Page 64 of Mangled Memory
Liam: {middle finger emoji}
Me: Maybe not the *best* big brothers. Maybe *okayist* big brothers.
Cian: Don’t take me down with Li. I’m best. He’s okayist.
Me: I’m sorry I said anything.
Liam: No, you’re not.
Cian: You’ve never been sorry for anything you’ve said.
Interesting. Maybe I’m not what my dad molded.
I point my car home and dial Halley but get her voicemail. “Hey, Halles. Sorry in advance if this is long. Just wanted to say I love you. This journey has been…. Well, you know. And I appreciate you. I’m so thankful you came into my life. Nothing’s wrong, just wanted to let you know I’m thinking about you and love you. Have a great day.”
When I arrive home, I find my husband still out. I don’t think I overreacted this morning, but I do owe him an apology. I find a notebook in a kitchen drawer and a sharpie. I write ‘I’m sorry’ on it in large letters and hold it up to one of the main cameras. It’s an olive branch. I picture him sitting at some glass wall lined office in downtown Denver, behind an ominous desk staring at his phone screen and smiling.
Come to think of it, I have no idea where he goes when he leaves the house. I won’t be angry about that today. Anger is reserved for those who deserve it.
Speaking of which, I wonder where my father and Fitz went off to last night.
20
disturb
Ayla
The next morning, I head out early, so early in fact, that Christian is still asleep in bed when I leave. I pop over to Cian’s to grab Eleanor. He hugs me and gives me a kiss on my beanie-clad head while giving Ellie’s fur a fluff. “Take care of Auntie Ayla,” he says to her. If he only knew.
We head to Estes Park with Fitz trailing me in his SUV. It’s a heck of a haul, especially with the snow on the ground and in the dark, but it’s worth it. It’s one of my favorite places in Colorado. I’d be lying to say I didn’t choose this location because it has the added bonus of annoying Fitz.
I’m sure my husband knew about my appointment with Joanie yesterday because Fitzgerald Young, otherwise known as my shadow, spent ninety minutes outside my therapist’s office. I’d bet Christian also knew I was safely home by one after hitting my favorite greasy burger joint on Colorado Boulevard.
Predawn dark, snow falling, a windchill in the single digits, and a good two-hour drive… That’s my middle finger to Fitz for not telling me he was following me for weeks on end.
After this, I’ll let it go. That whole “accept the things you can’t control” bullshit. Besides, a day in Estes Park is always a good day.
I park and let Eleanor out to relieve herself and sniff theground while I grab my gear and thermos. I wait because there’s no need for Fitz to walk several dozen yards behind me.
“Let’s go,” I offer to the canine at my feet and to the man behind her. We strike out along a clear path and walk in silence. The only sounds are the crunching of boots and our exhales in the otherwise undisturbed early morning until I reach the spot that I hope will provide a gorgeous frame for the sunrise as it greets the mountains.
The air is crisp, and the puffs of my exhales rise with their steam as I set up the tripod and level it with the still-dark horizon. The movement reminds me. “Fitz, you mentioned you have my gear.”
“I do.”
“Should I be afraid of what condition it’s in?”
“The tripods are unusable. The legs on them snapped and bent with your tumble. The bag of gear is okay. It was never unpacked. There were two cameras that went over. I retrieved them but I don’t think they’re usable.”
“The old thirty-five millimeter?”
“Smashed lens, dented body. I don’t know much about cameras, but I can’t imagine you would look twice at it at a garage sale.”
Damn. That was my favorite.
“And the SLR is the same?”
“Yes, ma’am?—”
