Susan scrubbed the sink in her apartment as if her life depended on the stainless-steel contraption being completely free of any speck of dirt, food, or bacteria. Her arm and shoulder were sore, and her back was starting to twinge with the tightness and strain of her muscles. Still, she continued to work. When she was done, she would clean the counters, followed by the cabinets, and then she’d move on to the living room.
She’d taken the week off, overwhelmed by everything in her life outside the job and looking for a way to make peace with it. Susan needed to go see her father; but, after their last conversation, she couldn’t face him yet.
“Your boyfriend came to see me,” he croaked. “Apparently, you’re ignoring him.”
Susan had clamped her lips in a tight line. “Jim’s not my boyfriend, Dad. I can’t be with someone who shoots people and gets thrown in jail. I need more stability than that.”
Her father had shaken his head, his face riddled with pain. “He didn’t do it, Susan. He wasn’t out on bail. The charges were dropped. Maybe you should look deep inside and find another reason you’re pushing him away.”
He’d broken out in a coughing spell, and she’d given a press to the button that dripped morphine into his system. Within minutes, he was asleep, and Susan ran out of the hospital. Not only was she having trouble processing the swiftness with which her father’s health was failing, but she didn’t want to hear what he had to say about Jim.
She’d seen the news about his arrest shortly after she’d visited him behind bars. He had been charged with second degree murder. And now, the release of Jim and his motorcycle club brothers was everywhere, claiming new evidence had come to light. Of course, there were rumors of tampering with evidence and witnesses, but the overwhelming majority of the public believed they’d been falsely accused.
Susan didn’t know what to think, and she wasn’t sure it mattered. After all, guilty of murder or not, Jim had been involved in a shootout, and he was constantly involved in dangerous situations. This was the reason she’d been hesitant to get involved with him at all, and Jim had only proven her right.
At the same time, she felt like she’d judged him unfairly over this event by assuming he was guilty until proven innocent. Now, he’d supposedly been proven innocent, and she still couldn’t come to terms with that fact. Plus, she still had feelings for him, and they weren’t any weaker than they were before. In fact, that was part of the reason she was scouring her apartment. It was a stupid thing to think, but Susan felt like she could scrub out her feelings for Jim by scrubbing out the dirt from every crack and crevice of her life.
Screaming in frustration, Susan pounded her fist into the sink, only her sponge keeping her from bruising her knuckles. It still sent shockwaves of pain up her arm, and she fell back against the counter behind her, clutching at her forearm and cursing herself for her own stupidity.
It was time to take a different approach to things. This was hiding and running from her problems, something Susan had vowed never to do. She stared at her cell phone, lying on the coffee table in the living room, silenced. She hadn’t even listened to any of the voicemails Jim had left, and she considered doing so, or possibly calling him—just to get real closure if nothing else. However, it didn’t seem like the right time, and she didn’t think she was in the right mindset.
No, the way to start on a better path was to go back to see her father. He didn’t have long, and Susan couldn’t bear the thought of his passing without getting to say goodbye. Running her hands through the hair she hadn’t bothered to brush or wash in the two days since she’d last seen the light of day, Susan fought to pull it together. She forced herself—one step at a time—to walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower.
She peeled off the clothes she’d been wearing for almost three full days, wrinkling her nose at the smell that wafted up from them. How had she let herself fall into this sort of funk, literally? She’d never been the type to sink into a depression that caused her to ignore her own personal hygiene. The hot spray on her body revived more than her normal scent. It brought her sanity back, reminding her of the reasons she had to live and the responsibilities she needed to take care of.
As she dressed, Susan regretted her actions over the last few days. She decided that, after she saw her father, she’d go back to the station and see about canceling her vacation, getting back on the job early. She wasn’t the type of person who did well isolated without a purpose. She had to focus on something, and the job did that for her. Besides, she hadn’t bothered to go to class, either, and she knew she was acting like a pouting child. It wasn’t okay.
Feeling renewed, she dressed in a pair of light capris and a loose-fitting shirt with floral embroidery. She looked in the mirror, brushing through her hair and wincing at the knots that had formed in the last few days. Never again, she promised herself. When she was done, her appearance refreshed her. She looked young and freed of the burdens in her mind for a change.
Squaring her shoulders, she slipped on a pair of flip-flops and headed out, determined to make things right—one step at a time.