Page 86 of Heart Sick

He kisses the top of my head before gently coaxing me off his lap. He stands, only to return a second later with some tissues to clean me up.

I lay on the bed and watch with interest as he retrieves the small notepad and pen on the dresser and sits down on the floor. He closes his eyes and his fingers begin to tap out a tune that he can only hear.

I am lost in his world, totally mesmerized by a true artist in his realm. I wonder what he hears. He begins scribbling notes onto the paper, nodding in time with the beat in his head. I hope to be there the day he sits behind a piano and plays this piece because I know it’ll be a masterpiece.

Anguish and torment are what makes a true artist. They use art as an escapism. You can’t fake that. And Dutch’s pain only seems to grow.

I settle against the pillows and fall asleep, wondering when this pain will end.

We’re driving in silence once again. It seems we can’t escape it these days.

I have no idea what faces us today, but I suppose I never do. The farther we drive, the more anxious I become. I don’t know why, but I can’t help but feel today is going to change everything.

I suspect Dutch feels it too because he’s not his usual self.

This entire situation is something out of a horror movie. It doesn’t make sense, but in some weird way, it doesn’t feel foreign. It’s like I’ve been here before.

We drive through a beautiful neighborhood. It’s apparent Jack was from a family who could afford luxuries in life. But in the end, it didn’t matter. It didn’t save him.

Dutch is driving slowly, peering at the house numbers, and when we arrive at a lavish double-story home, he pulls up by the curb.

“This is it.”

We both take a moment to look at the home, which I hope holds the answers we seek. A sense of nostalgia suddenly overwhelms me. Tears gather in my eyes.

“Did you want to wait here?” Dutch gently rubs over my leg, sensing my emotions.

I want to go, but I don’t think I can. My actions have proven that I’m not afraid of taking risks, but this feels different. I can’t help but think this is because I’ve been here before. That this place holds memories—good and bad.

“I’m not sure why I can’t go in.”

“It’s okay. I won’t be long.” Dutch leans across the middle console and kisses my cheek. It’s comforting.

I watch as he exits the car and makes his way to Jack’s home. He doesn’t rush, but I guess he’s as anxious as I am. He knocks on the door and waits with his hands in his pockets.

I can’t take my eyes off him and when the door opens and a woman with long brown hair steps out onto the porch, nervous energy mounts, winding me.

Folding in half, I grip on to the dash to ground myself. Is this Jack’s mom? Sister? Do I know her?

I examine her closely in hopes of recognition hitting me. It doesn’t.

She listens intently as Dutch speaks and peers over at the car. I feel like shrinking in my seat. I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but I don’t like her.

She goes inside, and when Dutch follows, I begin to doubt my decision that I didn’t go with him. My anxiety peaks. What are they doing?

My leg bounces because I can’t keep still. I can’t shake the feeling that something horrible is happening, and I’m stuck in the car because I’m too afraid to find out what that may be.

One minute becomes two, and just as I’m about to open the door and see what’s going on, Dutch reappears. The woman follows, offering him something. He peers down at it, not looking away for a long time. He places whatever it is into his back pocket.

My stomach drops and I want to be sick as she steps into his arms and hugs him tight. His arms are rigid by his sides. He looks uncomfortable but doesn’t push her away.

When she finally lets him go, she wipes at her eyes.

Dutch nods after a minute of her talking, and then he walks away.

The lady stands on the porch, staring at me. Even though we are far away, it’s evident she is looking at me. Why?

Dutch’s door opens, and he gets in but doesn’t speak. I give him the space he clearly needs even though I want to ask a million questions. I see he has a photograph in his hands. What did he put into his back pocket?