“But it is a big deal. It’s your next career. It’s Johns Hopkins and you can’t put that on hold for me.”
“You do realize I’m old enough to make my own decisions, right?”
Wearily, she stood from her chair and walked to the railing. After a moment, I rose and joined her. Across the river, cypress trees stretched their whitewashed trunks from the ancient waters. Her profile was as lovely as ever. I waited for her to say something, anything, but she continued to avoid my gaze.
“I know this is hard for you,” I said, “but if you put yourself in my situation, can you understand how baffling this feels to me?”
“I do understand. And I know I’m not really answering your questions, but please know how heartbreaking that is to me.”
As she spoke, I had the feeling that not only were we speaking entirely different languages, but that translation was impossible.
“Did you even love me, Natalie?”
“Yes,” she said, turning to look at me for the first time. Her voice was ragged. “I did. And I still do. Saying goodbye to you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”
“If I meant so much to you, then why did it have to end?”
“Because sometimes, that’s just the way things have to be.”
I was about to respond when I heard the sound of a vehicle pulling onto the property and crackling over the gravel driveway. I heard a door slam, followed by a rapping at the door. I had no idea who it could be; other than Natalie, visitors to the house were practically nonexistent. I desperately wanted to continue the conversation with Natalie—or begin a conversation that I understood—but Natalie nodded toward the house.
“Someone’s at the door,” she said.
“I know. But…”
“You should probably answer it. And I need to get back to work.”
Though I could have asked if we could continue the conversation, I already knew what her answer would be and retreated into the house.
At the door, I recognized the brown uniform of a UPS delivery driver. He was about my age, thin and wiry, and he handed me a medium-sized box. For a moment, I tried to recall if I’d ordered something, but came up empty. He held out an electronic clipboard, along with the attached pen.
“Could you please sign for this?”
I set the box down, scribbled my name, then closed the door behind me. On the return label, I saw the address of a law firm in South Carolina, and it all came rushing back.
My grandfather’s things.
I brought the box to the kitchen. Natalie came in from the porch as I placed it on the table. I hesitated, torn. I wanted to open the box immediately; I also longed to keep Natalie here, to continue to try to reach her and persuade her that she was making a mistake for both of us.
“New pots and pans?”
“No,” I said. Pulling out a penknife, I began to cut through the tape. “It’s from the lawyer for the tow truck guy. He had my grandfather’s things.”
“After all this time?”
“Lucky break,” I said.
“I’ll let you get to it.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, could you wait? There might be something in here that I need help figuring out.”
I flipped open the lids and removed some crumpled newspaper. On top was a baseball cap, one I recognized from many long-ago summers. It was worn and stained, but I greeted the sight of it like an old and beloved friend. I wondered whether he’d been wearing it when he’d had his stroke and it had fallen off, or whether it had been in the passenger seat beside him. I didn’t know; all I knew was that it was coming with me, wherever I ended up in life.
I found his wallet next, bent and molded, the leather creased. Whatever cash had been in it had been taken, but I was far more interested in the photographs. There were a couple of Rose, a photo of me when I was a child, and a family portrait that my mother must have sent him when I was in high school. There was a photo of my mom and dad as well. In a ziplock baggie, I found his car registration, along with some pens and a pencil with bite marks in it, all of which were probably taken from the glove compartment. Beneath that was a small duffel bag, and I pulled it out. Inside were socks and underwear, pants and two shirts, along with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. Wherever he was going, he didn’t intend to stay long, but nothing I’d found got me any closer to knowing where that might be.
The answer came at the bottom of the box, in the form of two highway maps that had been paper-clipped together. They were at least thirty years old, yellowed and thin, and when I unfolded them, I noticed routes highlighted in yellow. One route led north toward Alexandria, where he’d gone for my parents’ funeral, but the route he’d traced avoided the interstate, following smaller, more rural highways.