Chapter 5
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After spending an entire week immersed in the twisted and perverse world of white slavery, I didn’t think anything could take
the feeling of being unclean away from me. That was, until I started flipping through the bills that had been left unattended
during the case. There, stuck between a take-out flyer for Sara’s favorite vegan restaurant and a bill from the veterinarian’s
office was a collage of photographs and graphics depicting the history of Boston. Sara’s post card had arrived. I smiled for the
first time in week.
RE: Not Much Here

From: ss1971@memail.con
Fri. 2007-12-14 04:38
To: ggrissom1956@memail.con

Gil-

I’ve been trying to respond to your reply ever since I first opened it, but it always seems to turn into some rambling apology or
massive rationalization for what I’ve done…for what I’m doing. But what it boils down to is that I really don’t know what I’m doing,
and that’s okay. I only know that I could never have a future with you, or even myself, if I didn’t put to rest these ghosts in my
past. I can only hope you understand that, and that some day you can forgive me for leaving the way I did.

I keep thinking about our last kiss. I didn’t intend to do that, there in the lab like that, but when I saw you, I just lost the last of
my restraint. And without the power to speak, I just needed you to know how I felt about you. But now, when I think about it, I
wonder and worry that I’ve failed you somehow, failed us.

I should have talked to you about what was going on, but I kept telling myself that I could get through it. I convinced myself that
you’d already been through so much, and the last thing I wanted was to worry you anymore. Looking back through your email,
I realize what a moronic thing that was, and I am sorry for not confiding in you sooner.

It would be easy to just blame it on habit, but the truth is that I was afraid to share it with anyone, including myself. I didn’t want
to admit that I was falling apart, that I was slipping away. Not slipping away from you, because you were the one thing holding
me to…everything; Vegas, the job, the world, myself. No, I was afraid that if I said anything, it would all just come crumbling
down around me, and I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you with that kind of mess.

While I’m not exactly sure what it is that I’m looking for, I know in my heart that I have to do this on my own. I can’t spend my life
hiding from the past any longer. I can’t run forever, Gil. Eventually, I would have run straight into another brick wall and I
wanted to make sure that I wasn’t reduced to a broken pile of pieces again. You deserve a lot more than being my clean up
crew. This is one mess I need to clean up on my own.

Before I sat down to work on this email again, I was digging through my suitcase for a t-shirt to sleep in. And before I knew what
was going on, I was in a panic, because I couldn’t find that stupid raggedy Berkeley t-shirt I always wear. That was when I
remembered where I left it, and I fell on the floor crying. It just hit me all at once how long it had been since I last wore it, and
how much I just wanted to crawl into it and bury myself beneath the comforter, close to your side.

I felt like a complete fool for falling apart because of a t-shirt, but to me it represents so much more than a faded, battered
shirt. To me, that shirt is you. I’ve had that shirt since the first day we met. On my way to the seminar I was attacked by an
overeager and very muddy retriever out on the quad. I had to duck into the campus bookstore to grab another shirt. I was
hoping for at least a polo shirt or maybe a pullover, but they were waiting for an order, so all they had where those athletic
gray gym shirts. I felt like an idiot for walking into a professional seminar dressed like a freshman slob, but at least I could close
up my leather jacket and hope no one would catch sight of the letters emblazoned over my chest.

Arriving late to the seminar was probably not the best way to hide in obscurity, but I tried to make the best of it. Before your
lecture was half over, I was completely lost in the whole thing, and I never gave another thought to my shirt. Well, not until you
busted me on it. When you looked at me through those damn lashes, gestured at my shirt and asked me, “Laundry day?” I
swear I nearly died right there. And when I fumbled over my explanation, you laughed. It was that laugh that did me in. Putting
that with those dangerous blue eyes of yours and I was toast. And it was all because of that stupid shirt.

The shirt was obviously relegated to sleepwear only, but it never ceased to be important to me. I was wearing that shirt the first
time you kissed me, and the first time you tugged it off of me in the heat of passion is still etched in my memories, but most of
all, I remember the feel of that tattered cotton pressed against my skin with your arms wrapped securely around me as we
slept, and it feels like home.

I’m sorry to ramble on like that, but I couldn’t think of any other way to tell you just how much I miss you. I do miss you, Gil.
Every hour of every day, you are in my thoughts, and you will always be in my heart.

On to news of my trip to Boston…

There isn’t much for me here, but I am glad that I came. It reminded me how unhappy I was here, and why I left. However, I
found out something else while I was here… My brother came looking for me.

I know that I never talk about my family, and I thank you for never forcing the issue. There’s just so much pain in those stories,
that it’s hard to find the good in any of it. But my brother is a topic I even more rarely talk about. Jack was my only hero as a
little girl, and when I found out he was no hero it shattered my whole world. And I’ve always carried a lot of guilt around about
the way he left us. I blamed myself for getting him into trouble, and for making him want to leave. And I blamed him for leaving
me there when he did go.

Anyway, I guess he came around here a while back to try and find me, but none of the professors knew where I’d gone to after
Berkeley. Seems once I dropped out of academia, I dropped off of everyone’s radar, too. Professor Duckworth (don’t laugh too
hard with that one) couldn’t find the card he left, since it was several years ago, but she did remember that he was in the Navy,
and she thought he was in Virginia. So, I’ve got a friend in D.C. and they’re going to see if they can’t help me find him. Which
means I’m getting ready to head down to D.C. on the next bus.

It’ll be a couple days before I can get any response that you might send. Not that I’m expecting one. I just wanted you to know
that it might be a while before I can get back to the net.

I don’t know where this next phase of the trip is going to take me, but I just feel like it’s important that I see Jack, and try to get
rid of this guilt. He’s also the only one who can tell me if my memories of our childhood are real, because he’s the only one left
who was there that's willing to talk about it.  I’m sometimes afraid that I’ve made it all up, and the whole thing is one big delusion
mired in insanity. I need him to tell me I’m not crazy, Gil. I really do.

Give Hank a big hug for me, and don’t forget about his heartworm pill this month. I left it taped it to the cabinet door where we
keep his food, so I wouldn’t forget. And if my mail is piling up too bad, just stuff it in a box in the garage. I’m sorry for having left
you with such a mess at home, but I’m not staying anywhere long enough to really take mail.

I hope you’re taking care of yourself, too. I really do miss you, Gil, and I sincerely hope that I can figure this whole thing out, so
that I can come home. You are my home, and coming back to you is the goal I am working for.

I Love You, Always,

-Sara
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As happy as I was to see the post card, I took only one thing away from the entire thing; she missed me. I fell asleep that day
clutching her post card to my heart.

Sara misses me.

I woke from the best sleep I had gotten in weeks. Between the exhaustion and the message on the post card, I felt a calm that
had been missing from my life ever since Sara left. When I rose from bed, I decided it was time to get a few things done around
the house.

The sheets were stripped from the bed and dumped into the wash. But when I removed the new ones from the linen closet I
was overcome with dread. I stopped to smell the sheets before placing them on the bed. The scent of fresh sheets has always
been a stimulating experience for me, but filling my nose with their scent I was struck dumb by the absence of another aroma:
Sara.

Not that the clean sheets smelled of her, but there was something unmistakable about the way in which she laundered them.
And as I tried to pinpoint the exact distinction, I realized that I had never questioned her about the phenomenon before. I
simply delighted in the fact that she enjoyed doing the laundry. Sara cleaned clothes and I cleaned dishes. It always seemed
like such an ideal arrangement. That was…until I could no longer sense her touch in the bed linens.

I spent the rest of the day tidying things up, but a dark cloud had found its way over my head. Sara had been gone long
enough that the traces of her were vanishing from our home, and I suddenly longed for my own security blanket.

Hank’s blanket was not just something to keep him warm. It was also the blanket that he played tug of war with when Sara woke
up everyday. It was nothing for me to come home and find the two of them on the floor, comically fighting over the tattered
scrap of fleece material. The only time Hank was willing to put his blanket down was when they went for their runs. And it was
the only laundry I had done for a long time. The moment they were out the door, I would dump the disgusting, drool soaked
blanket into the wash. By the time they returned, it would be ready to pull from the dryer. Hank would always circle it, trying to
figure out why it was warm and smelled of lilacs, but the moment Sara reached for it, the fight was on again. That was home to
me…Sara and Hank scuffling around on the floor, just waiting for me to break their stalemate with the call for dinner.

His nails snapping over the tiles as he ambled into the kitchen at my call, I watched for a few minutes as Hank dutifully ate his
dinner. I should have been fixing dinner for myself, but I just didn’t have any appetite. Instead, I decided to go clean out my
email inbox.

I had no way of knowing that I would find her email waiting there, but I was happy to find it. However, there was also a little
apprehension before I finally decided to open it. Somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, I still had the smallest corner of
doubt. What if, instead of Sara’s journey freeing her to be with me, it was leading her away from us?

Forcing the doubt back into my subconscious, I opened the email.
I printed off the email, folded it up and went to my nightstand. Propping it up next to her other correspondence, I reached into
the drawer and withdrew the thing which had become my security blanket, ever since I found it wedged between the mattress
and the headboard.

I spent the rest of the night curled up in bed with Hank, as we held Sara’s t-shirt between us.