Page 73 of Since She's Been Gone

IT WAS THEfall of 2000 when Dad dropped me off at college for the first time.

I decided on UCLA not only because it was both of my parents’ graduate school alma maters. It also allowed me to stay close to my eating disorder recovery community in Los Angeles, and to Dad, who I constantly worried about.

I felt incredibly guilty for moving out of the house and leaving him. A few years had passed since Mom died, and he had never gone on any dates or expressed interest in doing so.

I took some solace in knowing that he at least had his annual fall trip to look forward to. During my junior and senior years in high school, he went on a weekend road trip with his college buddies. He said the guys started the tradition to help support him after Mom died, and one of them had a house deep in one of the Northern California forests, off the grid, where they could completely disconnect from the world.

Even though I was probably old enough to stay back alone, I was recovering from an eating disorder, so he always asked my childhood nanny to stay with me. But she wouldn’t need to this year because I would be at college.

After Dad finished helping me carry my boxes into my new dorm room and met my new roommate, we stood in front of his car, saying our goodbyes.

“When are you heading up north on your trip with the guys?” I asked him.

“A couple can’t make it this year, so we’re not going,” he told me.

“Really?” I said, now even more worried that he didn’t have it to look forward to in my absence. “Are you rescheduling it?”

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“Maybe next year?” I said, feeling guilty about the empty house that awaited him.

He nodded. “Maybe.”

I stood there biting my bottom lip, debating whether to come out with it.

“I don’t think Mom would want you to be alone for the rest of your life,” I said.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he responded, half-chuckling.

“It’s not funny,” I said.

“Stop worrying about me. I’ll be fine. Just take care of yourself. That’s what matters most.”

CHAPTER43

ISTEP INSIDEPENNStation with its ninety-two-foot-tall ceiling and enormous glass skylight. I spot a large photography installation featuring the station’s transformation dating back a hundred years to present day and a ticket booth next to it.

I quickly dash over. “When does the next train to DC leave?” I ask a woman with her hair pulled back in a red bandana.

“Regular or express?” she asks.

“Express,” I say.

“Now,” she says.

“One ticket, please,” I say, handing her my credit card, which she swipes and hands back to me.

“It’s gonna be close. Platform four,” she says.

I scan the numbered signs, run toward number four, hop on an escalator, and race down the steps. When I get to the platform, the train is still there, and I jump inside the first door I see.

I walk through a couple of cars to get to my assigned seat before sitting down. Nearly every seat is taken.

The conductor speaks into the intercom: “Attention, passengers. We have a nearly full train today, so please don’t block the aisles or doors. We’ll be moving shortly.”

The doors start to close when a man squeezes in just in time. The train begins to glide down the tracks as he walks toward me.

He sits on one of the few empty seats left across from me. When he rests his hands on his knees, I notice the small heart-shaped birthmark on top of his hand.

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