Bloomington

Echoes of the Past

The morning was unusually calm.

Jackie adjusted her sunglasses and tightened her ponytail as she jogged along the outer loop of the park trail. Ethan ran beside her, tongue out, ears bouncing, leash slack. She didn't say much. She didn't need to. The rhythm of her shoes against the path, the fresh air, and the warm sun overhead were doing exactly what she hoped—quieting the noise.

It had only been two days since she posted her statement, and the noise had come in waves.

Some outlets respected it—kept things vague. Others did what they always did: speculated, fabricated, and obsessed. But the comments that stuck with her weren't from strangers. They were from people who hadn't spoken to her in years. Old producers, distant relatives, and even a few former castmates are suddenly popping up with "So proud of you" and "Just checking in."

It was fake. And she hated that.

But Ethan didn't care. He just wanted to chase squirrels and find the best stick in the city.

They rounded a corner and slowed to a walk. Jackie bent down to give him water from the bottle clipped to her belt and ruffled his fur.

JACKIE
You don't care if people talk, huh?

Ethan huffed happily and licked her hand.

JACKIE
Exactly. You want to run, eat, and nap. I need to get on your level.

She smiled to herself and started walking again.

Meanwhile, at Home

Catherine sat cross-legged on the guest room floor, dust collecting on her jeans. A half-sealed cardboard box lay before her, the flaps sagging outward like tired arms.

She hadn't meant to find it.

She was digging through the closet for a small carry-on when she saw the familiar print of the old psychology department's letterhead on a folder. Beneath it—lecture notes, a broken lanyard, a coffee mug that said Cognitive Dissonance is Sexy, and a red leather-bound planner with a sticky note still stuck to the front.

Don't forget: guest lecture 3/12 – 10 a.m.

The sight of her handwriting did something to her.

Catherine sat back on her heels, heart beginning to thud. It wasn't sadness, exactly. Or even regret. It was more like a sudden sharp ache that something she loved had been paused too long.

She pulled the planner into her lap and opened it to the last used page. Inside were scribbled notes on intimacy theory, student office hours, and half-finished doodles in the margins.

CATHERINE
(quietly, to herself)
What am I even doing?

She closed the book gently and stared at the box for a long time.

Later – Kitchen Table

Jackie returned just before noon, cheeks flushed from the sun, Ethan trailing sleepily behind her. She entered the kitchen and immediately saw Catherine sitting at the table, staring at something.

A book.

The red planner.

JACKIE
Hey.

Catherine looked up, startled out of her thoughts.

CATHERINE
Hey. Good run?

JACKIE
Therapeutic. Ethan thinks he's an athlete now.

She dropped his leash and crossed to the table, eyeing the planner.