I still don’t know what you do when you’ve lost him. I stopped running, didn’t go to senior prom. I pushed all our friends away until they stopped calling. Mom and Dad made me go to graduation, but I walked out when they started the slide-show tribute to him. I missed college application deadlines and didn’t care. I’ve spent the better part of the last thirteen months alone and stalled out, an eighteen-year-old widow who has yet to make plans or look forward no matter how much anyone tries to get me to.
I page through more magazines, one after another, past words that don’t speak to me and pictures that don’t stand out as anything I want, or even think is a possibility. Until I get to one that stops me. I run my eyes over the picture, take in all the details: clear water and sunset-gold light, velvety-looking sand, and a lonely bottle washed up on the shore. It’s what the bottle contains that gets me. Inside its clear glass sits a deep-red, blown-glass heart. The sun shines through it at just the right angle so that it throws a small red shadow on the sand in front of it. I’ve never seen anything like it. The heart is beautiful, and fragile, and safe inside its bottle, like the old notes that supposedly traveled over distance and time, through storms and lulls, to finally find a shore. And then to be found.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“The average heart beats eighty times per minute, which means that, in any given day, your heart will beat approximately one hundred thousand times. In a year, it will have beaten forty-two million times, and in a lifetime it will beat nearly three billion times. All the while, it is taking in blood and expelling it to the lungs and throughout the body. . . . It does not rest. It does not tire. It is persistent in its drive and purpose.”
—Dr. Kathy Magliato, Heart Matters: A Memoir of a Female Heart Surgeon
“GET UP.”
I don’t need to open my eyes to know Ryan’s standing next to the bed. She pulls my covers off, and I scramble to get them back. “Are you crazy? What time is it?”
“Six,” she says. “It’s gonna get hot early, so get up. We’re going for a run.”
I squint at her, already in her running gear, in the pale morning light. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“I don’t have any running shoes,” I say, reaching for my covers.
“Really?” Ryan crosses my room, opens the closet door, and climbs into the back, where every Saucony I’ve ever owned is piled. Shoes start flying, one after another, each landing on the carpet with a thump.
“I’m sure two of these will work,” she says. Then she heads to my dresser and pulls out shorts, a tank top, and a sports bra. Tosses them on the bed. Next, my sister crosses the room, pulls up my blinds, and lifts the window wide open, letting the cool morning air in. She pauses a moment to breathe it in, then grins at me. “C’mon. Get yourself up—it’ll feel good. Dad’s waiting.” Then she leaves the room—her favorite way to end a discussion.
Dad’s waiting? It’s been even longer since he’s gone running than me. Longer than 403 days. The number comes to mind automatically, but not with its usual weight. Today feels different because yesterday was different.
I stretch my arms above my head, wincing a little at the unexpected soreness in my shoulders. And then it all comes back to me: paddling with Colton, the sunshine, the water, his hand waving out the window as he drove away. The empty feeling that good-bye left me with. And then later, the dinner discussion with my family about going back today.
My phone buzzes on my nightstand, and I jump at the sound. I reach for it, hoping it’s him and telling myself at the same time not to hope, that I’m being ridiculous. But when I look down at the screen, it’s a text from a number I recognize now. I freeze. Stare at until it buzzes again in my hand, and then I swipe it open.
So I was thinking. Yesterday was a really good day, but I bet today could be even better. What do you think?
I smile, and my first thought is that it already is.
Another text buzzes through:
Working at the shop this morning, but maybe later we could see?
I read the words over again, trying to think of how to answer.
“Quinn.” Ryan pokes her head through my doorway, and I jump again, not sure what to do with the phone in my hand. “What are you doing? Let’s go.”
I put my phone back on the nightstand. “Nothing. I was just turning off my alarm.”
“Well, come on; get up. We’re waiting on you.” I know she’s not going to leave again until I actually get out of bed, so I do. Answering Colton’s texts will have to wait, because my sister does not.
Mom’s in the kitchen, dressed for work, when I get downstairs. “Good morning,” she says brightly, setting down her green juice and reaching out her arms for me.
“Morning,” I answer.
I shuffle over and give her a quick hug. She kisses the top of my head. “It’s so nice to see you up. And dressed. Your dad’s going to be so happy. This’ll be his first run in years.” I can see how hard she’s trying to contain how pleased this makes her. Never the runner, but always the cheerleader, she’s beaming, back in her old role.
“They’re waiting outside,” she says. “I’m heading in to work early and won’t be back until around five. Have a good day, and have fun running and kayaking!” She gives me another kiss on the head and squeezes my arm, and I can feel the hope in it.
“Quinn!” Ryan yells from outside. “You coming?”
I don’t answer, just head out to the front porch, where she and Dad are waiting. She’s got one leg slung up on the railing, and she stretches over it, grabbing her toes easily.
Dad laughs when he sees me. “Well, good morning, Sunshine. Looks like your sister’s powers of persuasion worked on you too, huh?” He gives my ponytail a tug.
“Something like that.” I shake out my legs and stretch a little.