When I wake, as forewarned, Aidan is gone. My head aches something fierce, and I'm now in a bed rather than the couch I fell asleep on. The aura of the empty household is one I sit on, blinking and staring at the items in my childhood room with slow unwilling study.

With her gone, this place seems like a mausoleum. The bookcases, the old desk by the window—all of it is dusted with a glaring glow, an odd coating over the untouched items.

For the first time, I'm forced to wonder what I'm going to do with the house. I can't live here, but it's long since bought, gifted to me in her will. The upkeep, let alone the repairs it desperately needs...this place is a money pit.

My eyes drift to a paper on the pillow, a broken sheet from one of my notepads. I grab it, scanning the eloquent handwriting.

Whether it's tomorrow or a month from now:
Come see me.

Aidan

I'm still mostly filthy, having been too exhausted to shower last night. Desperate to scrub out the dirt lodged under my fingernails, I pull myself up to shower. Yesterday, this place felt like home. Now, I'm tiptoeing around as if someone were going to creep up on me and repossess it.

When I'm clean and dressed, I set for the stairs to mop the muddy tracks people brought in yesterday and clear away any remaining trash I missed last night. It takes hours to restore the first floor to what would have been her liking. It's near noon when my aching belly reminds me that I skipped breakfast, lunch and dinner yesterday and that I'm apparently running on fumes.

As the coffee brews, the aroma sifts through the air, invigorating my senses as I conjure up something quick and easy. I'm in no mood to concoct something worthwhile. By the time I'm sitting on my own, eating in silence, I realize Aidan was right.

Today is much worse. Much, much worse.

I'm finding it hard to get myself to leave, although there is nothing to do here but reminisce.

It's barely noon before Samantha calls, asking to come over. Despite telling her that the house was already spotless, she insisted, pulling into the driveway not even thirty minutes later. We work together, cleaning up the back yard, the mess Aidan and I left when we were caught in close quarters.

"It looks good," she says, throwing down a broken branch into a pile, "the garden."

"I hope everything grows well."

"Are you planning on staying here?"

"I can't. Not after everything. I can't give it up though. Maybe I'll rent it out. Maybe another family can make some memories here."

"You could always just keep it around for a rainy day, for when you have a family someday. I mean, you have money saved, right? And a big new fancy promotion."

"Sure. Yeah, I could." I stuff the gardening tools into the plastic bin. "I'm not going back to work right away. I spoke to Matthew yesterday. The board has agreed to another month, weeks added for bereavement."

"What are you planning on doing?"

"I might travel a bit."

"To Leavenworth?"

I roll my eyes affectionately at her persistence. "That may be one of the first spots...I was thinking more along the lines of an international vacation. Maybe Prague."

"You've always liked Prague...but alone?"

The doorbell rings, an unwelcome sound even from here. Samantha, my knight in shining armor, heads up the stairs to answer it for me. I grab a massive trash bag from the ground, stuffing rotted wood parked near the unfinished shed into it. I couldn't be bothered to come near it growing up. Now that my mother's gone, there's no reason to ever worry that he'll try to come back to manipulate her. I sure as hell know he's not coming back for me.

"Um, Jo?"

I turn, blocking the sun with my hand like a visor. "What?"

"Bradley is at the door."

That is not what I expected. It takes a moment to comprehend it. It's been a few months since our heated fight at The Chronicle, where he left with a swollen cheek and an unlimited amount of rage. And only hours later was visited by Hughes, who must have done considerable damage due to the fact that Bradley has kept his distance since then. "What does he want?"

"He heard about your mother. I hate to admit it, but he looks pretty beat. I don't think he's here to cause problems."

I sigh heavily. "Send him back."

I continue rounding up trash, frustrated that he's chosen today to show up here, out of all days.

The porch door groans at opening, and I remain where I am, only moving my head to peer at the house. Samantha's remained inside; it's just him under the overhead cover. He takes the steps slowly, as if each one is steeper and steeper. When in the sunlight, I can truly see him.

It's so odd, seeing him in casual clothing. He lives in suits, in his power. Today, he's in denim jeans and a plain white tee. His almost platinum hair blinds under the sun as he crosses the patchy grass, the definition of a repentant man. Samantha wasn't lying. Bradley is thin and gaunt, and clearly unhappy. However, when he's only a few feet away, he smiles, hesitantly.

My returning stare is a wall of resistance. It's strong, and unable to be toppled. His smile fades at my lack thereof, and he nods, understandably.

"I know you don't want to see me."

I set down the trash bag. "No, I don't."

"I deserve that. I said a lot of things I shouldn't have, things I hate to even remember saying to you. I saw the opportunity to get you back and it consumed me...it made me evil."

"You don't like to lose."

"No, I don't." He looks down tellingly. "It doesn't excuse what I did...what I said."

"It made you happy, didn't it?" I ask, resentfully, removing my gloves. "To screw up an already confused girl? I have no problem telling you that your words, that day, they fucked me up. It takes everything in me not to think, to believe what you said. Somehow, you've done it. You've found a way to make me think of you every day. Throw yourself a damn party."

My pettiness knows no bounds right now. I want to harm him, like he harmed me.

"I'm not here to fight, Jo. I would have been here for the funeral, but I didn't think you'd appreciate me showing my face. And I had no desire to run into Hughes either and I suspected he showed." He chuckles, dragging his hand through his hair. "The guy packs a serious punch."

"You know, I didn't send him after you that day."

"He said as much, along with some other things."

"Things?"

He clears his throat. "Things I deserved."

I wrap my arms around myself, wishing he weren't being so repentant.

"Look, I just wanted to come here and apologize. I wanted to tell you also that I'm sorry about your mother. Virginia was an amazing woman. I wish I had known she was so sick sooner. I would have gotten my shit together and attempted this apology out sooner so I could have helped you with her."

"I managed fine on my own."

"You're Josephine Taylor. Of course you did."

I stare at my dirty boots. "Brad, I'm...I'm sorry. I'm grateful that you came to do this, but I can't be friends with you."

"I know."

I expected arguing. I expected a storm. I look into his eyes, finding actual contrition. He nods, crossing his arms like me.

"I know. I thought I'd never get tired of this, but I'm exhausted. I'm...I'm trying to do right by you, trying to end this right, as hard as it is, because I do love you."

Any reply from me would do us no favors. It would either hurt or inspire him. I decide it's best to keep my mouth shut, to allow him to say what he needs to say.

"You've been through a fucking torrent of problems this year, and I've done little to ease them for you. While I sat and created problems that weren't even there, he was the one actually trying to help you. He...he wasn't obsessive, he wasn't overbearing. You were crazy about each other from the start...I know you know that, but I needed to say it." His lips go nearly white from pressing together. "Because you deserve the world he wants to give you...the one I wasn't able to give you when we were together."

It's the years I spent with this man that softens me, but only to an extent.

I'm done falling back into our routine. Fight, fuck, forgive. No more.

"I appreciate you making amends. I know I share a good portion of the blame here."

"Your blame is worlds away from mine. You've told me for almost a year now that you wanted distance. I ignored that."

"You'll find someone, Bradley. Very quickly, I suspect and she'll be lucky to have you."

He scoffs softly, and I nod, knowing how condescending that sounds.

"I know everyone says that, but I actually mean it...we were happy once."

"You were?"

He's barring so many emotions from surfacing, and it actually hurts to see. It hurts because while I couldn't reciprocate his feelings, I spent a good portion of my adult life with him. He was the first man who I ever even considered living with. We were engaged, for heaven's sake. I convince myself that this pain is only natural when something is ending for good.

"Yes...I thought when I left, when I gave you the ring back that I had made up my mind. No more relationships. I figured it wasn't in the cards for me. And I'm not sure what I can give to someone now, because I can't get back the feeling of contentment everyone says I had gotten to, but I do know that it's time we both move on from this. We've let it go on this long because it's comfortable, because we're so alike. But this isn't what either of us deserves."

He smiles, just barely. "Last time I spoke to Matthew, he said you'd taken some time off?"

"I jumped in too fast after the bombings...and Mama needed me. Now that I'm on my own, I think I might take some time for myself, go traveling."

"It soothes the soul. France is nice this time of year."

"So I've heard," I say, shrugging. "Maybe."

I glance up, seeing Samantha peeking at us through the window like a guard dog. I love her for it. This hovering he and I are doing has to stop. I plant my feet firmly on the ground.

"I feel better that we did this, the right way."

He nods, unhinged. He asks to hug me without meeting my eyes, and I won't refuse him that. His arms are tight, his embrace intense, a reminder to me that we're choosing to walk away from each other for good, move on with our lives.

He pulls back, caressing my face gently, briefly. His gaze is soft, and shielded but not enough.

His heart is breaking. That's crystal clear. He can't hide that.

"Take care of yourself," he whispers. I nod while he lets me go.

"Yeah...you too."

I watch him cross back over the lawn, and disappear inside the house. Only moments later, Samantha reemerges, a concerned scowl on her face.

"What did he want?"

The tension within me releases with a sigh. While part of me yearns to cling to the discomfort of what just occurred, the part of me that also wants to curl up in this house and hermit for the next month, the satisfaction of closure, of honesty and truth, outweighs the desire to disappear.

I would have survived if I'd never spoken to him again. I would have found a way to ignore his words, to think on my own. But knowing that attachment, that open-ended attachment is over, and that not only I can move on—but he can too—is an overwhelming relief.

"It's over," I breathe.

                                                ***

I drop my bags down onto the floor of my spacious apartment with a thud, scanning the familiar space closely. My heart is still in my mother's house, a place I forced myself to leave just an hour ago. I walked the halls, studied the photographs, touched the surfaces, taking in every inch, because the next time I walk in there, the attachment will have faded.

That's what made it so hard, resorting to the hard truth.

My mother isn't there anymore. She never will be.

The air conditioning in my apartment has been off for months, leaving a stuffy smell circulating around the room. I click on the thermostat to remedy that, intent on settling in. Despite the heat, the hair on my arms is stiff and aware. I'm alone here, but I feel watched.

I'm unloading fresh groceries into the fridge when my head aches, fogging, damn near worse than a migraine, sprung from pure air. Leaning into the counter, I clutch my head, holding my eyes closed.

It's fleeting, the image that crosses my brain. A flash of red, of red light. Other than noticing that it's a room, I'm clueless as to its purpose. The pain stays, but I continue to move, stuffing items into the fridge messily, lacking any type of order.

I continue about my day, but deep down, part of me can't help but hope these images mean something.

                                                 ***

"Have you purchased it yet?" Samantha asks before I've even gotten to the minuscule table lodged between crowds of café goers. Holding a travel companion novel on the Czech Republic, I nod, barley suppressing my grin. After a week of sitting in my apartment procrastinating the decision, I've finally done it.

I lean down, kissing her cheek chastely.

"Booked my flight yesterday."

"You lucky girl."

"I've gotten maybe three words down," I joke, grimacing. "I'm going to be one of those tourists."

"Give them your sob story and they won't mind the broken language."

"Yeah, sure." The conveniently placed hole in the wall café by The Chronicle is bustling. Always festive, the decorations dangling from the ceiling are fireworks and mini American flags. The fourth of July came and went but they haven't removed them. Samantha scoots my coffee across the table.

I reach for the sugar, but my hand pauses over it.

The sensation that's become more frequent over the past couple of days occurs, stealing my breath, clouding my mind with hazy pictures, hazy sounds and movements. It's a frightening thing to know you're seeing something that was once lost, that I can't place to a single timeline.

I hope they are memories, things seeping to the surface. If not, I'm just going crazy.

"Earth to Jo."

My head snaps up, coming back to clarity. Samantha is eying me curiously. I complete my mission and grab the sugar dispenser, putting in my usual rations. My cheeks are hot, my mind frantic and alive, trying to comprehend what's happening to me...if it's really what I think is happening.

"What just happened?"

Knowing her questions would never stop, I shake my head, frowning nonchalantly. "Nothing. I'm just tired."

"Well, take it easy. Being on your own in a foreign city...you need to be aware, you hear? You need to know where you are going, who is around you..."

"God, you're such a mom," I tease. She rolls her eyes.

"You've put me through enough this year, don't you think? I have a right to be worried."

"All right, all right. I'll be careful."

"Does Aidan know about this impromptu trip of discovery?"

I shake my head. "No...but I'm going to tell him. I'm going to call him."

"Good. He'd kill me if I let you go and didn't at least tell him. You know how he worries."

It's so odd to hear someone say that about a person I'm not even seeing. Aidan worries.

I don't resent that thought as much as I thought I did.

                                                ***

I tuck my legs into the cushion of the couch, staring down at my phone. Aidan's name and number is on the display, but my finger just hovers.

I shouldn't be so nervous to tell him...yes, I should.

I take the leap, pressing down and I hear the first ring. I bite my lip, surging my feet neurotically.

I hear the ringing stop, and then his honey-smooth voice over the line. "Josephine?"

"Hi."

"Hi...you're calling."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I should have called sooner...to thank you for coming and for taking care of me last week."

"You sound much better," he says, warm, affectionately, effortlessly melting me through the phone.

"Well, you were right. It was tough, but I-I got out of the house, came back to the apartment. I'm...um...going out of town for a while."

The line is quiet, and I squint regretfully, waiting for him to answer.

"Out of town?"

"Out of the country, actually. Just for a month. I've booked a flight to Prague, rented a small hotel for the duration, a vespa, too, to soak in the entire experience," I chuckle.

"Prague, huh?"

Shit. "...Are you upset?"

"You've been cooped up in that house, taking care of a very sick person. You deserve to get away."

"Is that an answer?"

"The only one I'm willing to give, Jo. Don't ask me to explain."

"I could come see you...before I go? The flight isn't until Friday."

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk the fine line with you, Josephine? One minute you're touching me, beckoning me closer and the next, you're cutting off communication and flying across the damn country on your own."

"So, you are mad."

"Did you actually think I wouldn't be?"

"No..." I knew he would be. It's the reason I procrastinated calling him. I'm thinking of myself. It's selfish, and something I feel like I'm unable to control. "I-I'm sorry I called. I don't know what I was thinking."

"I liked that you called me to tell me. If anything that reassures me that what we have between us is something you are acknowledging if even in a small way. I just...God, I don't even know what I'm saying. I think I'm just projecting here."

"I'm so fucking self-absorbed," I whisper, covering my face, sick with embarrassment. "I got into my head. It seemed so good...to run."

"Run from what? The truth?"

"I don't know the truth! I don't know anything!" I shout, frantically.

"Except you do! You are the only person who can do it. I can't force you to confront it. Samantha can't. Bradley can't. You are the only person who can choose—and you just said it yourself. You're choosing to run. Why?"

"It's not that easy, to stop. It's not easy!"

"Goddamn it! I know that! You have to want it, Josephine! You can either have your clients who let you live your life and fuck who you want, or you can have someone who would change himself for you. I did that. You may not remember it but I damn well did it! I'm waiting for you to do that too. If you can't, please, for the love of God, tell me."

Even I'm sick of myself.

"I-I'll cancel the flight," I stutter, stumbling madly over my own words. My head is throbbing. "I will. I'll...come over. I'll drive over now."

"Josephine—"

"Aidan, I can't lose you," I blurt out in fright, pure desperation.

The line is dead quiet. I'm choking on my own breath.

"D-Don't cancel the flight," he says, his voice softer, more controlled. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

"But I deserve it."

"For being scared? You've done nothing wrong. You don't remember me. To you, I'm a stranger you met seven months ago, and you've opened yourself to me more than I really could have ever asked for."

"But not like the first time..."

"Jo, go on the trip."

"But—"

"No buts. Go on the trip. I want you to."

"You're lying."

"I can't lose you either, Josephine...and I have a feeling that if I make you stay, I will."

"Aidan," I breathe.

"I'm not angry. I'm really not. Call me when you land, just so I know you've made it safe, all right?"

I shake my head, trying to find coherent words. He's sucked them from me.

"I love you," he says, and I hear the dead silence received after someone's removed them self from the line. He's hung up.

I stand like a statue in the dead center of the room, holding the phone against my chest. My body prickles with the constant dread, the constant feel of eyes that aren't there. Mind swirling, panic taking over my coherency, my legs finally work, sending me across the apartment. I'm barely in my bedroom before a wave of cold befalls me, and I stop in my tracks as every single light in my apartment goes dark.

It's sundown, so thankfully, I'm mostly able to see in front of me, but I'm no less spooked. I grab the candle on my dresser and search for the nearest lighter. Unable to find one, I resort to matches from the kitchen, bumping my way around my furniture.

I light it, seeing the flame catch and soar into the air vertically. I set it down and go searching for more candles to illuminate the apartment, unsure as to why the powers out. There's no storm. I walk through the apartment, lighting as many as I can find while the sun disappears outside the massive wall-to-ceiling windows.

Entering the living room again, I suck in a loud gasp, dropping the matches in shock at the sight of a completely pitch black apartment—not one candle flamed.

What the fuck is going on?

Fumbling now, I reach for the first candle I can find, and light it, holding it to me, backing up into the bedroom. I'm going crazy. Yes, that must be it.

I glance around, frightened that maybe someone is inside the apartment, stalking me like prey.

"I-It's nothing, Jo..." I whisper to myself, cautiously, sitting down onto the edge of the bed.

It starts as a soft vibration. A build to something much bigger. My head turns with dread to the bookcase against the wall, which begins to shake as if an earthquake were terrorizing Downtown Seattle. I shriek, jumping off the bed, flying across the room.

My blood feels like it's bouncing too, my skin prickling with suspicion.

I think of the swing set, of the child's laughter. And as I think of it, I hear it again.

"Oh god," I breathe, lowering down onto the ground, dropping the candle which immediately extinguishes. I don't want to see anymore. I cover my ears, curling into my knees in terror.

Am I going insane? This can't actually be happening.

As if the world suddenly falls back on track, everything goes still. Every damn thing. The shaking ceases, the lights flicker on, the laughter stops. I'm bathed in warm light, although my body is chilled to the bone. I release my ears, gasping for breath, trying to see though my tears of fright.

Nothing more comes.

I'm not sure why I get up so quickly. Almost as if a hand were guiding me up, pressing into my back, I'm moving up onto my knees, and then to my feet, although I feel about ready to collapse. I walk around the bed, and notice a single book on the ground. With the shaking that was happening, they should have all been thrown about.

It's right about now that I realize this wasn't my imagination. Nor was it a fluke.

Someone's here with me.

And as hard as it is to rationalize, I whisper Nora's name aloud, hesitantly.

There's no whisper of reply. No loud bang. No sign.

Just a calm settling feeling over my beating heart, a hand of reassurance that seems to go right through me.

It's enough to make the tears spill over my eyes.

I move slowly toward the book, swallowing loudly.

They are trying to tell me something.

They've been trying to tell me something.

I bend my knees and grab the novel, turning it over. My hand drifts over the engraved title, Lady Chatterley's Lover. I've never seen it before. I open it to the first page, looking for an inscription, finding none.

I don't know why I need to see this.

I lift it, raking through the pages, and like a snowflake swirling down from the sky, a photograph falls onto my lap. I set down the book carefully, blinking with awareness.

I grab it, wedged between my jeans, and unravel the folded sides, feeling that kind of crushing weight again. The photograph is nearly slipping from my trembling fingers, my nerves shocked beyond repair.

I turn it over.

And my world capsizes, implodes, comes crashing down upon me.

I slam my eyes closed, a piercing pain radiating through my skull, dropping onto all fours, sucking in massive gasps of air.

Oh my god.

It comes upon me like a dream, like a distant dream.

All of it.

It weaves together like a puzzle, all of the pieces fitting instantaneously. The flashes I've seen, everything.

I choke on my own gutting groans, overwhelmed by the endless questions now answered.

Aidan's piercing first gaze upon me in the diner, standing by the busy counter with a book in his hand, a darkness among festivities.

Gasp.

I'm under him, by a stone fireplace, staring at gashes across his wrists and he's suddenly gone, leaving me behind in his wake.

Another fucking gasp.

The snow. I'm buried in it, soaked through from the river that nearly killed me. The foyer, his tearful pleadings. The bedroom, his body against mine. Sudden warmth.

I'm choking.

He's in Seattle. He came. I'm elated in his arms. He's holding me in the air, both of us laughing obliviously as the lobby watches on.

Oh Christ.

He's sobbing. Oh...his wife...the river...Lily. I'm holding him. She killed my baby, he cries to me.

"Ah, god. Stop," I groan painfully to myself, too much coming on too soon. It won't stop.

I'm watching him, watching him with my mother. Watching her gaze at him adoringly. He's smiling so sweetly, absorbed with her. I'm transfixed by the sight.

I'm sobbing now, full-on piercing wails.

I'm being dragged, dragged with a gun to my back. The Pentagon...The Lieutenant...they're all dead. Everyone's dying. We're flying down the steps. We're free. He's pushing me in front of him. The heat...oh fuck, it hurts. The explosion.

It's too much. I can't catch my breath.

I let go of the photograph in my hands, the one of Aidan lying asleep in his bed, his hair wild and untamed by my pulling, the morning of the day I left Leavenworth, after the night I begged him to let me into his heart. I'm the photographer, capturing the intimate picture to remember.

To remember that feeling forever.

Oh, god. Aidan.

With too much happening at once, too many small, daunting memories following the fucking milestones I've just been hit with, my mind collapses on itself, and everything fades to black.