29. Happy Birthday, Peyton

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Tears welled up in my eyes as soon as I turned away from Jake

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Tears welled up in my eyes as soon as I turned away from Jake. Everything was out of control, problems snowballing faster than I could patch them. An overwhelming feeling of impending doom loomed like a giant black stain in the skies above me, promising life-destroying changes to come.

Oh quit being so melodramatic, I told myself.

I was over two hours late. It was 11:50- only ten more minutes of Peyton's birthday left. The thought of his face relaxed me somewhat, giving me the energy I needed to start running toward the front entrance.

In another few minutes, Peyton would be there and everything would be okay. Peyton always made everything okay.

Please, be there.

Maybe I would even tell him tonight, the real reason I always wanted to stay with him until the morning on his birthday. He'd done it each time for the last three years, but never asked why.

No. I didn't want to be a burden to him. Ever. I didn't want to be added to his list of to-dos, another place he had to be, another person he had to take care of.

And wasn't it a little romantic? My girlish dreams of being that one person in the world who never asked anything of him? When he was old and gray and dying in his bed, surrounded by his family and friends, I wanted him to remember the girl he once knew, the girl who with nothing who took nothing from him, only gave.

Anyway.

Back to June 19, the day my daddy died. The thing of it was, grief was a funny emotion that had a way of seriously messing up a girl's head. She looked for answers and signs where there were none. Until eventually, she reached beyond the confines of logic and pieced together nonsensical scraps and fragments, forcing square pegs into round holes in her search for validation. She hung onto the thinnest gossamer connections and wove them together until it became something, anything, resembling a whole, something strong enough for her to hold on to. It was madness, but it doesn't matter.

Mine was this: Peyton was born on June 18, the day before daddy died so that he would be with me every year on the anniversary of his death. All this was predetermined by fate long before the three of us were born on this earth. That was the story I was sticking with and nothing would change it.

I picked up the pace. One more turn left.

I stopped.

Please be there... Please be there...

I shut my eyes, held my breath and stepped around the corner.

Peyton's car sat idling in the driveway, headlights on, engine running.

Tearing the flip flops from my feet, I went flying across the grassy lawn, the giddy rush from seeing him there propelling me faster than I thought I was capable of. The windows were closed, but I started screaming "Happy Birthday" at the car anyway, long before I reached it. Panting and out of breath by the time I reached the door, I braced my hands against my knees, doubled over and gave myself a few seconds to rest before throwing the door open and climbing in. My gaze zeroed in on the dash.

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