Better Than Nothing: Part 3 of On the Edge Series

Chapter 1

From the moment the concept of fear was presented to me as a child, one moment defined the word. I didn't know it would be in late November or that it would be a Tuesday. I never knew it would be a gray day with winds that whipped with an icy bite. When I moved into my condo, I never imagined that would be where I'd fall to the floor in a pile of nothing. Not knowing any of this still didn't make the day any less inevitable.

"Your father died last night," my mom's voice slightly wavered as she spoke.

I don't know what I said. I don't know what she said. I just stopped. My heart stopped beating until my veins screamed. My lungs stopped breathing until my chest throbbed. My mind simply stopped thinking.

The motion was good; the tasks were good. When I returned to reality, I was already dealing with the hospital and funeral home. And that's what I did; I planned, confirmed, and reconfirmed. If there were forms and decisions, I didn't have to think. Thinking had always been my enemy, but my mind was devoid of thought in the days after my father's passing. Then, as quickly as the questions, forms, and decisions came, they were done.

After I walked away from Billy Collins, I got used to the idea of being alone. I convinced myself that choosing loneliness made it less lonely, but I was never really alone. My dad was there. I always had my dad. True loneliness, the kind that permeated my core and changed every perception I had ever had, didn't come until he was gone. But when he was gone, it immediately overtook my soul.

In weak moments, I had thought to call Billy. If anyone could fix me, it was Billy Collins. Truth be told, I probably would have, but I no longer had a way to contact him. It had been nearly ten years since I had walked away from his farmhouse. Four hundred and ninety-three weeks had passed since I had stepped foot in Duluth. Three thousand four hundred and fifty-one days faded the memories, thoughts, and emotions.

I resigned myself to return to the motions of life as a broken woman. I had ten years of experience holding people out. The one thing I learned from Billy was that I wasn't equipped to be in love. I was unwilling to relinquish control and let one emotion threaten to rip me open. I comforted myself by knowing it was a choice. I avoided erratic passion. I lived a life colorblind. My gray scale was a comfort, and this life in a gray world allowed me to float through the same motions even as I watched dirt fall into the grave of the last piece of my heart.

The afternoon after my father's burial, I was back in my office working; meetings, calls, emails, life. Staying busy was what I knew and what made me successful. It was dark when I looked up one evening a few days later. By the dimness of the floor, I knew I was the only one left in the office. Outside, night had fully blanketed the world. In a quiet moment of indulgence, I flicked the lights off and let the freshly hung twinkle lights throw sparkles of illumination around my office.

Somewhere, people were celebrating the holiday season. I slumped back into my office chair and let my mind slip into a soothing empty. At least, that was my plan. Someone shattered it by urgently banging on the door to the office floor.

I heaved myself up, expecting to see the cleaning crew. They occasionally forgot their pass and would bang to see if anyone was left to let them in; often, I was. At this point, where else would I be? The banging was incessant, though, and ire rose in me, quickening my pace. I set my expression to annoyance as I approached the door, but it wasn't the cleaning crew; it was a frantic courier.

"Hey, receiving is on the first floor," I directed.

"No, this is for a Lily Turncott on the third floor. Sorry I'm so late. The holiday shipping started early this year," he explained as he shoved the signature pad at me.

I didn't choose to sign; it was just an automatic response. I could have been signing my death certificate for all I knew. I handed it back to him as he gave me a familiar package. My eyes devoured it; I don't even recall if the courier said goodbye.