Page 46 of Frost
“Sleep, sweet Luka,” Jack says around three in the morning.
“No,” I mumble, fighting sleep.
Each time my eyes fall closed, I snap them back open and make sure Jack is still beside me. His eyes are always on me too, as if he’s just as desperate as me for the night to last as long as possible. Eventually, though, I can’t fight it anymore. My lids are way too heavy, and I shut them. My muscles relax as sleep pulls me into its clutches.
Something stirs me back awake a while later. But not fully. My eyes remain closed, and I feel myself going in and out of the haze of sleep.
“You take my heart with you tomorrow,” a sweet voice whispers before there’s a light pressure on my lips. A kiss. “Yet, I cannot give you the life you deserve.”
I try to open my eyes, to no avail. Wet falls on my chest, like droplets of rain. No. Not rain. Tears?
“You will always be more beautiful than the sun, my little light.” Another kiss to my lips. “Goodbye.”
When I wake up, it’s almost seven thirty. Bright light comes through the window, and I squint against it as I sit up in bed and look around, still in a sort of daze. I had a weird dream last night, but the details slip away the longer I’m awake.
“Jack?” I ask in a hoarse voice.
The spot beside me is empty, and I run a hand over his pillow. It’s just like the morning after the first time we had sex. He turned up once I made coffee and sat down to write. An anchor drops into my gut as I remember I have to leave today. I jump out of bed and throw on some clothes before walking out of the room and searching the kitchen.
“Jack? Are you here?”
I check the bathroom, then the living room. No signs of him anywhere.
Calm down, I tell myself. He wouldn’t leave without saying bye to me.
I brew a pot of coffee before going back to the room and packing. I throw all my clothes and toiletry items in the suitcase before returning to the kitchen and setting all the groceries on the counter. I want to leave them for Jack. If he’ll ever show up.
After I load up my car, I return to pour coffee into a tumbler so I can take it with me. Jack still isn’t here. I set the tumbler in the cup holder of my car before walking to the backyard. It’s snowing pretty heavy, and seeing too far away is difficult.
“Jack!” I call out, curving my hands around my mouth.
No answer.
Worry sinks into my bones, and before I can stop myself, I take off into the woods. Anxiety churns in my gut. Something definitely feels wrong. Branches and sticker vines tug at my coat as I move through the snowy trees, and I stumble a few times. The snow picks up, and I wipe at my eyes so I can see. It’s like a damn blizzard.
“Dammit, Jack, I know you can hear me.” I stop in place and search the treetops. “Stop playing games and come out.”
I listen for an answer that never comes. My feet move on their own accord, but each step gets harder and harder. Fresh snow covers the ground, way more than ankle-deep, and the temperature is the coldest it’s been during my whole trip. It’s as if Jack knew I’d try finding him, and he made sure I wouldn’t be able to.
“Jack!” I scream at the trees, my vision blurring from both snow and tears. Then, I say much softer, “I never got to say goodbye.”
Eventually, I give up and head back toward the cabin. I get into my car, crank up the heater, and stare at the tree line, hoping like a fool he’ll appear. For just a moment, I think I see something blue from the corner of my eye, but when I look, all I see is snow and trees.
Heartbroken and defeated, I put the car into drive and find the road through the snow. Funny. It’s falling much softer now.
Chapter Eleven
Bedford used to feel like home, the only place I wanted to be. But as I pull up to my house and cut the engine on my car, I feel numb. I grab my suitcase from the back seat and walk up to the front porch, sticking the key into the lock before pushing the door open.
I feel more alone now than I did while tucked inside a winter cabin miles away from anyone else.
My phone vibrates in my coat pocket, and I fish it out.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Have you made it home yet?”
“Just got in,” I say, stepping into the too-quiet house and shutting the door. My throat tightens. “Can I call you back later? I’m exhausted.”
