Thirty-One Letters

Sixteen

There's no road map. There's no textbook on how grief works and when your heart will be open – or if it ever will—Taya Kyle

The lights were on in her living room when Hadley returned home that night. Ty had let her cry herself out on the beach. They'd watched the sunset, witnessed the sky go from bright clear blue to softer shades of orange and pink and yellow, and then they'd walked, saying little. A weight had been lifted from her chest the farther they'd travelled down the beach, away from the restaurant and towards her house.

She hadn't realized how much she'd needed to talk to someone, to get those feelings out in the open, until they'd come pouring out of her. Saying the words, saying that she hated her brother, had somehow started to fill that empty dark void in her. Those cracked edges around the gaping hole no longer seemed as sharp and painful. They were still there, perhaps they would be forever, but as the sand squished between her toes and the sun cast dying rays into her eyes, somehow they didn't seem as prominent.

Ty had left her in front of her house, taking with him her promise to call him if she ever felt like she needed to talk or if she needed more help with the challenges.  She'd watched him climb into his truck and drive away, all the while feeling an emotion of contentment and light airiness.

It was difficult to believe that it had been just under two weeks since she'd first met him. He had this aura about him, this type of energy that made her feel as if she'd known him for months or years. It put her utterly at ease. It was a rare trait, that sort of charisma, but he had it. Those easy smiles and teasing remarks he so casually tossed at her had begun to heal some of those sharp painful edges of the hole in her chest.

Hadley had been embarrassed about her breakdown on the beach, the way she'd sobbed in his arms. They'd stood there for nearly twenty minutes, Ty holding her tight and Hadley leaving tear stains on his shirt. He'd hardly spoken but his fingers had brushed through her hair and made circular rubbing motions on her back that were soothing. And when the tears had subsided, he'd only looked at her and smiled and asked if she still wanted to hit that ice cream place on the boardwalk.

There was something about the way he handled it all, her mood-swings and crying episodes and angry remarks that made her wonder just who he had lost in his life. It was the way that like calls to like. She knew instinctually that someone close to him had died but as for who it was she didn't know.

They still hadn't talked much about his past. Aside from the other day on the beach after he'd found her surfing, but even then their discussions about his family had been fairly minimal. Was it because, aside from his spiteful mother, there was nothing to tell or could it possibly be that the memories there were too painful to dredge up?

Once his truck had vanished from sight, Hadley went inside her house. The lights were out save for one small lamp on the side table in their living room. Hadley peered at the couch. Her parents were sitting there, nestled together. Her mother was leaning back against her husband's chest, fast asleep, and he had his arms slung around her, securing her to his side. He was still awake and was staring down at his wife with an expression of such tenderness that Hadley felt as if she were encroaching on a very intimate moment.

Her father looked up just as she went to creep out of the room. When he spoke, his tone was quiet, just a whisper. "Hey, kiddo."

"Hi."

"We were waiting up for you but your mom..." he trailed off and looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms. "Well, it was a little past her bedtime."

Hadley chuckled and leaned against the wall. She crossed her arms loosely over her chest. "She never has been a night owl, has she?"

He shook his head. "Never. Listen, thank you for what you did tonight."