𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃 // 𝐇.𝐒.

68.

Chapter 68

July 18th, 1986

I find myself missing him or the version I had of him in my head right before bed. I miss him so much that I dream until I'm reminded of the man he truly is. I fear I may never love again. When Lorenzo betrayed me, he stole my ability to ever trust again. How will I ever know when a man is being genuinely kind to me? I've failed before.

I'm no longer pregnant. I took matters into my own hands and I've not regretted it the way strangers on the streets said I would.

I met a woman who kind of reminds me of my mom. She sheltered me the night she saw me make camp on the dirty sidewalk of New York. Most importantly, over coffee, she didn't judge me when I told her what I planned to do. She's allowed me to stay with her in her enormous apartment in exchange for help around the house and company. I would have questioned her intentions if it weren't for her openness. She's shared her stories with me. Being much older, probably well into her eighties, she has told me so much.

She had a daughter—her only child—who died when she was my age. According to her, she was very sick. Recently, her husband of sixty-five years had died, too. She's terribly lonely, but so am I. I have the chance to start over.

I turn the page, feeling closer to her as I read my mom's writing. Whenever I'm about to head into a panic of wondering where she is, I find enough hope that she's okay between the lines of her journal.

Reading that she had the chance to start over, convinces me that I can have one, too, with Harry. I see it already by the way he paints the picture of our future so vividly. I've never wanted anything so bad before, not until his dreams have left his lips.

"How are you, Jo? What are you doing?"

It's after hours. As Harry's sneaking in a shower, I'm sitting on a couch with my legs tucked underneath me. Finny has joined me, being one of the many who probably can't sleep knowing what tomorrow marks. I close my mom's journal, using my index finger as a bookmark to give my attention to him. "Should I lie and tell you I'm alright?" I ask with a soft smile.

"If it'll help." He smiles back at me and his eyes fall above the journal rested on my lap.

To fill his curiosity, I say, "My mom kept a journal... I've been reading to feel a little piece of her, you know?"

He nods. "I stare at the photo of my son every minute of every day." Finny rubs his chin, grazing his palm along his thick stubble as if the separation makes him anxious. "Are you ready?"

I release a deep breath. "I think I'm ready," I answer. "With your help, I am."

"I'll be in your ear... Harry will be in your ear," he reminds me. "We'll be able to hear you... Just remember, you call the shots."

I nod this time and give him a light smile again. "Thanks, Finny."

"I'm going to call it a night. See you in the morning," he says, touching my shoulder with a light squeeze before he stands up.

"See you," I whisper and I wave my fingers as I then watch him leave.

As I'm left alone after Finny's brief check-in with me, I open my mom's journal again. My fingers graze over an empty page before I decide to tear the page out.

I find a pen above the coffee table among the scatter of crayons and pencils left by children in the daytime. I make a scribble on the corner of the paper and it takes a moment for blue ink to appear. Then in the first line, I address a letter that I didn't plan on writing to Harry.