248 Days

October 17th

     He winced the moment he understood.

     "Shit," he muttered. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm so sor—"

     "It's fine," I interrupted starkly.

     "No, it's not," he said softly. "I should have known better. I'm sorry...I'm a moron."

     "Can't argue with that. Where are we going?" I was eager to change the subject.

     "Stanley, Idaho. Home. I thought it might refresh some memories."

     Still recovering from my episode of panic, I shot him a small smile in spite of myself. It was seemingly impossible to stay angry with him.

     What was left of the drive was admittedly beautiful. Far from the city, rivers, forests, and mountains littered the land of my old home. It was breathtaking, scenery worthy of postcards. Most enjoyable, Grayson was silent. Wordlessly, he let me take in the view.

     Speed slowing as we approached a small town, my stomach churned. Spotting the Stanley sign, I knew this used to be home. Part of me was ecstatic to see the town in which I'd grown, longing, praying that it would trigger some memories. But another part of me feared what I would learn.

     Car coming to a stop as we pulled into someone's driveway, I glanced warily at Grayson. Most wouldn't arrive to an old friend's house uninvited, but I certainly didn't put it past him.

     "I'm in my pyjamas," I protested.

     "Would you have preferred I take the time to dress you?" he asked, with an arched brow.

     Narrowing my eyes, I shoved him. "I am not going out like this."

     "Your clothes are in the back," he chuckled, nodding his head towards the green suitcase in the backseat. "And, before you nag, my mother packed your bag. I thought you could change in the house."

     I couldn't have cared less that Grayson had seen me in my sheep pyjamas, but I was not being introduced to long lost friends in this attire.

     "Whose house?" I asked, eyeing the small home suspiciously. It was a beautiful home. Siding a dark brown, matching the vast oak trees surrounding the country home, it stood out against the dark roofing. Windows long and rectangular, natural light was most welcomed. The home itself was welcoming. Large front porch and flowerbed well kept; a beautiful porch swing swung by the front door.

     While I was mesmerized by the home, Grayson shifted uncomfortably. That was never a good sign. Returning my attention his way, I dreaded his answer. He repositioned himself carefully, body angle towards mine as he regarded me with the look that I knew never brought good news. It was his please be reasonable look.

     "It's totally up to you," he began apprehensively. Dear god, was this the president's getaway home? "I booked a hotel room just in case, but I thought you might like to stay here... It's your house."

     Lips parting in surprise, brows shooting into my hairline, I fixed a second, more scrutinizing glance at the house. Focusing more intently on the front door, I noticed then the various items scattered on the welcome mat. Absentmindedly I exited the car, approaching the items with burning eyes. Going through the countless flowers, teddy bears and pictures, I was silent.

     "There's boxes full inside, as well," Grayson said.

     "People still drop things off?"

     Grayson nodded. "It's a small town. Everyone was devastated."