Chapter 1 - Exile

Joy Tate gripped the steering wheel of her SUV and pressed her foot on the gas pedal, accelerating onto the highway and away from her home. Lights stood sentinel on the edges of the road, guiding her to the place that she’d left long ago. The stifling July humidity made its way into the windows that she’d cracked as she pulled out of her driveway, and she held her finger on the button to raise them, twisting the knob for the air conditioner all the way to the right.

Her eyes averted to the phone on her lap, the screen completely dark. If she received a message or a call, she knew it wouldn’t be from John. She hadn’t spoken to John since April, but his last words to her still stung and had bounced around in her brain for the last three months.

Joy was 30, but most people told her that she could pass for her mid twenties. As she glanced into the rear view and caught sight of the smooth skin around her eyes, she would’ve agreed, but she noted the deep purple circles underneath and sighed. She hadn’t slept well for days, and, as was typical, it was because of John. It was always because of John.

John Holland. 31. Single. Still living in his studio apartment tucked just outside of the city limits. Ten years ago, Joy would lie on the queen size bed in the center of the studio, watching as John’s long and slender fingers strummed the strings of his Seagull guitar, his brow furrowed in concentration as he picked out a song he’d been trying to learn. She’d watch the concentration on his face melt into a smile when he got the chords right, would laugh as he met her eyes and sang to her.

But that wasn’t John. Not anymore. She had to remind herself of that when she’d fall into the depths she was currently in, when missing him felt like an elephant on her chest. That John was dead.

He was dead, and she had killed him.

—

“I’m not leaving, Joy. I can’t let you do this.”

“You have to leave.”

“No. God, Joy. What are you doing? Don’t you love me?”

“No.”

—

Joy squeezed her eyes shut for a beat, quieting the memory, rhythmically hitting her blinker and switching lanes. The exit she needed was coming up, and her heart galloped. She shouldn’t be here in this city, 30 minutes from her own, from her cozy split level home with her fiancé asleep in their bed, splayed out between their ragdoll cat and their yellow lab. She should be there with them all, stroking Ham’s soft fur and listening as Murray snorted in his sleep, doing the funny sleeping dog run that he’d perfected. She should be laying her head on Pat’s chest and laughing at all of the Reddit posts he showed her.

Instead, she was here, her SUV slowing as she approached the Iron Ore, the historic apartment building she’d once had the gate code to. Her eyes diverted up to John’s windows, marveling at what a difference ten years made.

They used to sit in the sunlight pouring in the windows, laughing and kissing, feeling the warm rays shimmy across their skin. They’d watch the sun rise together. Now, John’s windows were covered in blackout shades, top to bottom. She wondered when he’d last let the sun warm his face, if he often thought of her lying on the floor in front of the largest window, her eyes closed as he read Tennyson aloud.

Despite the blanket of humidity, Joy shivered. John was up there somewhere, and she was the closest she’d been to him in ten years. She could feel the tears pricking at her eyes, her cheeks flushed. John.

A car pulled up behind hers, its headlights pouring light into Joy’s car, and she felt as if someone had poured ice water down her back. She knew it wasn’t John, but the thought seized her heart and she swallowed hard. She shouldn’t be there. She had no right to be there. This was John’s home, the place where she’d experienced unspeakable joy and immeasurable sadness.

She needed to go. She needed to leave, right away. Turning the key in the ignition, Joy took a deep breath and turned back to the road, leaving John behind.