by Jeff Shelby
She picked up a handful of sand and let it sift through her fingers. “You can't just do things for me, Dad. That's a really bad way to go about things.”
I knew it was and she was right. But that didn't mean I could change my way of thinking.
“I mean, get a dog if you want,” she said. “If that'll make you happy, let's go get a dog today.” She paused. “But don't get a dog to replace me or Mom or anything else. You need to start doing things that will make you happy. Stop worrying about me.”
“I'll always worry about you,” I said.
“Well, sure, but you know what I mean,” she said.
“If you need to go to Minnesota, I'm okay with it,” I told her. “I'm not going to lie and tell you I understand or that I'm totally comfortable with it. But I trust you, and you're old enough to make your own decisions. I might be a basket case while you're there, but if you need to go, then you should.”
She laughed softly. “Okay. Thank you.”
“And I can get you the ticket,” I said. “Just tell me when you want to go.”
“You don't have to do that,” she said. “I'm the one who wants to go, so I should pay for it.”
“Not like you have a lot of extra cash lying around,” I pointed out. “I'm happy to buy the plane ticket.”
“Is that your way of trying to bribe me so I'll let you beat me running?”
“Ha. And no, I'd like to beat you fair and square.”
She laughed and looked away.
I really wasn't comfortable with her going to Minnesota. There were a million reasons it scared and angered me. But those were my feelings, not hers. She needed to do what she needed to do for herself.
She leaned back on her hands, watching the dogs. “I'm serious about the teaching, Dad. If it's not for you, don't force it. Don't stay stuck in it because of me or any other reason.” She shook her head. “Life's too short.”
“That feels like something I should be telling you,” I said.
“Maybe,” she said.
We sat there quietly for a few minutes.
“What is it?” I finally asked.
“What's what?”
“There's something else. I can feel it.”
She glanced in my direction. “How do you know that?”
“I can just feel it.”
She looked away again at the water, without saying anything.
I waited.
“Yeah,” she finally said. “There's something else.”
THIRTY EIGHT
“I'm going to take a year off,” Elizabeth said.
I wasn't sure what I’d expected to hear, but it certainly wasn't that. “From school?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why?” I was genuinely confused. “You only have a year left. You're nearly done with it.”
“I know,” she said. “Trust me, I know. I've spent hours thinking about that.”
“So what's wrong then?”
She shook her head. “I don't know exactly. My classes are boring. I'm getting nothing from them. I'm not excited about the classes I should be excited about. I'm restless. I feel like I'm going through the motions without caring what the end result is.”
I knew that her classes hadn't lit any particular fires under her, but I also thought that was normal. I wasn't one of those parents who encouraged her to find her passion and dedicate the rest of her life to it. I was more of the mindset that she needed to find something she enjoyed and then work on finding that passion. Too many people ended up getting stuck in careers they hated because they'd chosen a narrow field of study that seemed right in their twenties. Then they hit their thirties and were miserable. I didn't want Elizabeth to be one of those people.
“Alright,” I said.
“You're alright with it?” she asked, not bothering to hide her surprise. “Really?”
“Well, it's not my life,” I said. “You caught me a little off guard with your decision, considering you're only a year away from being done. My choice would be to stick it out and finish because it's not that long and you've already put in a bunch of work. But I don't want you to be unhappy.”
“But, see, that's it for me,” she said. “I want to stop now and not waste any more time. Because that's what it feels like to me. That I've been wasting time.”
“So you want to quit now?” I asked.
She hesitated, then nodded. “I have the withdrawal form already filled out. I just need to turn it in. But I didn't want to do that until I'd talked to you.”
“What about track?” I asked.
She sighed. “I don't love it. Yeah, I mean, sometimes it's still fun. But I don't know that I'm getting better and I'm tired of the injuries.” She paused. “And sometimes I wonder if I'd like it better or improve if I wasn't constantly thinking about leaving school. It's all been on my mind for awhile. I know it's gotten in the way of my races. I haven't been focused.” She paused. “If you're asking me if I miss it, the answer is no. At least not right now.”
“But you've been sticking to the training schedule,” I said. “The off day, the structure of the runs.”
“Yeah, because I wasn't sure I'd actually have this conversation with you,” she said. “I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to leave it all. I've been trying to talk myself through it, you know? School and track.” She traced a finger in the sand. “But I'm sure now.”
I took in a deep breath and exhaled.
“This isn't me quitting school, Dad,” she said quickly. “Or running. I just need a break. I need to clear my head. I feel boxed in. It's almost claustrophobic. I'll finish eventually. You have my word.”
“You don't have to promise me anything,” I said. “You need to do it for yourself, if you want to.”
“But I will,” she said. “I won't waste the time I've already spent. That isn't what I'm looking to do.”
Two dogs wrestled in the water. One yelped, got to its feet and took off running. The other trotted after it.
“Okay,” I said. “That's fine. You know I won't mind having you at home again. What are you going to do instead?”
For the first time since she'd started the conversation, she looked nervous. She dug her toes into the sand. “I'm not going to move home.”
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. “Where are you going to live?”
“I want to travel,” she said. “It's that restless thing in me. I want to move and keep moving. I have a list of all these places I want to see. Not just around the world, but here, too. I just feel like I need to get out and...breathe. And I feel like if I can get out and take some time, then I can come back to school and figure out exactly what I want to do.”
The idea of letting her go was panic inducing. I'd learned to handle having her thirty minutes away, just up the road. But having her move away? Traveling, where I might not be able to reach her?
I was the one who felt like I couldn't breathe.
“And the only reason I can even think about doing this is you,” she said.
I swallowed hard. “Me?”
She nodded. “All of this, everything that is going on with me now, is because of you. If you hadn't kept looking for me, if you had just given up like nearly everyone else did, I'd still be screwed up in Minnesota.” She brushed the hair from her face. “I have my life because of you.”
That would've been nice to hear if she wasn't telling me she was leaving.
“And it's for Mom, too,” she said.
“How so?”
“She loved to travel, right?” she said. “She told me that. You told me that. She had all of these plans for us after I came back.” Tears formed in her eyes. “She can't go now, but I can. I don't want to waste that chance.”
I put my arm around her and pulled her closer to me. She was right about Lauren. She’d traveled to Europe and Asia before we met and often lamented the trips she wanted to go on with Elizabeth after she'd been taken. Shortly after we'd brought her home, we talked about the places she wante
d her to see. I knew that she'd already started looking at airfare and dates before she'd been killed.
There was no doubt that Lauren would've been thrilled that Elizabeth was following some of her dreams and had some of her wanderlust.
I just wasn’t sure I was on board.
Or that it even mattered,
“Okay,” I finally said. “If that's what you want.”
“Really?” she asked, wiping at her eyes. “You're okay with it?”
“I'm not sure I'm okay with it,” I said honestly. “But if it's what will make you happy, then I don't want to stand in the way of that. Again, you're old enough to make these decisions for yourself. I sometimes forget that. And your mother would probably strike me down if I prevented you from going anywhere.”
She laughed and leaned into me.
We sat there for a little bit longer before finally getting up off the sand and heading for home. We walked slowly, and I couldn't help but think that this was the end of something. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, couldn’t put it into words, but the feeling was there. I was trying to remind myself that she had this opportunity because we'd rescued her, brought her back to the life that was hers, but I was having trouble finding any real happiness in that right then.
“Where do you want to go first?” I asked as we walked.
“I don't really know,” she said. “I was thinking of maybe just getting in the car and driving. Take it slow to start.”
I nodded. “Less expensive that way, too.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I've got some money in the bank from working at the running store the last two summers, but I'm not loaded.
“I can help.”
“I don't want you to.”
“Your mother would insist,” I said.
She waited a beat before answering. “Maybe. We'll see.”
I appreciated her determination to do it herself, but we had money from Lauren's life insurance policy, and I had no doubt that she would've wanted it spent that way.
We crossed the boardwalk and strolled through the houses, back in the direction of our own house.
“When is this journey going to start?” I asked. “Like, should we celebrate Christmas now? Are you getting ready to leave in a day or two?”
She shook her head. “No, I need a couple of weeks to get my school stuff situated and to plan. And I want to spend Christmas with you.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled.
“And it's not like I'm going to disappear,” she said. “I'll have my phone. I'll have my computer. I will let you know where I am and what I'm doing and what my plans are. I don't mean this to be some weird, isolated run away thing. And I'll come back.” She grinned. “Probably when I run out of money.”
Despite the fact that I was still reeling, I laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh. “Okay. Good to know.”
We cut behind the high school and I couldn't help but look in the direction of the building. I really needed to get moving if I was going to be ready for the spring semester. I had planning and grading to still do and it needed to get done.
I just wasn't sure I was the person to do it.
We crossed the street and my eyes, as they always did, drifted to that spot in the yard where she'd been taken.
“You want to put up the lights today?” Elizabeth asked. “The Christmas lights?”
We reached the sidewalk and I stared at that spot on the lawn.
We'd been putting up those damn decorations that day. For years, I'd told myself that if we'd just waited another day or two to put them up, she wouldn't have been taken. Our lives wouldn't have imploded. Lauren would still be alive.
But I knew that wasn't really true. It was just a way for me to try and rationalize all of the pain her disappearance had brought to our lives.
I knew that you couldn't change the past like that, rethinking things in order to avoid them. You have to move forward if you really want to change them. You have to battle the fear and the unknown, and trust in the people around you.
Trust the people that you love the most. Let the good happen through them. Trust that it would.
I loved my daughter the most.
I walked right to that spot on the lawn and turned around to face her.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Let's put the lights up.”
THE END
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