Chapter 6: The Long Walk

On Sunday morning, I put on my yellow raincoat and walked out the back door.

Dad was at the golf course, and Alana had taken Eli to the farmers market.

Grandma Maureen's car was not in the driveway.

I had not planned it for long.

I had one hand on the gate and a peppermint in my pocket, and I knew exactly how far it was.

Linden Drive to Mill Street was two miles and one bridge.

I had walked it once as a grown woman, to look at the bakery after Mom died.

It was not a very long walk.

For a girl with a hole in her heart, it was the longest walk of the month.

I went slowly down Linden, past the school and the gas station.

At the stoplight on Main, my chest began to ache, dull and steady.

I stopped and sat on a bench for a minute and got up again.

Mom was at the gate at ten, and she would stand there until I came.

That was the thought I walked on.

The bridge over the river was the worst part.

It was long and flat, with a rail painted green, and there was nowhere to sit.

I made it halfway.

The ache turned into a squeezing, and the squeezing climbed up my neck.

My hands began to tingle, and the world got bright around the edges.

I held on to the green rail with both arms and tried to breathe in time, one, two, three, four.

A truck went by and rattled the bridge.

I sat down on the sidewalk with my back to the rail.

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