Back to Where We Started From (Miracle)

Chapter Eighty-Three

"Julie."

Julia was sleeping soundly when she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

"Julie, get up."

She tossed in her bed, pulling the quilt up to her chin, and tried her best to ignore the voice.

"Rosie, you have to go home!"

She gasped, sitting up in her bed. Her bedroom was just starting to see the pale light of dawn.

"Dad," she said quietly, looking around her room. It took her only a split second to remember that she wasn't a little girl anymore. Her dad wasn't in her bedroom, calling her name gently to wake her up. Her heart raced, and her head spun. It had been a long time since she had dreamt of her dad. She leaned back against her headboard, remembering what day it was.

December 24th. Christmas Eve. Her last day in Minnesota.

Reaching over to her bedside table, she grabbed the small alarm clock she never used. Upon seeing it wasn't even 7 o'clock in the morning, she groaned. She had a feeling she wouldn't be going back to sleep anytime soon. Hearing her dad's voice so clearly, only to wake up to an empty bedroom, had left her feeling hollow. She rubbed her eyes, trying to silence the voice nagging at her in her head. She laid back on her pillow, willing her mind to slow down and go back to sleep.

After a few minutes of unbearable silence, she huffed. She threw her blankets off, getting out of bed. Clearly she wouldn't be allowed to rest. She dressed quickly, putting on warm clothes. After brushing her teeth, she snuck quietly downstairs. It was shocking that no one else was awake, but she didn't question it. She stopped in the kitchen to write a note explaining her absence, and then she grabbed her keys and headed out to the Corvette.

She got in the car, sighing when she remembered it would be one of her last times for a while. Ignoring the frigidly cold feeling of the leather steering wheel, she left the house, heading towards her destination in a comfortable silence. She thought a lot about how much she would miss Minnesota. She would miss it more than she ever had before. Her stomach twisted in knots as she neared her destination.

She pulled in, parking her car quickly and starting the short walk. The sun still hadn't risen into the sky, although the sky was becoming lighter. It was silent, the kind of quiet that felt almost irreverent to break.

"Hi, Daddy," Julia said softly as she approached the headstone she knew too well. She sat on the ground without hesitation, staring at the stone.

William Michael Brooks
April 2nd, 1936-December 6th, 1971
Beloved father, brother, and son

"I'm sorry I didn't come by sooner. I've been here for months and I only manage to come the same day I'm leaving," Julia acknowledged with a lone, humorless laugh. The truth was, she didn't necessarily feel closer to her father sitting in a cemetery surrounded by graves than she did anywhere else. It felt more like an obligation to visit most of the time. Today was different, though. Her dream had left her with an overwhelming urge to sit and talk to her dad.

"I should've brought something," she sighed, looking around to see nearby graves decorated for Christmas. She thought of Christmas with her dad, and remembered the picture of the two of them taped to her vanity.

"Jack saw a picture of us from when I was little. He said you look like Uncle Herb," she reminisced with a smile.

"Jack's a really good guy, Daddy. You'd like him a lot. I know Uncle Herb and Robbie do. Robbie says we're good for each other. Uncle Herb didn't blow a gasket when he found out we were together, so I know he likes him," she giggled. "He's from Boston. He's got the accent and everything. When he gets mad, it gets so bad I can barely understand him. He's incredible to watch on the ice. I love watching him play, and the rest of the team too. I wish you could be here to see everything Uncle Herb has done with the team."