No Chance by Lisa Suzanne

CHAPTER 45: HANNAH

October is when the weather starts to take the gorgeous turn in Phoenix, and even though it’s eighty-seven and sunny when I step off the plane, it feels like a smoldering heat.

Everything feels smoldering right now, though. My world is on fire and crumbling all around me, and I don’t know how to dig my way out. I don’t know how to stay afloat even though I have to because I have a little one depending on me. A little one who isn’t mine...but at the same time, a little one who is mine.

Of course I’ll sign the papers for legal guardianship. It was never in my plan to have children at this juncture, but plans change when the cruel realities of life step into the fold.

When I step into my shitty apartment, it looks nothing like I left it—except for the thick layer of dust covering everything. That’s Phoenix for you. The windows could be shut tight and dust still seems to gather in a few days.

My chest tightens as I glance around. The worn carpet is replaced—and so is the couch where Brie and I laughed and talked and dreamed for hours upon hours. Except I think it’s maybe the same couch, just reupholstered. Tears fill my eyes as I think how nice it looks.

The walls that desperately needed a fresh coat of paint have one.

This had to be Brett’s doing...but it had to be early on since it’s dusty in here again. He must’ve sent someone to fix up the place nearly right when we left, and now that I’m back, I’m grateful for it even though I don’t see Chance and me staying here much longer.

I don’t know if I can. Even with new carpet and a nicer couch, this place is still filled with all the memories of Brie. I need a fresh start somewhere that will be mine rather than hers.

Chance protests in his carrier, so I let him out. I run a rag over the surfaces he’ll touch first to try to help with the dust issue, and then I set to unpacking. As much as I hate this apartment, at least it’s home.

For now, anyway.

I’m not sure where I’ll go or what I’ll do. I don’t even know what the next step is. The rent here is covered for four more months and then my lease is up. I guess I could stay here until then, but that doesn’t feel like a solid option. Not when I see Brie everywhere I turn. Not when I have to keep her bedroom door shut because the reminders in there are too painful.

I check my bills and attempt to figure out what I owe and where. I log into my bank account on my crappy little laptop I always used for school, and that’s when I nearly fall off my chair.

I squint at the number.

I stare at it.

I tilt my head and try to read it from a different angle.

There must be some mistake.

I’ve never, ever seen six figures before the decimal. At least not when the first three were zeroes. Hell, I’ve never seen five, either, and I’ve only seen four a few times.

There’s enough here for me to put a solid down payment into a house for Chance and me. A really nice house, too. Hell, there’s enough for me to buy a house outright if I wanted to.

And Brett has assured me that the money will keep coming, that Chance and I will never have to worry.

So all that’s fine and dandy, but there’s one problem.

It’s comforting, sure. Reassuring? Hell yeah. Secure, of course.

But it’s not Brett, and the ache that reality leaves behind is nearly as devastating as losing my sister was.

I don’t hear from him in the days that follow, and even when he was ignoring me on a bus, at least he was still in my presence. At least he’d still entertain Chance for a second if I needed to run to the bathroom. Those sorts of comforts are gone now, and all that remains is the ache. I keep thinking it’ll go away or it’ll weaken as time passes, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s intensified as the distance between us feels permanent.

And then the boxes show up.

I packed them the last day we were on the bus. We were rolling into Los Angeles and I was cleaning. Brett mostly hung out on the couch that day while I tore apart the bedroom packing, and I remember wishing he’d just come back and help—not because I needed the help, but because I needed him. I remember thinking I wanted things to be different, and that hasn’t changed.

The boxes hold mostly Chance’s travel gear along with some clothes and a few of my own nonessential things. It’s mostly the items Danielle helped me buy the day we met when I was a lost little soul who had no idea what sorts of things Chance would need as we embarked on a trip across the country.

In many ways, she saved me that day. I should tell her that...particularly if we’re really meant to remain friends.

I don’t think I can remain her friend, though. She’s part of his life, and I’m not. It’s their lifestyle, and I’m not in that circle anymore.

I don’t open the boxes right away. There’s nothing I need in there, and I can’t bring myself to dredge up the memories of the best three months of my life that somehow coincided with the worst three.

I need to figure something out. I can’t sit in this apartment wallowing. I’ve taken Chance to a park nearby a couple times, but we’re not in the best neighborhood and he’s so little yet that he just makes a mess in the sand.

He needs to be around other kids. He needs stimulation and socialization.

And you know what? So do I.

I glance online at the classes I could be taking at the university I quit to hop along on a tour. In all honesty, I think quitting school to go on tour saved me in a lot of ways. Looking back, I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through my classes and I don’t know how I would’ve trudged through bartending and finding someone to watch Chance after just losing my sister.

Running away from life for a few months gave me the space to grieve. But now I’m back home, and I just have no idea what the next step is. Do I even want to go back to school for social work?

After taking pictures on tour...I’m pretty sure the answer is no.

I learned a lot about myself over the last few months. I’m stronger than I thought I was. I’ve grown up a lot in my young age. I’ve taken on responsibilities.

I think I wanted to be a social worker not because I wanted to help other people, but because I wanted to make up for my own past. I wanted Brie to be proud of me. Those don’t seem like the right reasons to take on a career for the rest of your life.

I don’t want to waste time in a career even though I thought it was the right map for me. I guess that’s just another thing I learned while I was away. Social work is important, and I still want to find a way to contribute and help people who are in the situation now that I was before, but it’s not my passion.

Photography is.

And maybe I can go back to school and take some classes to refine my skills. I don’t know if I’ll get anywhere with it, and I’ll still need to find some sort of work or I might go crazy sitting around here all day, but it helps to know that I don’t have to finish a certain path just because I started walking down it. I can always turn around and choose a different one. And that is what Brett’s money will do for us.

I’ll get over the pain someday. I just need the time and space to grieve losing yet another person I loved.

Because make no mistake about it. What I felt for Brett was love.

The longer I sit away from him and continue to feel the pain as fresh as it was when he kissed my forehead and let me go, the more convinced I become that it wasn’t just my inexperience talking. There was a true and definite love between us that could’ve developed into something incredible if he hadn’t relied on his instincts to run from it and if I hadn’t retreated in my own way because I was scared he’d do exactly what he did.

But the reality is that we’re apart now, and we will be forever.

The sooner I can take a deep dive into something new, the sooner I’ll be able to put what happened behind me.

I fill out my portion of the custody papers Brett slipped into the diaper bag and set them on the counter. I’m not in any rush to file them, but it’ll get done sometime.

It takes a full week before I can bring myself to open the boxes.

In the last week, I’ve registered for some photography classes at the community college since they have some mid-semester start dates for online classes, I’ve found a reputable daycare that I can bring Chance to so he can get some different scenery and have the chance to socialize, and I even join a group through the hospital where I can talk with other people who have lost those closest to them.

I’m trying to get my life on track. I’m trying to immerse myself in tasks so I’m not weighed down by the emptiness.

But it’s still there.

Every night, as I lie in bed by myself...it’s there.

As I look myself in the mirror in the morning...it’s there.

As I feed Chance breakfast and pack up his lunch...it’s there.

It’s always there, and in the last week, it hasn’t gone away. It hasn’t gotten lighter. It hasn’t gotten easier. So maybe finally opening these boxes will give me the closure I’m clearly so desperately seeking.

The first box holds the pack and play and the Bumbo along with most of Chance’s clothes. The second box is mostly my clothes and some toiletries and toys. And buried at the bottom is a small, white box.

I pull it out.

I didn’t pack this in here.

I take the lid off the box and find a black and white bracelet cushioned on a pillow of cotton. The tag hanging off of it says Chicago White Sox. I flip over the tag and read the back. Lokai bracelet: a reminder to find balance through life’s highs and lows. As I pull the bracelet out, the cotton pillow moves, and I realize there’s another piece of paper underneath. It’s the receipt, and there’s a note on the back of it.

My heart squeezes in my chest as I recognize his handwriting.

H: I thought of you when I saw this and ran back to buy it when you went to the restroom. I don’t know if you’re a Sox fan, but I figured black and white is more neutral than red and blue. You might be the most balanced person I’ve ever met despite the many life lows you’ve endured. I look forward to experiencing the highs with you. -B

What little progress I’ve made in the last few days flies out the window.

I crumble into a ball and sob.