The Trouble With Goodbye

Chapter Two

Luckily the damage to my car is confined to the front half, which means most of my clothes and things are fine. Knox empties the trunk in no time, tossing my suitcases and boxes into the back of his truck. I feel a little stupid just sitting here watching from the road while he trudges in and out of the ditch collecting my things, but I'm not sure I would be much help anyway.

Honestly, I'm not sure I could stand up if I wanted to.

I realize I'm clenching my hands together so tight, my knuckles have gone white. I take a deep breath and slowly release the tension in my arms and hands. When I hold them out in front of me, they are still trembling a little.

"Is there anything else you need from inside?" Knox stands next to the bed of the truck, one hand on the rusted metal.

I shake my head. "I don't think so," I say. But I'm wrong. "Oh, no, wait. My cell phone is in the cup holder in the front and my purse is under the seat on the passenger side. I have no idea if you'll even be able to reach it."

Knox nods. "I'll get it," he says. I study him as he runs back down the hill toward my car. There's a quiet confidence to this guy, and I wonder what his story is. He didn't grow up around here or I'd recognize him. He must go to the local university. That's the only thing that really draws people our age to this area.

Well, that and the factory. Of course, last I heard, the factory hasn't been hiring for a while and business is struggling around here.

He disappears inside the car and emerges a few seconds later holding up the phone and my purse triumphantly.

"Got 'em."

I smile. "Thanks."

He comes around the front of the old truck and gets in behind the wheel. He hands over the two items, but there's something else in his hand. He holds it out to me and I open my palm. "I saw this on the floor and thought maybe you'd want it too."

He drops a silver necklace in my hand, and I gasp. My mouth falls open and the tears that threatened to fall earlier are back.

I lift the necklace so I can make sure it really is what I think it is.

A silver pendant dangles from the chain, swinging back and forth. I lay it against the back of my hand and turn the pendant around to see the word etched there.

Believe.

I run a finger across the engraving and a memory flashes through me like it was yesterday. My grandmother sitting on my bed the day before I left for college. She held a Tiffany's box out to me with a sneaky smile on her lips.

"So you'll always remember to believe in yourself," she'd said.

A tear slips down my cheek and I close my fist around the necklace, then wipe away the waterworks.

Knox is staring at me and I look up, expecting to see that look guys get when girls cry. That, I-have-no-idea-what-to-say-and-I-wish-you'd-just-stop, look.

Instead, he looks sad. Worried.

I must look worse than I think.

I sniff and stare up at the ceiling, begging the tears to stop. "Sorry," I say with a laugh. "It's just that I thought I'd lost this."

He nods, but doesn't interrupt. He also doesn't ignore me and start driving away. He waits. Listens.

So I keep talking. "My grandmother gave it to me right when I left Fairhope to go off to school," I explain. "She died a few weeks later. It was a total shock to all of us."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"No, don't be." I look up into those blue eyes that have me completely mixed up. "You have no idea how much it means to me that you found this. I thought I'd looked everywhere. I was sick about it when I couldn't find it."

"The wreck must have jostled it loose from wherever it was hiding," he says. "It caught my eye right as I was about to walk away."

My face crumples and I lift the back of my fist to my mouth, trying to hold it all back. I realize he will probably think I'm a lunatic for losing my shit five minutes after we met, but I can't help it. I've been so careful to hide my emotions over the past few weeks, but now, suddenly, grief washes over me. Consumes me.

I lean forward and bury my face in my hands. I turn away as a sob escapes my lips. My body shakes with it and I struggle for air against the crushing weight of guilt and sorrow and anger. Everything I haven't been allowed to feel or express breaks loose, and I don't have the strength to control it anymore.

I don't know what I'm expecting him to do, but somehow this stranger, this guardian angel, knows exactly what I need.

He scoots across the leather bench seat. Without a word, he pulls me into his arms.

And he lets me cry.