Every Bright and Broken Thing

Chapter Thirty-One - Liam

The silence is insufferable. On our way back to Summit, Theo fixes his eyes on the road and I just stare out the side window, chewing on the inside of my lip. Through the window, street lamps and starlight mix together to form rivers of light.

I don't think either of us knows what to say, or how to be with each other right now. I'm still angry at Theo, but I don't really know why. I just wish that he didn't push so hard, didn't care so much. Caring about people just makes everything harder.

At 3AM, we pull up to the curb outside my house. Without a word, I push the door open and climb out, circling to the trunk to grab my guitar case and backpack. Theo doesn't say anything either and once I close the door, he immediately pulls out into the street and roars away. I decide to text him tomorrow when we've both had the chance to cool off.

With a heavy sigh, I turn to the house. The front porch light is still on, casting an orange glow across the face of the house. I step onto the small porch and just stand there for a minute. I stare at the screen door for a little while, suddenly feeling like I don't belong. Maybe it would be best if I just left. Maybe Dad and everyone else that I've let down could finally move on.

My shoulders sag beneath the weight of all my questions. I lean my forehead against the screen and stand there, completely still except for the heavy rise and fall of my chest. My fingers tense around the handle of my guitar case. With my other hand I reach for the doorknob, but I pause when my arm is only halfway there.

It would be so easy to just turn around and disappear. To never come back. To pretend that this life and everything in it never happened. With Stacy, Ezra, Dad, Lincoln, and now maybe even Theo all but gone now, what's to stop me? What do I have left to hold onto? I'm losing my grip on my life and that feeling fills me with the kind of anger I didn't know I possessed. I remember what it felt like to not be in control – the fear, the anger – and I never want to feel that way again. So, maybe leaving isn't such a bad idea. Maybe it's the only thing that I can do to feel like I'm in control of my own life again.

But the idea terrifies me as most big ideas do. If I leave now, there would be so much left unsaid, so much left unfinished. It would be like leaving before ever finding out how the story ends. For years, I've been in this same place. The grief, the fear, the anger, the out-of-control feeling... they've consumed me. I need to let go, but I also need to find out how my story ends. Somehow, I need to figure out a way to do both.

But tonight I can't seem to muster the strength or the will. So, with a deep breath, I pull the screen door open, then the front door, and step inside.

The next morning brings a brand new weight with it. It's not just the hangover that greets me; it's also the empty house and the quiet cold that dusts all the windows with a light frost. Everything just feels heavier somehow.

Shuffling downstairs, I pass one of the pictures on the wall and almost laugh at the inscription: "His mercies are new every morning." Head shaking, I make for the Keurig to brew myself a cup of coffee, but change my mind last minute and decide on hot cocoa.

Silence fills the house. Sitting at the bar, sipping on my hot cocoa, I stare out the dining room window. Out at the neighbor's house across the street and the mountains behind it. The remnant of a fresh rain dampens the cracked pavement. With the smell of the hot cocoa, marshmallows, and whipped cream, memories of happier days float through the empty house. I remember Christmases in our old house with Mom, Dad, and Ez. When I was little, we used to live in a neighborhood like Theo's, but it turns out that running a church doesn't pay very well. So, now we live in a tiny, old, run-down house. Without Mom, it doesn't even feel like a home. I'm a stranger to this house.