, searching for nothing yet wanting everything, but giving nothing in return.
I was my own worst nightmare.
But all that is behind me now.
This recovery journal—this long, endless journal—was supposed to be a means to an end. A way for me to heal, but instead, it became a prison, a place for me to dwell in my misery.
Until she came along.
Until you came along.
My heart began to beat rapidly in my chest.
Cora, you’ve shown me what being brave looks like.
You remind me what trust can feel like again, both inside and out.
Despite three years of telling myself that it was just a silly crush, you in fact stole my heart in that hospital room with your infectious laugh and damn near perfect smile.
When I came back home, everyone thought I was looking for something—a new purpose, a new direction, or perhaps a whole new life.
