Page 75 of A Me and You Thing
My thoughts wander to our date the night before I left. We were talking about The Kiss—our first kiss.
“Oh, I’ll never forget it. It’s one of my most precious memories. Nothing could erase you from my memory, Sawyer. Absolutely nothing.”
Except being thrown from a speeding bus. Evidently, that had the power to erase him from my memory. How did I let myself forget him? How? It’s unfathomable.
Memory is a strange and unforgiving beast. It seems as though I should have had some kind of control over my own brain. But I didn’t. I feel betrayed by my body. Absolutely deceived.
I’ve arisen from the dead. At least, that’s how everyone will look upon me. I can’t quite imagine the reactions I will receive, the fervent emotions it will inspire.
I remember tearing up over a movie where the heroine traveled back in time. When she walked in her home, the angst in her voice killed me as she said, “Grandma?”
How many people would give anything to see their loved ones who have passed on just one more time? To hold them? To tell them how much they love them?
It’s not lost on me that I’m about to have that chance. I’m on the receiving end, but my feelings are running rampant as well.
I’m coming home to you, Sawyer Denali. I know how much he loved me. I have no doubt about it. I felt the same. I still do. For me, it seems like we parted only a few days ago.
It’s different for him.
I’ve heard it said that you can never return home, meaning it will never be the same as you once remembered it. Change is the one constant you can always count on in life.
But I also heard a quote once that said, “When we are through changing—we’re through.”
I’m not through. My life is not over. Therefore, changes will abound. I mentally prepare myself to face those changes. As long as I expect them, I can handle them. Right?
In theory, that sounds levelheaded and sensible. In reality, my emotions are off the charts.
There’s only one thing I know for certain—returning home is hard. Returning from the dead, even harder.
WHEN WE LAND in Portland I spring to my feet, and I’m the first to deplane.
I’m on American soil. I say a silent prayer of gratitude. If I could kneel down and kiss the ground without calling attention to myself, I would.
Fear tingles up and down my spine as I make my way through customs. Have I been declared deceased? Am I considered a missing person? Do I still exist? Will they accuse me of fraud, of impersonating a dead woman? Am I about to be taken aside and interrogated and forced to tell my story?
Nope. Evidently government paperwork doesn’t process quickly. Come to think of it, it never has. My passport doesn’t signal any red flags. Go figure.
“Welcome back to the United States, Mrs. Denali.”
Those words are the best thing I’ve heard in days.
I walk briskly to baggage claim with a skip in my step. Adrenaline is rushing through my body in the happiest, most excited kind of way. I retrieve my luggage and locate the pick-up location for my reserved van. I have another two-hour wait until it arrives.
It’s the longest wait of my entire life.
Five other passengers eventually arrive. No one is a Chatty Cathy, thank goodness. When the van pulls up, I step in and sink into the seat as relief washes over me. It’s the last leg of my journey. Next stop: Sawyer. And my precious baby girls.
I find the Oregon countryside a sight for sore eyes. As the land whizzes past, I finally allow myself to relax. I dream of the reunion I’m about to experience. I know that no matter what, it will be epic. Because I’m alive and I’m home and I’m safe. Because Sawyer loves me. I know he does. I know it because of a boat namedQuinnand world peace and a burger. And Josie and Jordyn. We’ll work it out. We have love on our side.
I can’t sleep on the drive, and I wasn’t able to sleep on any of my flights. I’ve been up for over twenty-four hours, filled with both nervous excitement and dread. I’m dizzy and lightheaded. I’ve been holding on just as tight as I can to every ounce of strength I possess, but now I feel it slowly waning, seeping away. I’ve done what I needed to do to get myself home. Now I’m fading. But I can’t collapse yet. Not until I see Sawyer. Then all bets are off, and I will survive off of his life force.
When we drive into Newport, I’m inundated by familiar sights. The ocean is just as blue as it can be, as blue as Sawyer’s eyes. Every shop, every restaurant holds a memory, and I’m grateful for the gift of recollection. It’s something I’ve always taken for granted.
Never again.
The van stops at the appointed drop off location, a McDonald’s. Our home is only about a half mile from here. My parents’ home is only about a mile away. Sawyer’s parents live a little farther. Looks like I’m walking the rest of the way, even though I’m about out of gas. Adrenaline will be my fuel. I long for a diet Coke from my favorite place to calm my roiling stomach, but the call of home tugs at my heart. I can’t stop myself from propelling forward, as though my feet have a mind of their own and some kind of magnetic force is pulling me to the place I belong.
It’s early evening on a Saturday. Sawyer should be at the house. More than likely, he had a couple of whale watching tours this morning, then he mowed the lawn and puttered around the yard, his usual Saturday activities. About now, he should be freshly showered and ready to have a relaxing evening watching a movie on Netflix.
