Page 38 of Pieces of Me

Today, I’ll hold on to my anger.

And tomorrow, I’ll forgive him.

Because the one thing I learned since facing my fears all those years ago is this:hurt people, hurt people.

And I’m the cause of Holden’s hurt.

Today, I’ll hold on to the pain.

And tomorrow, I’ll apologize for it.

18

Jamie

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the definition of ahome.

Is it your standard four outer walls and a roof over your head, or is home a state of being?

I’ve traveled the country for the past few years, and home to me was this RV. When it was time to move on, I’d simply move to a new setting, see something different. Attempt tofeelsomething different. In my heart, I knew that every move meant the beginning of a new search, but the problem is…. I don’t think I really know what I’m searching for. I always assumed I’d know what it is when I found it… whatever “it” is.

But, the longer I do this, the harder it is to see the end. Or the beginning. Because if home is a state of being, then I don’t think I ever really had one. Which, I guess, is why defining it is so hard for me.

Maybe home is nothing more than a place where you lay your head every night. If that’s the case, then it kind of me makes me sad to think that this is as good as it’s going to get for us—you and me.

In my ideal world, home is being wrapped in the arms of someone who loves you. Or loved you. At least then, I can say that I had it once. And home was everything those generic Dollar Store inspirational posters tell you it is.

I stop typing when light streaks into my RV, and I remove my headphones just in time to hear a vehicle pulling up next to me. The car door opens, and then footsteps. With bated breath, I wait for the knock to occur. Since there’s a car involved, I highly doubt it’s Maggie. Besides, she left over an hour ago after our nightly dinner. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s Holden here to give me an earful after everything I said last night. I’d spent the entire day avoiding the situation, but I can’t do this forever. Every action has a reaction, and I can’t fault him for however he feels… or whatever he says in return.

A few seconds later, the RV door rattles just enough for me to notice but not enough to make a sound. And then everything happens again, only in reverse. Footsteps, car door closing, headlights disappearing.

Minutes pass before I’m ready to get up and open the door. I step outside, checking the ground first, and then the door, and that’s when I see it. Hanging by a string on the door handle is a clear baggie containing bits of dirt and a single pendant—sterling silver with a mood ring center and dahlia petals all around.

The same pendant he’d given me the night of the attack.

When I’d left, I’d already succumbed to the fact that I couldn’thavehim, not all of him, and so I’d settled with apiece of him.

Until the accident, it had always been with me—in my hand or my pocket—as a reminder of why I was still here.

Painfully breathing.

But still existing.

It’s my most prized possession.

I’m so afraid to blink in case the tears fall. I pull it out of the bag, my eyes drifting shut when I close my fingers around it, feel the familiar edges of it dig into my palm. A single, quiet sob escapes when I hold it to my heart, let it fill all the empty spaces I’ve created from the choices I’ve made. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

But no one is around to hear it.

19

Holden

“I don’t understand why you just don’t take my truck.”

Dad loads the last of the potted lemon trees onto the bed of his beat-up old truck with the faded Eastwood Nursery logo on the side. “No thanks,” he deadpans.

“Why not?”

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