Page 47 of Nothing At All

With the sun warm on my bare shoulders and my shoes hitting the pavement, all I could see was his cautious stance and hear his hushed realization.

You’re not there yet.

Where was there?

I mean, I knew. I just didn’t know where that was for me. What that looked like.

Before, I’d always thought there would turn up with the time was right. When I was established and had moved back to Atlanta to be near Mama and Daddy, I’d meet someone with similar goals, and we’d build a life.

It’s not like you’re going to marry the guy.

I might.

The lingering memory of that conversation made me annoyed with Samantha. Annoyed with myself.

I needed to – no, had to – figure myself out.

Before we had that conversation he mentioned.

So . . .

I quickened my pace, feeling the burn in my calves and my lungs. I wasn’t married to Atlanta. Small town life had a lot going for it . . . mainly no Atlanta traffic. Oh, I was on the road a lot for work, but I wasn’t sitting in traffic.

The cost of living was so much lower, and I was saving like crazy.

Coney lay close enough to Tallahassee for shopping and concerts and museums, and the drive home to visit my parents was only four hours.

But could I be married to Dan? Like some day?

Married to the man he was?

Absolutely.

Married to the cop I now saw he was?

That frightened me.

But walking away from him, never seeing what we might be . . . the thought scared me worse.

I turned the corner at the hospital, shivering as I viewed the spot where his patrol car had waited the night before. The reality sank in once more – he’d parked, climbed out of that vehicle, and never walked back to it.

Running and thinking were not helping.

Once I returned home, I showered and ate a snack-lunch of cheese and fruit and prosciutto standing up at the counter. I tapped my nails on the fake marble. How was he? Was he resting? I couldn’t call or text him, he wanted space to process, and not knowing made me edgy.

He wanted space from me.

Not our normal not-in-each-other’s-pocket space, but I’d-hurt-him space.

Maybe even don’t-want-to-be-with-you-anymore space.

No.

That prospect made my heart fold in, almost like walking into the ER and seeing him hurt, realizing how that could have gone.

Okay. Okay.

I pressed a hand over my heart, thudding in the center of my chest like I was mid-run. Worst case thinking was not my friend.