Return to Sender by Julie Cross Read Free Book Online Page A

through. She’s here for you, but she doesn’t know what you’re feeling. I’m not even certain your grandmother understands. Losing a child is different than being a child and losing your parents.”
    “What if I have another panic attack?” I turn away from the house and look at Jackie. “We can leave, right? I can try again another time?”
    Or I can let Grandma deal with the house. Yeah, that plan is sounding better and better every second. Jackie’s silent, staring straight ahead; finally she answers me. “I need you to trust me on this one. You’ll regret not doing this if you bail.”
    “How do you know? It’s just stuff, right? How important can it be compared to all the memories I have?”
    She takes a deep breath and looks at me. “I don’t normally talk about myself with patients, but I think it could help you. I know what it’s like to lose a parent suddenly, the way you and Jordan did, and I also know what’s it like to watch one slowly waste away from cancer.”
    I gape at her. I don’t know what to say. She seems too perky and well-adjusted to have been through something horrible. Will I get to that point eventually?
    “My mom got sick right after I started middle school. Breast cancer. She passed away three years later. My dad—” She takes another breath before continuing, like she’s grappling for her therapist voice. “Took it very hard. He turned to alcohol. That went on for another three years. One night, during the summer before I was starting college, he left the house completely wasted. I should have taken his keys. I should have kept him from driving.”
    My hand covers my mouth. I try to think of something to say, but Jackie gives me a sad smile and shakes her head. “My brother and I had a funeral for him, I went to college a couple weeks later and I never went back. You have your anger and I have my guilt. And yes, I know it’s not my fault that he had a drinking problem, but the idea that one tiny change in the past could have kept him alive is so hard to accept and move on from. My mother was suffering before she died. I loved her so much, I hated that she was gone, but I knew how much pain she was in. It’s so different, the two experiences.”
    “I’m sorry,” I manage to say.
    “When I was finally able to make peace with it, all I wanted was to pack up my old house and say good-bye the right way, but everything was gone. My brother got rid of it all and not having that closure really slowed my grieving process. I don’t want that for you, Karen.”
    Now her firm stance on this issue made a lot more sense. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
    “I didn’t want to influence whatever natural process of grieving you would develop for yourself. Especially with your addiction to structure and technique, I was afraid you’d try to follow a formula that wasn’t right for you.”
    My gaze travels back to the house. I don’t want to have regrets years from now. I want to be able to move on, even if today sucks. Even if feels like I might die. I lay my hand on the door handle. “Let’s do this.”
    We head across the yard, which is still carefully mowed and weed-free, thanks to the lawn service Grandma hired. I don’t know what I expected to feel coming inside again, but numbness wasn’t it.
    From the moment we set foot in my childhood home, it’s like I’m in a haze. Like how I felt coming out of surgery, when I had my shoulder operated on last year. I register Grandma hugging me, I answer her basic questions, I even remind myself to avoid the living room where those horrible urns sit, but I don’t really process or feel these things. I blink a few times and register Blair leading me upstairs to my room. This is what she came for, to help me pack up my bedroom.
    “I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve been in here,” Blair says, grabbing one of about thirty boxes flattened boxes Grandma must have left in here, which is totally unnecessary