Page 20 of Wrapped in Hope

I think about what Holden said about telling my story, but I dismiss it automatically. Telling someone my story won’t make it any better, it will only bring it to the surface. It will be staring me right in the face, something I don’t want. I want it to stay buried, deep beneath the self-loathing and despair I feel on a daily basis.

I walk outside and the sun is shining. The cool breeze blows across my face and helps to clear my head and calm my racing thoughts. I decide to walk across town so I can enjoy it a little longer. The city is loud and busy like always, but I don’t hear any of the noise. I look up at the trees as their branches blow with the wind. I look at the clear, bright sky. I push every last thought from my crowded head as I enjoy the first sense of peace I’ve had in a long time.

I pull my camera out of my bag and start snapping pictures of the blooming flowers, the bright light of the sun shining through the trees, and the fast moving city. Photography is the only thing that has kept me sane all these years. It’s my little escape, my way of freezing the fast paced world around me. My way of pausing a moment for a lifetime.

* * *

I makeit to the meeting much sooner than I planned. The parking lot is near empty but I walk inside anyway and see Holden setting up the tables with cookies and coffee.

“Hey,” he says in his deep, gravelly voice when he looks up and his eyes lock on mine.

It cuts straight through me as I freeze in place. “Hey. I didn’t realize you would be here,” I force myself to respond. I hang out by the door, afraid of getting too close to him.

I see his shoulders fall as he sets down the box of cookies. “Can we talk?” he asks, sensing my apprehensiveness.

I wrap my arms around myself. “What do you want to talk about?”

One of his brows lifts as he gives me a disapproving look. “You know what I want to talk about.”

I was drunk last night. I could pretend like I don’t even remember what happened. I can avoid it like everything else.

He motions toward the chairs that are in their usual circular arrangement.

I take a deep breath and walk toward them feeling like I’m about to be in trouble. He sits down and I sit on the other side of the circle, not wanting to be near him. The more distance, the better. I have to gain control over this. When he looks at me, he sees the girl he once knew, the one that was always on his son’s arm, not the woman I am now. These feelings are confusing and one-sided. I can’t let him know.