The Four Seasons this was not, but there was also no getting around it. I needed to take care of business and be gone as quickly as possible and driving an hour to stay in Philly would only slow me down.
“Then your cleanest room, please.”
More blank staring. “They’re all clean, Mrs.”
“Whatever,” I snapped, exhaustion getting the best of me. “Just…can I have a room, please?”
After making arrangements for Drake to stay with the dogs, I caught the first flight out of Jackson Hole. Six hours and two stops later, I landed in Philly at midnight, rented a car, and drove another forty-five minutes to reach the only hotel (or whatever you want to call it) anywhere near my old hometown.
Rural is the only way to describe where I grew up. And although it had some benefits––we never locked our doors at night, and the biggest issues were hunting accidents in the fall and drunken teenagers tearing up the public golf course in the summer––there was a lot of downside too. It was rural and remote.
Not to mention, the boogeymen were already living with me.
My heart was in my throat as I drove over the town limits. I could feel the stitches in those old wounds unraveling and what would spill out was anybody’s guess.
I’m a thriver not a survivor. I’m a thriver not a survivor. I’m a thriver not a survivor. The mantra played on a loop.
In the past, it had helped me climb out of a panic attack whenever I was alone in a dark room and it was a little depressing to see it resurfacing now, after all the years of therapy I’d been through. Then again, I hadn’t had to face my demons until now.
Seventeen years ago, I drove out of here and never came back. The day I graduated high school I packed up the used Jetta I’d bought with the money I’d made working summer jobs and headed to Connecticut. It felt like my story was coming full circle. High time to cut the last cord binding me to this place––long past time for closure. My only regret was that Josh wouldn’t be a part of it.
With each red brick row house I drove past, an avalanche of memories came tumbling back. Most of them snapshots. Most of them unpleasant with the exception of the ones that included the boy I once loved. The library where I worked the summer before my senior year looked smaller than I remembered, weathered by years of neglect. The hardware store where Josh worked was long gone, replaced by a Subway.
I’d gotten so good at compartmentalizing my life it was almost as if I’d been a third-party observer instead of a participant. Everyone has their own method of coping. Some people turn to drugs and alcohol. My crutch was to go emotionally offline and bury myself under my work––as my therapist has repeatedly pointed out. And it had worked. Maybe a little too well.
I didn’t call or text Scott to tell him that I needed to leave. He’d find out soon enough from Jan when he returned from Houston. I knew I should’ve called. This thing we’d been building slowly, block by block––call it trust or whatever, maybe more––was still fragile, and I didn’t want to bring it all down. But something stopped me. I couldn’t get my fingers to work, to push the send button.
It just felt too personal. Maybe I was afraid to be let down. That this would be where he drew the line and deemed me more trouble than I was worth. I’d told myself a lot of crap like that over the years. It was easier to be alone. Nobody to keep score. Nobody to answer to. At least it had been before I married Scott.
As much as I’d already shared with him, I hadn’t gone into detail. Nor would I. He didn’t know the depth of it, and I was still too guarded to let anyone see the shame attached. That’s the thing seldom talked about––the shame most victims of violence and abuse suffer. It’s tattooed into your psyche. It might fade over time, but the damage is done. That thin voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, you deserved it, that you invited it, that it’s your fault, long after the scars heal…it stays.
Motel girl’s big brown eyes widened when I handed over my Platinum Amex. In turn, the girl handed me an actual key with a big green plastic fob attached. My