Taming Georgia (The Flawed Heart Series)
Page 17
“I can’t believe you’re really going,” Paige says, standing in my room as she holds Mila.
I’m checking over my suitcase, making sure I have everything that I need. Not knowing how long I’ll be there or what exactly I’ll be doing makes packing hard. Yet, traveling as much as I have, I know the must-have items. Most things I can buy, but some things are only found in the United States, like my favorite deodorant. I pick up the deodorant in my toiletry bag and check it.
Crap, it’s almost out.
I rush to the bathroom to see if I have a new one in the drawers.
“Success!” I cheer, holding the white container of deodorant over my head like a trophy before tossing it into my suitcase.
“Are you sure about this?” she questions again for the hundredth time.
I ignore her question, just as I’ve done the other ninety-nine times she asked. “So, I left lots of food for Mila. I bought her extras of her favorite toys. I stocked up on puppy pads. I got her a new bed, but you know she’s going to want to sleep with you.” I chuckle. “I left an envelope of cash for you on the kitchen table. It should be enough to cover anything she needs, plus a boarding facility if you have to travel and leave her. And you know that the dog place right down the road will take her during the day while you’re at work. It’s like a puppy daycare where she can play with other dogs. I know it’s an extra stop in the morning for you, so if you don’t want to, I understand. But there’s plenty of money to pay for it, and she’d really love it. She’s going to miss going into the shelter every day and playing with the other dogs,” I ramble nonstop.
Paige holds up a hand. “Whoa, girl. Take a breath. Mila will be fine. But I want to know about you.” She grasps my arm, making me pause to look her in the eye. “Are you sure about this? You don’t have to do this.”
I sigh. “But I do. I get that no one understands, but I have to go help. Now that I know they need me, I have to. It sucks that I have to leave Mila, and I’m sorry for doing this to you. But I must go.”
“What about Wyatt?”
“What about him?” I shrug, opening the drawers of my side table to confirm that nothing important is being left behind. “He’ll wait, or he won’t. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
I’m leaning toward the latter, considering he won’t answer any of my texts or calls after he left me in his kitchen last night. I guess I can’t blame him. We’ve barely dated, and now, I’m leaving for Mexico for God knows how long. It could be months or a year. I have no idea.
“I’m worried about you, Georgia. London’s concerned. I thought everything was going well.”
“It is—or was.” I close my suitcase and zip it up. “I’m not running away from anything. I’m simply going to help, to make a difference; that’s all.”
“I kind of thought you were making a difference here. I know the dogs you rescued sure thought you were.”
“They’ll be fine. They have Wyatt.”
“You know what they say about the grass growing taller on the other side of the fence?” Paige asks, wrinkling her brow.
“You mean, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence?” I correct her expression.
“Yeah, it’s not greener on the other side, Georgia. It’s greener where you water it.”
I pull her and Mila into a hug. “I love you, Paige. I appreciate you looking out for me, but I promise I’m fine. Thank you for taking care of my girl.”
I take Mila from Paige’s hold and squeeze her to me. She snorts and nuzzles into my neck in that puppy way she always does. I kiss her head.
Tears fill my eyes. “Take lots of pictures of her. She’s going to grow so fast.”
If I regret anything, it’s missing Mila’s time as a puppy…well, and the way things were left with Wyatt and leaving the shelter.
Nope. I can’t start focusing on all of this now.
I hand Mila back to Paige. “The Uber driver should be here.” With a sad sigh, I motion toward the door.
“Okay,” Paige responds solemnly.
I grab my jacket, purse, and suitcase. I kiss Mila one more time and hug Paige. “I’ll call you and Skype with you and Mila, okay? Don’t worry about me.”
Paige nods, and with my stuff in tow, I walk out.
New adventures always bring me so much excitement, but it’s different now. As the driver pulls away from Paige’s house, I just feel sad, and I question everything. I’m leaving more behind this time—a roommate that I love, my puppy, Ethel, the rescue, the friends I’ve made…and Wyatt. It’s a lot to lose. It’s only natural that I feel blue.
I have to remind myself that the fulfillment I receive by helping others will feed my soul in ways that nothing else can. Traveling the world has always been my therapy. Not many people can just pick up and leave whenever they want for a mission trip, but I can. It’s a blessing—one that I’ve never taken for granted. I simply need to get there, and I’ll feel better.
Frank, my Uber driver, is one of the chattiest people that I’ve encountered, and on any other day, I would love talking with him. But I’m too sad for words right now. I lied to Paige just moments ago. I am running. I just don’t know why.
Everything was going so well with Wyatt and me. He opened up to me more than I’d ever thought he would. When I’d first gotten here months ago, he was cold and bitter. Looking at how we were at the beginning of my time in Michigan and how we are now—or were just yesterday, it’s unreal.
We both held so much hostility toward one another based on our different versions of history, though neither of us even knew the truth. And now, we’re good—or were good.
Ugh. I hate thinking about Wyatt in past tense. Hate it.
Yet I’m the one putting him there—in my past. No one’s making me go. This is totally on me.
I know by going, I’m ruining everything, but I can’t stop. I thank Frank as he drops me off at the airport. I check my luggage and get my boarding pass. I walk through security. I wait, and then I board the plane.
I can’t stop.
I have to go, no matter what.
Tears roll down my face as the plane takes off, and I watch Detroit get smaller and smaller beneath me. I feel my heart shattering in my chest, the grief spilling from my eyes, and I can’t stop that either.
I keep waiting for the electrified energy to hit me—the anticipation, thrill, and nerves that I always feel. It usually starts on the plane, the rapid beat of my heart as I ponder the unknown. The out-of-place grin as I visualize the good I’ll do is also absent.
I anticipate it coming to me as I walk through Mexico City airport to exchange my dollars into pesos, but it stays away.
The energy that invades my body on these trips fuels my soul. It always has. Growing up in a world like I did—one where I never fit in, always felt out of place, and filled with guilt—wasn’t easy. Yet what I’ve been able to do with my life since leaving my parents after high school graduation has made me feel complete in a broken world.
As I board the small plane destined for Colima, the excitement still doesn’t come. I’m kidding myself if I thought it would. I knew that this time was different. Even if I couldn’t admit it, I knew that I was running away from and not toward my life. The reasons for this trip aren’t the same as they usually are, and that’s why the joy is absent.
I can’t rationalize the internal struggle taking place in my heart. It’s all new territory for me.
My smile stays at bay as the taxi drops me off at a small market. I run my fingers along the colorful fruit. The owner asks if he can help me, and I inform him I’m here to see Kylie. His lips turn up, and he directs me toward a door in the back of the market.
I tell him, “Thank you,” and when I grin back at him, it’s finally real.
I feel so honored to be in the presence of a local man who’s risking everything to help children. If anyone found out that he was housing our group, they’d kill him. And yet, he looks to me with gratitude.
Kylie pulls me into a hug and introduces me to the others. She catches me up on the developments as of late, and I half-listen, for all I can focus on are the sad blues staring back at me in my mind and I want to cry.
In a world where I can be anything, I’ve always chosen to be brave and kind. But as of late, I’m neither. I’m a coward, plain and simple.
I excuse myself from the group and pull out my phone. I need to call my dad.
22
“Loving Georgia was never a choice; it was a privilege, so ingrained in me that it came as naturally as breathing.” —Wyatt Gates
My truck sits idle. The heater blows warm air into the cab on this chilly spring morning. I’ve been here in this same spot for over an hour now. There’s a little dog in my lap, resting his face into the crook of my neck. He’s no longer shaking.
I found this little beagle mix this morning, huddled in the corner of an alleyway, skinny and alone with tears leaking from his eyes. Some don’t believe that dogs cry, but they do. I’ve seen it many times. I couldn’t put him in the crate in the back of my truck. I knew he was scared, so I held him. I’m still holding him.
He’s been neglected and abandoned, and it’s clear that he’s terrified. I want him to know that he’ll be fine now. He doesn’t have to be afraid anymore. I run my hand down his matted coat, showing him affection, which he probably hasn’t felt in a long time. I’ll need a shower when I get back to the rescue, but that goes with the territory.
It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been doing this; my heart never ceases to break when I see a dog whose spirit is this shattered. I don’t need to talk to a shrink to understand why I chose this line of work. Yes, Cooper was a big part of it. But it runs deeper than that. I see myself in these animals. I was once hungry, alone, and unwanted. My spirit was beaten down so many times that it took me a long time to find it again after Ethel took me in off the streets.
Most of my life was spent praying for someone to save me, to protect me, to love me. Knowing what it’s like to be truly alone isn’t something most have experienced. Everyone usually has at least one person to love them. I know what it’s like to have no one. This guy in my lap knows what it’s like to have no one. It’s not something any person or animal should have to go through.
My phone has been blowing up all morning, but I’ve since turned it to silent. I just need a moment of quiet. I need to sit here, hold this little guy, and breathe because the truth is, I’m not doing too well either.
Georgia left a few days ago. I honestly thought she would change her mind. I believe that she feels something real for me, the same as I feel for her. Truthfully, I love her—down to my soul love her.
Loving Georgia was never a choice; it was a privilege, so ingrained in me that it came as naturally as breathing. Even now, when I’m so furious and bitter, I can’t help but love her. As beautiful, kind, and special as she is, she’s broken, full of insecurities and demons that I don’t understand. She’s running, and I wish I could figure out why.
But it doesn’t matter. She’s gone. She made her choice. I asked her not to go. She left. That’s that. I wasn’t enough to keep her here.
I’m never enough. I feel more alone than I have in a very long time. Ethel’s on another vacation. Carrie’s in rehab. Xavier is my friend, but I don’t feel comfortable spilling my pathetic guts to him. Cooper’s here, as always. He listens to me groan and grumble every night, but let’s face it; as much as he thinks he’s a human, he’s still a dog. It helps having him next to me, of course. But he can’t bring her back either.
As much as I love Georgia, truth be told, I don’t want her to return because I know she’d end up leaving again. I simply have to go back to living without her. I was without her most of my life. I know that role well. It sucks, but I can do it.
“What do you think, buddy? Ready to go?” I say to the pup.
I set him atop the blanket on my seat. He leans into my side, and I put the truck into drive.
When I get back to the rescue, I take our new addition inside and hand him to Florence, one of our new workers who I came across living on the streets. She’s been doing great here. She has a room in the house at the edge of the rescue’s property that I use to house anyone who needs it. It’s a large house, and many of my employees have a room there.
“You having a good day?” I ask Florence.
She nods and gives me a smile. Half of her teeth are missing. I make a mental note to call around to the local dentists and see if any of them are willing to do some work for charity.
“I found this little guy this morning. Can you get a pen ready for him? Fresh bedding, food, water, toys—the works. And please give him a bath once he’s settled.”
“You got it, boss man,” she replies, using the title that Xavier obnoxiously gave me.
I wish she wouldn’t call me that, but given the fact that every employee here does, thanks to Xavier, I don’t bother correcting her.
I thank her and make my way to the office. Cooper greets me on the way, sniffing me everywhere to see where I’ve been.
“I got us a new friend,” I tell him, rubbing his big head. “You should go say hi. Florence has him.”
Cooper goes trotting off toward the kennels. I know it’s crazy, but I swear that dog understands English.
Once in the office, I grab some extra clothes from the closet and step into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I take a long, hot shower, getting the smell of loneliness off me. Next time I hold the new dog, which I still need to name, he won’t reek of desperation.
It never ceases to amaze me what a good shower and clean clothes can do for a person. Granted, my heart is still shattered. I’m consumed with rage over Georgia leaving, and I want to sink into a deep depression that I don’t have time for. But at least I don’t stink.
I toss my old clothes into the washing machine, careful to retrieve my phone from my side pocket before starting it.
Looking through my messages, I see an Ann Arbor number that has called several times. They must have an urgent rescue situation. I tap the screen to listen to the voice mail. A woman addresses me through the phone’s speaker, but I’m finding it hard to focus on her words. She’s stringing words together that make no sense.
Ethel.
ICU.
Critical.
The drive to University of Michigan’s hospital seemed to take hours when, in reality, it probably took fifteen minutes, as I sped at least twenty miles over the city street speed limits. Finding a parking spot in this godforsaken structure is taking forever though. I’m on the verge of insanity. I’ve gone around and around this shitty parking garage for over a half hour, trying to find a spot. I’m about to say screw it and leave my truck in the fucking aisle. Let them tow it.
Finally, I see the brake lights of a car getting ready to leave, and I put on my blinker. The car pulls out, and some jackass in his little Honda Civic starts to pull into the spot. I punch the horn in the center of my steering wheel, holding it down. The sound echoes obnoxiously as it bounces off the cement walls that surround us. The dude looks up toward me, and I give him my I will fucking end you stare. Apparently, he’s not a complete idiot because he puts his car in reverse and vacates my spot.
It takes me a minute to find my way to the intensive care unit, but I finally make it and ask for Ethel at the front desk.
A nurse greets me and informs me that I was the only emergency contact that Ethel had listed. I ask questions, and she answers them. She tells me that Ethel had a double mastectomy. Her words are so powerful that I feel like I’m going to fall over from the sheer intensity of them.
Ethel had breast cancer?
Why didn’t she tell me?
How long has she been fighting this alone?
I’m so angry th
at I can’t see straight. I can’t believe I wasn’t there for her. My heart breaks for the woman that is the closest person I have to family.
The nurse continues, telling me that Ethel had a postsurgical complication—a large blood clot in her leg that broke off and traveled to her lungs, causing a pulmonary embolism. I don’t know a lot about medical stuff, but I know that a pulmonary embolism can kill a person and, from what I remember, pretty easily.
My ears ring, and my vision blurs as she talks about medicines, procedures, and complications. I can’t focus on any of it. I feel as if I’m going to be sick. I need to see Ethel.
“I need to see her,” I blurt out, interrupting the nurse mid-sentence.
She nods in understanding.
I ask, “Is she going to be okay?”
“I believe so,” she says, “barring any additional complications. She’s still very weak and sore. She’s on lots of medications that make her drowsy, and she’s asleep now. But sleep is good. Her body needs to heal.”
“I just want to sit with her.”
The nurse leads me to Ethel’s room and leaves me alone with her. I stand at the doorway and take her in. She’s sleeping soundly in the hospital bed. There are IVs inserted into her arms, connected to bags of liquid on a pole by her bed. There’s a machine that seems to be monitoring her heart rate and various other things that I don’t recognize.
I slowly walk over to her, afraid to wake her. Pulling up a chair, I position it beside her bed, and I sit. She seems so different lying here, and honestly, she looks older than she ever has. It’s a shock, seeing her appear elderly and frail because that’s not how I see her. She’s always so strong, vibrant, and bold.
She’s the hardest-working person I know, and it’s a childish notion, but despite her age, I’ve never stopped to think about her dying because she’s so full of life. I’ve never imagined what it’d be like not to have her. I’ve taken her presence in my life for granted.
I should’ve loved her more, stopped her from working so hard, and spoiled her the way she deserves. This woman is more of a mother to me than my own ever was. She loves me without the bonds of blood. She loves me because she wants to. She chooses me every time and not out of obligation. She puts my happiness above everything because she truly loves me unconditionally, a feat that only she holds.