“You know, it’s not too late to change your mind.” Shoving his hands into the pockets of his khakis, Dominic watches me from across the wide expanse of the bright, sunlight-filled room.
Sucking in a deep breath, the edges of my lips slowly curl into a small smile as I gaze at the huge, floor-to-ceiling panes of glass lining the entire eastern wall of the living room. From this vantage point on the thirtieth floor, I can easily survey the deep blue vastness of Lake Michigan along with the skyscrapers that make up the Chicago skyline.
It’s a stunning view.
Just as picturesque as I remember it.
Excitement thrums through my veins. It feels good to be back. Even though I’ve been gone for a decade, Chicago has always felt like home.
“I won’t be changing my mind,” I murmur, my eyes held captive by the sparkling water in the distance. “It’s a gorgeous view, isn’t it?”
He snorts, but I hear the affection he feels for me riddled throughout his deep voice. “It’s a view that only two point nine million can buy.”
“It’s my view now.”
I’m not sure it was the right decision to make, but I hope so. I’ve spent the last two years just trying to hold it together. Struggling to make it through life on a day-to-day basis. Feeling as if I were drowning in a bottomless well of grief and sadness. There were days when I felt like I would never find my way out of the labyrinth of despair that consumed me.
I hate to admit it, because it makes me sound weak and ungrateful for the life I have, but there have been too many nights when I’ve laid awake, sobbing, wondering why I was still here. Wondering why I hadn’t died in the accident that stole my parents from me.
It would have been so much easier that way.
Instead, I’m here.
With no family to speak of.
Sensing the direction of my thoughts, my godfather closes the distance, coming to stand beside me at the window. For just a moment, we both stare silently at the lake. It’s this particular view that sold me on the place. I wanted to be right smack in the middle of the hustle and bustle of downtown. Since I’ll be starting a graduate program in Art History at Northwestern, I wanted to be close to the university. I’m not more than a stone’s throw away from all the museums near the lakefront and all the great shopping on the Magnificent Mile.
What I need is to be in the thick of all the action. To be in a place where I can walk outside at two in the morning and find people. I need the pulse of the city to help bring me to life again. To revitalize me. It feels as though I’ve been in a deep hibernation since my parents died. I’ve spent the last two years living in a self-imposed isolation, unable to break free. But I can’t do that anymore.
It’s time to awaken.
And Chicago is the perfect place for that to happen.
The city streets all but hum with unrestrained energy.
I glance at Dominic, thankful for his constant guiding presence in my life. Without any words spoken between us, he seems to understand just how significant this moment feels. It’s as if I’m on the cusp of a brand-new life. Sliding his arm around my waist, he tugs me close.
Several factors went into my decision to pick up and move, but Dominic topped the list. He’s all I have left. Technically, he isn’t my family. Not by blood, anyway. He’s my godfather. Dominic is the one person I can call at any time of the day or night, and he’ll sit silently on the other end of the line, knowing exactly how I feel. In a way, he feels it too. The loss of my parents has blown a hole in his life as well.
“Even though you have this place, you’re welcome to stay with me. Anytime, Gracie. My house will always be your home.”
His words have my lips tipping up at the corners. He has no idea what that means to me. Just how appreciative I am for them. For the sentiment behind them. No matter what happens, I will always have Dominic. He’s my safety net. My rock. My de facto family.
As his deep blue eyes crinkle, his mouth curves into a smile.
He knows exactly how difficult this is for me.
Starting over.
Leaving the past behind.
Trying to carve out a new life for myself.
One my parents are no longer a part of.
That thought pierces my heart, making it difficult to breathe.
“I know.” With thoughts of my parents and this move churning in my mind, I slowly lower my head until I’m able to rest it against the side of his arm. I can’t believe I’m a few blocks from Lakeshore Drive. The views are as sweeping as they are breathtaking. I’m lucky to have found this place. “Thank you.”
“Your graduate program doesn’t start for another three weeks. You could always stay at the house until then. There’s certainly no rush for you to be on your own. That way you can take your time and ease into your new life. Is there any reason you should be thrown into the deep end of the pool just yet?”
He’s right. I could crash at his place for the next couple of weeks.
But I don’t think I want to. I need to be on my own.
Well… I need to give it a try.
The last two years have been both emotionally, as well as mentally, crippling. I was two months into my junior year when my parents died. From what the police could tell, my father had been driving too fast for the weather conditions. They’d been hit with a terrible storm. Torrential downpours. I have no idea why they didn’t just pull over and outwait the weather. Ultimately, that decision cost them their lives.
And made me an orphan in the process.
No parents.
No siblings.
No grandparents, aunts, or uncles.
My parents had been only children and their parents were now deceased, leaving me with no one.
Lost in a debilitating haze of heartache, I’d wanted to drop out of college. Dominic is the one who convinced me to stick it out and finish up the academic year. It hadn’t been easy. I’d almost flunked out that fall semester. Depression. Grief. Sadness. I had been adrift in a sea of despondency that had threatened to swallow me whole.
Because Dominic had been close to my parents, he’d long ago been set up as my guardian if the worst ever occurred. He spoke with the school, asking for leniency when I’d been on the verge of getting kicked out. It took nine months before I started fighting my way back again. Retaking a few classes, I focused on graduating from the university and getting the hell out of there.
I applied to a few graduate programs and was lucky to get accepted at Northwestern. My essay and interview were enough to sway them into giving me a chance to prove myself. Before the accident, I had been a straight A student. Once I was finally able to emerge from my cocoon of grief, I was able to get back on track again.
“I need this,” I murmur quietly. “I think it’s going to be good for me.” I don’t know whether I’m trying to reassure him or myself.
But the words ring true.
Right now, in this very moment, I need them to be true.
I need to believe that life will continue to improve from here on out.
Gently he presses his lips against my temple. “It will be, Gracie. I have no doubt about that.” He pauses for a moment. “I just can’t help but wish you were staying at the house. At least for a little while. I don’t want you getting overwhelmed. Moving, starting school, volunteering…”
I understand his concern. In a way, I have the same fears. But it seems necessary. As if I need to shock my system into living again.
When I don’t immediately respond, he continues, “The last two years have been…” His softly spoken words trail off into nothingness.
We both know what it’s been like. The sheer depth of my despair has, at times, frightened him.
Sucking in a breath, I force it back out into the world. “Difficult.”
To say the least.
His arm tightens around me. “I’m happy to have you back again.”
Both of my parents were born in Seattle, which is why we ended up moving back there when I was in seventh grade. At the time, my mom’s parents had still been alive, and she’d wanted to be closer to them. To help them out.
My parents met Dominic while they were attending law school in Chicago. They had liked the city so much, they’d stuck around after graduating. Both of them took jobs with the district attorney’s office. So, I was born in Chicago. Until moving to Seattle, this had been the only home I’d ever known. I loved Chicago. Loved everything about the city. The ties that I had here, the memories, and the happy childhood spent wandering around museums and zoos played a huge part in my decision to return.
No matter how many years have crept by, Chicago has always been where my heart was. It just felt like home. More so than Seattle ever had.
A feeling of rightness settles over me like a comforting blanket. “I’m glad to be here.”
Even after my family moved to Seattle, we still spent a lot of time with Dominic. He visited for holidays. We vacationed together. He’s been an ever-constant presence in my life. After my parents died, I spent my school breaks with him. There was always a plane ticket waiting for me. I never had to ask or broach the subject. I never felt unwanted or unloved.
Spending time alone in the Seattle house without my parents… I just couldn’t do it. There were too many memories. A tidal wave of grief just waiting to suck me under when I least expected it always lingered in the background.
Our house in Seattle was massive. A five-bedroom rambling old Victorian with soaring ceilings and intricate woodwork that my parents spent four painstaking years refinishing in their spare time. As someone who appreciated architecture, I loved all the fancy molding and trim, gorgeous stained-glass windows, and glossy hardwood floors.
I haven’t been back in almost a year and a half. I can’t bear to walk through the front door. Mom and Dad’s stamps are everywhere. There’s no where I can go without a hundred different memories flooding into my mind.
And my heart.
As of right now, the house is closed up. Dominic pays a company to handle the upkeep and maintenance until we figure out what to do with it. There’s no way I can rent it out to strangers. Nor can I bring myself to sell it.
How can I possibly sell all the memories that lay dormant within?
I suppose at some point I’ll have to decide what to do, but for now it can wait. There’s no hurry. My parents inherited a great deal of money from my mother’s family. It’s all sitting in a trust that Dominic manages for me.
Rising up onto the worn toes of my Converse sneakers, I kiss the side of his face. “Thanks for everything.”
With his arm still wrapped around my waist, his eyes soften as he continues gazing down at me. “You don’t have to thank me. We’re family.” He cracks just a hint of a smile as he says, “It’s just you and me, kid. Against the world.”
I can’t help but return his easy affection. It may be just the two of us, but I consider myself fortunate to have him in my life.
Unlike my parents, who worked as prosecutors in the district attorney’s office, Dominic decided to go the route of high-priced defense attorney. He didn’t come from money the way my parents did. He would always wink, jokingly saying that he couldn’t afford to be a bleeding-heart liberal like my parents. After practicing law for about five years, he opened his own office and bought a beautiful, old stately house on the Northshore. It’s situated right on Lake Michigan.
Never married, there have been a slew of girlfriends over the years. There have even been a few close calls where we thought he might pop the question, but it never happened.
I remember my dad laughing and my mother shaking her blond head as she rolled her twinkling blue eyes at his quintessential bachelorhood. He has always seemed perfectly content to date one beautiful woman after another. Once I’d overheard my father mutter something about Dominic having a whole stable full of pussy.
I hadn’t understood what that meant at the time and I hadn’t wanted to figure it out either. All I cared about was that Dominic was great fun to be around. Always smiling and laughing, he was the life of every party. People naturally gravitated to his charismatic personality. Women especially. In fact, they still do.
When I’d been in high school, I’d secretly crushed on him.
Who wouldn’t?
Dominic was tall and handsome. He had broad shoulders, a tapered waist, elegant hands, and thick blond hair. His bright blue eyes always seemed to be filled with mischief. He had perpetually tanned skin from taking his sailboat out on the weekends. Other than practicing law, sailing was his other great passion. He didn’t have a thin build, but he wasn’t overly muscular either. He spent the work week outfitted in expensive, handmade suits and the weekends in khakis, polos, and Sperry topsiders.
He reminded me of a walking Ralph Lauren ad, content to live the good life.
I pegged him to be somewhere around forty-five. He was one of those men who grew more attractive, more distinguished, with age. The little laugh lines bracketing his eyes made him more striking. Last year, when the two of us had celebrated his birthday, I’d teased him mercilessly because he wouldn’t tell me how old he was. As a gag gift, I gave him a cane, denture cream, and a subscription to AARP magazine.
He had not been amused.
The recollection still makes me smile.
It’s one of the few happy memories I have to hold onto in a churning sea of sadness and grief. So, I’ve held tightly onto those fleeting moments with both hands. They have been far too rare and much too precious to ever take for granted.
“In no time at all, this place will feel like home.”
Giving him a smile, I say, “It already does.” Leaning my body into his, he tightens his arm around my waist. “You’re here.”