Page 76 of A Me and You Thing
I hope I’m right. I hope his life hasn’t changed drastically. Because I want that life back.
The May evening is sunny and warm. Thanks to Daylight Savings, it still feels like afternoon. Spring is in the air, and children are out riding their bikes. Potted flowers are blooming on porches, and new life is sprouting up from the warm earth.
When I reach our street, I pause on the corner of Beachcomber Lane, my happy place. My racing heart has been haunting me ever since my memories returned. Now, however, my heart defies the term racing. It’s knocking against my ribs in a painful fashion, in a way I’ve never felt before.
What if Sawyer doesn’t live here anymore? I can’t imagine him selling our home. It was our place, our happily-ever-after. There’s just no way.
Please let him be there. Please, please, please.
I take a deep, unsteady breath. I close my eyes for a moment and breathe in the fresh, salty scent of the ocean breeze, the scent of home. The familiar sound of the roar of waves crashing on the sand in the distance attacks my senses.
I’m home.
All at once, I’m reminded of the dream I had as I slept a healing sleep at The Princess Hotel. It’s weird how dreams from the night before have a strange way of popping into our heads at the oddest moments. I was running down this very street, tears rolling down my face as I urged my heavy feet to go faster and faster. I yearned to burst inside my front door and have Sawyer wrap his arms around me. I longed for my baby girls to jump into my arms because they were so happy to see me.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make it to my house. I ran and ran and ran, but never arrived. Clearly, my rest wasn’t as healing as I thought.
It wasn’t a dream; it was a nightmare.
I cast it from my mind.
The whole time I was in Nicaragua, lost and confused, this is exactly where my mind was trying to take me. There’s a reason why I was known assoñadora.I was longing for home.
I have been awakened. And now I’m here. But this isn’t a daydream. My life is real. The actual moment I’ve yearned for is upon me and nothing will stop me from reaching my destination.
Tears swell in my eyes. I start to walk, putting one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, dragging my suitcase behind me. My weak body rebels. But the blood rushing through my veins gives me strength, and a gust of energy shoots through me. I begin to jog, and then burst into an all-out run, pushing myself just as hard as I possibly can.
Home. Home. Home.
My sandals slip from my feet, but I don’t care. My bare feet pound the pavement, bringing me closer and closer to the one thing I want most. My hair flies behind me and the rush of wind hits my hot face where tears are stinging my skin. Pain climbs up my calves and hisses its way into my thighs.
Don’t care. I’m going home.
Somewhere along the way I let go of my suitcase. It was dragging me down, keeping me from my greatest desire.
When I reach the front of my shingled home, I pause on the sidewalk, breathing hard and fast, taking in the sweet, sweet sight.
My knees almost buckle beneath me. My breath hitches in my throat. My emotions are crazy and wild because surrounding my sweet little home is the most perfect white picket fence I’ve ever seen. And that’s the moment when I know.
I know.
He’s still here, and he loves me.
“All we need is a white picket fence and we’re living the American dream.”
That’s what I said to Sawyer on our last date, the night before I left for Nicaragua.
And he said,“A white picket fence, huh? You’re right, that’s all we’re missing. That could be arranged though.”
He arranged it. My heart swells in my chest. I know he did it for me—in remembrance of me, and I love him for it.
My eyes scan the familiar sight, taking everything in. The tulip bulbs I planted when we first moved in have burst through the earth and are reaching for the sun, tall and bright. The drapes I made still hang in the dining room window. The rocking chairs Sawyer and I chose at a local boutique sit still and lonely on the front porch, as if they’re waiting for me. The cushions we chose still grace the seats.
I catch my breath as the ocean breeze hits my lungs, and I feel as though they expand to their full potential for the first time in nearly two years.
“Ma’am, you dropped these.” A jogger sets my suitcase and sandals next to me, looking at me strangely. “Do you need help? Are you okay?”
Oh, my gosh, yes. I’ve never been more okay. “Yes, I’m perfect. Thank you for asking.”
