Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 130275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
The group was nodding, like it resonated with them. Even Savannah seemed to agree, to feel that way. The stars, the northern lights had made her feel more connected to Poppy than she’d been in years. I’d seen the subtle change in her. And she hadn’t succumbed to her anxiety even once.
She’d seemed a fraction more settled by the time we had left. Not healed, still wrestling with the heavy grip of grief. But lighter somehow. I could see it in everything she was.
I hadn’t felt it quite like everyone else. Panic rose inside of me. I’d gotten back on the ice. That was progress. At least progress with how I felt about hockey. But when it came to how I thought of my brother, not much had changed. I’d tried to picture him in the stars, but not long afterward, the doubt and dark thoughts crept in. Why couldn’t I look at the northern lights and see my brother dancing among them? Why couldn’t I picture him as free and at peace?
I kept my face neutral. I didn’t want Savannah to see just how troubled I was.
“This leg of the trip,” Leo said, “is about confronting mortality.” In our one-on-one sessions, Leo had gently pushed me to open up about Cillian. But I’d given him nothing. I liked how it had felt in Norway when I’d pushed everything aside. It had become addictive. And Savannah had become my salvation. When I was with her, holding her, the pit in my stomach didn’t ache; it was comfortably numbed. My anger had ebbed. It was strange. The way I used to attach myself to anger shifted to the way I attached myself to Savannah. She was the life rope that was tying me to her, keeping me from drifting away. I refused to lose that.
“What does that mean?” Dylan asked nervously.
“We will explore the natural journey that we all take—life and death and everything in between.” I glanced at Savannah; she was wringing her hands together. That thought had clearly made her nervous too. I checked her breathing. So far, she was keeping it together.
“We’ll be visiting three places on this leg of the trip. Goa is the first. Here, we will immerse ourselves in group sessions and one-on-ones, as well as therapy classes that can help us address some of our inner traumas.”
“But this is also a chance to recoup,” Leo added. “We’ve had two very full-on experiences in England and Norway.” He gestured around us. “This place is a haven. We encourage you to relax some, swim, soak in the sun. Eat together, hang out, talk,” he said, referring to the group.
“Get some rest, unpack, hang out by the pool. Tomorrow we’ll start the sessions et cetera,” Leo said and handed out our room keys.
As we grabbed our luggage, Travis said, “Should we all meet at the pool?”
I took hold of Savannah’s hand. “Do you want to swim?” I kissed her again. I never wanted to stop. Life didn’t feel so bleak when she was in my arms.
She smiled against my lips. “Okay.”
My room was sandwiched in between Dylan’s and Travis’s. As we approached our doors, they were walking together, quiet whispers shared between them. I hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten in Norway. But then, outside of Savannah, I hadn’t noticed much else.
Throwing on my swim shorts, I headed to Savannah’s door and knocked. When she didn’t answer, I went in search of her at the pool and stopped dead when I caught sight of her. She was on the edge of the pool in her pale-blue bathing suit, the warm breeze kicking up her dark blond hair around her head like a halo. Her hand rested on a palm tree trunk as she looked out onto the beach and sea.
In that moment, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was that someone like Savannah had taken a chance on me. I was broken; I knew I was. The more I sat in on group sessions, and the more we all hung out, I was starting to see everyone else make gradual improvements. They were laughing more, smiling more, and some were even talking about their deceased family members more. Remembering them in good ways, sharing happy memories.
I hadn’t mentioned Cillian to anyone but Savannah.
At night, Savannah would read the notebook her sister had left her. Then she would write back to her in the journal Mia and Leo had given us. Like she was having a conversation with her again.
I hadn’t been given another journal. Leo and I had decided that wasn’t part of my journey right now. It was too triggering for me, and we’d focus on talking therapies in our sessions instead. That wasn’t exactly working either, but I wasn’t writing anything in a journal and he understood that.