With This Heart(98)

I’d done the right thing and I knew it, yet the doubt that seeped into my thoughts was enough to cause nightmares anytime I shut my eyes. My brain had a way of finding the most gut-wrenching ideas and replaying them in my mind over and over again.

Beck at parties. Beck with girls. Beck sleeping with a new girlfriend. I squeezed my eyes shut and told myself it was for the best. But it wasn’t enough. I reached for the pail next to my bed and threw-up the contents of my stomach until I was left dry-heaving and praying for the pain and sadness to go away.

…



Beck called everyday for a month and I didn’t answer once. I had to fight myself about it every single time, but I knew if I heard his voice, I’d cave and beg him to come back. So instead, I’d watch the phone vibrate on the hospital’s night stand, jarring the silence from the room and reminding me of how much I’d been forced to give up in my life.





        ONE YEAR LATER





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


I sat in Dr. Lucas’ office just as I had twice a month for the past year. Her stylish glasses were sitting on the brim of her nose as she ran through everything on her checklist one last time. My eyes scanned down her burgundy cardigan and I smiled thinking of how different our relationship used to be.

“             You’ve got your schedule in order. I think it’s wise that you’re taking basics the first year. That way if you change your major, it won’t be a problem,” she chimed in as her finger dragged down the list. We’d already gone through everything ten times, and I knew my session was almost over. I think she was dragging it out because she knew it was the last time I’d be visiting her. My life no longer required a life coach. I smiled at the silly thought and stuffed my papers into my purse.

“             I don’t think I’ll be changing my major, but I agree,” I said, leaning back and eying her.

She met my eyes and nodded. We’d finally come to understand one another and I’d truly appreciated her help throughout the last year.

“             You should be proud of yourself, Abby. You did it. You got into college and you’re leaving tomorrow. Are you nervous?” she asked, her tone shifting into friend-mode.

Her question was one I’d been asked quite a few times over the past few days. I’d visited Caroline’s parents the day before so I could say goodbye. We had dinner and they asked about college, if I was nervous to move, if I was anxious to start classes. I knew they were truly happy for me. Just as I was leaving, her parents had surprised me with a going away present. They’d put away some money for Caroline to go to school and instead of using it for themselves, they wanted to give me a scholarship. They knew I was paying for college on my own, much to my parent’s disapproval. So they bequeathed upon me a “Caroline College Fund” of sorts. I’d cried when they’d handed me the check, and I’d vowed to make it count for her. Even in death, my friend was always watching out for me.

That money would help me get through the first year of college along with the savings I’d built over the past year working in a coffee shop. After all the medical expenses that had come about after my most recent stint in the hospital, I couldn’t ask my parents for help with college. Even if they could afford it, it felt like I should do it on my own.

Dr. Lucas cleared her throat and I shook my head. “I’m just ready to get up there, I think,” I answered, pulling myself out of my reverie.

She nodded with a tight-lipped smile and I knew she was getting as worked up as I was. Did she realize how much I’d changed in the past year? How much she’d helped me?

“             It’s funny that the assessment test was accurate,” I mentioned, thinking about the silly options it had provided me with a year earlier: park ranger, writer, accountant, biomedical engineer.

She smiled wide and wrapped me into a hug. “I’m glad it all worked out. Although, I still think you would have made a good park ranger,” she laughed, pulling away to hold me at arm’s length.

I rolled my eyes at her playfully.

“             Make sure I get an acknowledgment in your first novel, okay?” She gripped my shoulders and I mashed my lips together so that I wouldn’t cry.

“             Of course,” I winked.

In the past year, I had stuck to a routine: working at the coffee shop during the day and heading home to write non-stop at night. It all started with the journal my mom brought me at the hospital. I’d filled it cover to cover. Then I filled journal after journal, no longer recanting stories from our trip, but writing down stories that had lived in my head for the past nineteen years. When my hands ached from writing with a pen, I switched to creating stories on my laptop. It became my thrill in waking up each morning. I wanted to be a writer and I’d worked hard to make it happen. I’d been accepted to a well-known creative writing program so that I could hone my skills. There was nothing holding me back now.