Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2) (7 page)

“Just three quick miles and I’ll be right back,” she calls
out over her shoulder.

That just makes me tired thinking about it. I give up and go
grab my travel journal.

Chapter
Seven

Julia

Three quick miles and
I’m
feeling
great. The food gave me so much stamina that I’m back to the RV in less than
twenty minutes. I’m surprised when I reach the yard and find Greyson at the
picnic table. It’s almost eight. He’s hardly seen a time past eight since we’ve
started this trip.

“Isn’t it your bedtime, big boy?” I ask as I walk a few
cool-down laps around our little yard.

“Not yet,” he mumbles, distracted. He’s scribbling away in
what looks like a diary.

After grabbing a bottle of water, I join him on the opposite
side of the picnic table. “
Whatcha
doing?” I ask.

He looks up and does that darn head tilt thing that makes
any warm blooded female’s heart flutter. I’m still not immune to this, even
after all of these years. He still pulls it off in this state of puniness. He
raises the pen along with an eyebrow as to say,
isn’t it obvious
? He goes back to writing without a word.

“I didn’t take you as a diary keeper,” I tease, trying to
distract him. He just grunts in response. I continue on, “So… What do you write
about?”

“Stuff,” Greyson mutters.

“What kind of stuff?” I’m getting frustrated.

Greyson seems to be getting close to frustrated, too. After
expelling a deep sigh, he gets up and goes inside the RV. Before I can grab his
journal and be nosy, he is back with another leather book. As he sits back
down, he hands it and a pen over to me.

My nose wrinkles at it in disdain. “I’m not a diary kind of
girl, honey.”

He shakes his head and rolls those green eyes at me. “It’s a
travel journal,
honey
. You can
document our adventure.” I scoff at this so he adds with a shoulder shrug, “Or
write about everything you’ve hated so far.”

“Well… Maybe I can do that,” I mumble, but he’s already back
to writing and ignoring me. I crack open the new journal and place the point of
the pen on the blank page. Now, what to write? My pen moves on its own accord
and when I’m done I look up and find myself alone at the picnic table. I was so
engrossed in writing that I didn’t even notice when Greyson left.

~~~~

I almost
died once. I thought I had it all buttoned up too until my little sister,
Savannah, got in the way. I’ve not quite forgiven her for it either. My heart
was so close to completely stopping and all I could think in those shadowy days
was that it would all be over soon and I would be free. No more hurt. No more
nightmares.

I have
aches I cannot turn off. Each day I wake up and find the pain is ever present.
It eats at me. I seek ways to numb it so I can survive it. Drugs do the trick
but they have such nasty side effects and it is way too easy to slip and
overdose. I thought for a while that was what I wanted, but I couldn’t go
through with it. Drugs take complete control, and I’m always more damaged when
I resurface. I’ve given drugs up. I should be proud of myself.

I hate
myself. This honestly isn’t easy to admit, but it’s the truth. I look in the
mirror and what I see reflecting back makes me feel nauseated and nasty.

People pay
to look at me, which I still find completely ridiculous. They are blind or see only
what they want to see from a distance. It blows my mind at what is considered
beauty. I’m a hollow shell that is heavily weighed down and stained by
repulsive sin and vulgarity. But hey, it pays the bills and then some. So I
just go with it and allow the public to covet me naively.

I’m so
damaged…

I really
wish I had died…

Chapter
Eight

Greyson

I almost
died once. Well, let’s be honest. I’ve almost died a half dozen times. I don’t
know why God decided to spare me time and time again. I guess the big Guy isn’t
done with me just yet. There were some close calls and in those moments I had
welcomed the end, but it never came.

I am alive
and well. I have no plans on squandering this gift either. I’m going to live
with my eyes wide open from here on out. Each day I wake up, I am thankful to
still be breathing. I spent the last two years expecting this not to happen. So
every day, I wake in surprise that yes, I’m alive and well.

I want to
enjoy the time allotted to me to the fullest. I want to enjoy people I meet
along this journey of life—especially one certain person.

I’m so
whole again…

I’m really
glad I didn’t die…

~~~~

I close my journal as the sun decides to heat the day.
Everything is packed up, and I’m ready to pull out. We are heading to Boston.
Time is speeding by quicker than I can keep up with and I’ve got a long to-do
list to check off. Maine has been my resting stop and it’s stretched over three
weeks now. It’s time to move on. Stan and Betty already pulled out last week.
They were great company and that sweet lady fed me well every time I turned
around. Julia and I both moped for a few days over missing
Fifi
.
We got attached to the little fur ball.

These few weeks have passed with me trying to relax and
Julia constantly trying to annoy me. She’s bored… She’s tired of communing with
nature… She’s bored… She feels claustrophobic in the RV… She’s bored… And I’ve
had enough.

We’ve just pulled out of the campground and she’s already started
up for the day. “Why exactly are we going to Boston?”

I emerge on the open road and steal a glance at Julia. She
has all of that silky hair piled up in a messy ball on top of her head and is
decked out in a tank top and yoga pants. She looks like she should be heading
to a workout class instead of on a road trip. She’s got those long legs propped
up on the dashboard and is studying me.

“I want to hear a Boston native say
wicked
.” I shrug my shoulders. She rolls those prissy eyes at me. I
don’t care what she thinks. It’s something I want to knock off my list no
matter how trivial it may seem to her. This is a short pit stop on the trip. I
only plan on hanging out for no longer than a week. I’ve decided we’re going to
Boston,
then
this babe needs to go home before one of
us kills the other. The tension is getting worse. I know where it’s coming
from. Julia wants to drink and I won’t let her.

“I thought you were more creative than that,” she teases me.

“Didn’t you already establish I’m boring?”

“You are boring.
How much longer until
Boston?”
Julia asks.

“We haven’t been on the road for thirty minutes.
Seriously,
Thorton
?”
I shake my
head and grip the steering wheel a bit tighter. It’s going to be a long day.

“Well?
How much longer?”
She’s
whining again.

I try to ignore her until she gives my upper arm a sharp
slap to get my attention. “Four hours,” I grumble out.

“What’s the plan when we get there?”

“We should arrive no later than two this afternoon. We’ll
park the RV near downtown. Then set out on foot to check out the Freedom
Trail.”

“Seriously?”

After switching lanes, I look over and notice Julia is
fidgety. “You should be glad. We’ll be exercising,” I offer. “Say,
Thorton
, how about search the GPS for a secret Boston
Tavern. I’ve found it one time before but I can’t remember.” I try to distract
her with this. I know exactly where it’s at. It took me a week to locate it. I
know it’s lying again, but I really need a quick distraction and this is all I
can come up with.

She starts punching things in the system rapidly then
rambles off a tavern.

“That’s not it. Trust me. It’s going to take you some
snooping to find it. You may need to make a few phone calls to be sure.” She
goes back to searching, and after a few phone calls and some Internet searches
on her phone, it takes Julia nearly an hour to locate the authentic secret
tavern I want to visit. Don’t ask me the name of said tavern. It’s a secret…

After she completes this, I talk Julia into making me a
sandwich. This gives her another task to occupy her, even though she grumbles
through that.

“You know I’m not much for this type of stuff.” She fusses
from the kitchen counter as I drive along.

“It’s just a simple sandwich, Miss Celebrity. Even your
prissy butt can handle it.” I manage eating a decent sandwich and try
unsuccessfully to get Julia to eat something. She’s not having it today. Not
even a protein shake.

We eventually make it to Boston around two as scheduled. I
couldn’t get us here fast enough. Julia just won’t lay off today. I’ve
whispered a plea to God to please let her chill, but she’s a stubborn one.
Maneuvering this big boy around the tight areas around the harbor is no easy
feat. I end up having to park a good ways away from the Boston Common. I guess
the long walk will do us good, though.

It’s
late April so the tourist season is starting to gear up.
The streets are pretty packed, but that doesn’t distract from the awesomeness
of this town. It’s tight. I’m pulling Julia along the red stripe on the
sidewalks and street. It’s perfect. If only she would get into the adventure of
it. There
are
tour guides dressed in authentic patriot
attire and I can just imagine this place during the American Revolution. There
are even some red coats strolling around. I feel like a kid in this place. I
could get lost checking all of it out. Every time I slow to study something
else, Julia tugs my hand to keep us on course.

We pass by the Park Street Church and I stop in my tracks at
feeling homesick for my home church. This building is majestic with its deep
red brick and massive white steeple. I let go of Julia’s hand and bring up the
history of the church on my phone. I read a statement declared by the church.

“
Park Street History -
We hereby covenant and engage ... to
give up ourselves unto the Lord ... to unite together into one body for the
public worship of God, and the mutual edification one of another in the
fellowship of the Lord Jesus: exhorting, reproving, comforting and watching
over each other, for mutual edification; looking for that blessed hope and the
glorious appearing of ...
our Savior JESUS
...” (from the Park Street
Church Articles of Faith and Government, adopted on Feb. 23, 1809)”

After reading the powerful declaration in awe, I slide the
phone back in my pocket and notice Julia is unimpressed. “How can that not move
you?”

“I don’t see what the big deal is.” She shrugs her shoulder
dismissively.

“The big deal is that those words are how I feel about you.
I want to exhort you, comfort you, and watch over you. Don’t you want the same
for me? Isn’t this what we’ve always done for each other?” I brush her silky
hair away from her face before resting my hand on the side of her neck. I can
feel the quick flutter of her pulse against my palm.

“Yeah?
I guess…” She doesn’t sound so sure and this stings—I’m not
gonna
lie.

“God created us to be there for one another and to glorify
Him with our lives. We’re not meant to live alone.”

She shakes her head in confusion and brushes my hand away.
“But I’m an island.”

I ease closer and duck my head so I can meet her eyes.
“Julia, no one can be an island and survive.” I know she’s about to rebuke me,
so I gently hold up her shaking hands between us. “You’re not surviving,” I
whisper.

I keep hold of one of her hands and lead her past the church
and to the Granary Burial Ground next door. I had planned to explore it and
take some photos, especially the grave of Paul Revere, but she’s
uncharacteristically quiet. So, hanging around in a graveyard doesn’t seem the
best of ideas.

“Come on,
Thorton
. Let’s track
down that secret tavern. With all this walking, I’ve worked up a mean
appetite.”

“Okay,” she mumbles. I can tell from her voice, she’s
somewhere else. I just wish she would let go of whatever’s got ahold of her and
live in this moment with me.

After snooping around the streets for a while, we nearly
miss the mysterious tavern. It’s tucked away down an alley. Man, I feel like a
kid on a quest and let out a chuckle of excitement when we step up to the
entrance. The door is guarded by two enormous iron gas lanterns on each side.

“You think they will let us in?” Julia asks, not very sure.

“It’s a public establishment,” I reassure her as I push the
heavy wood door open. It’s dark inside and is fairly quiet.

“We’re going to get kicked out of here,” she mutters near my
ear, tickling my neck with her breath.

“Stop worrying so much. I got this.” I pull her in and greet
the bartender with a friendly head nod. He’s a typical looking bartender with
longish dark hair and gnarly tattoos.

“
You’s
two lost?” He scoffs.

“Told you,” Julia whispers.

I pat her arm and head over.
“Nah, man.
We’re just hungry.”

“Then sit down,” he says to us then yells, “Sully, you got
customahs
.”
 

We claim a booth near the back corner of the tavern.

“This place is tight,” I say as we look around at all of the
history memorabilia covering the walls. A lot of old documents, some framed
soldiers’ coats, and a super amazing display of antique weapons from the
American Revolution cover an entire wall.

Julia’s looking around, seeming to be impressed too. “I hear
the letter R is banned in these parts,” she mock whispers.

There’s playfulness in her voice that sets me at ease. She
somehow wandered back to me while we were wandering the streets. Some of the
tension in my shoulders ebbs.

“Let’s test your theory on our waiter.” I get the words out
just as an ample dude shuffles over, looking bored and a bit annoyed with us.

“
You’s
two lost?” He repeats the same question as the bartender.

“No, sweetie.
Say, is this considered a bar or a restaurant?” Julia asks,
looking all sweet and innocent. I noticed she put a little emphasis on the R’s.

“Bah.
Whatcha
want?” He doesn’t
seem fazed by her charms.

“Let’s see… Do you prefer the chowder or the bacon wrapped
scallops?” Julia continues with the R test. I wonder how she even knows they
have this. There’s no menu in sight.

“
Chowdah
.”

“We’ll start with a cup each of chow-da-
er
,”
I say, trying not to smile too much. All of a sudden I have such a strong
desire to lose my R’s too.

“Do you know how many calories there are per serving?” she
asks and the dude balks at her with a stern eye roll.

“
Sweethea’t
, do I look like I’d
know that?”

“A girl can hope,” she flirts while batting her prissy
eyelashes at him. This makes me roll my eyes.

“All’s you need to know is eat it.” He cuts me a sharp look.
“Stop
stahvin
yah lady, pal.”

I hold my hands up. “I’m with you on that, bro.”

“You want a
laga
’ to go with
that?”

I pipe in before Julia can answer.
“Nah,
man.
Just water would be great.”

Without another word, the guy, Sully, leaves us—never once
offering a menu or anything. He’s rude in a fun way and I’m getting a kick out
of it.

“I’m in love with him,” Julia teases, making us both laugh.
It feels good, too. She’s over the somber mood from earlier.

Sully brings back the clam chowder almost instantly and
tosses the cups in front of us without spilling a drop somehow. He then brings
back two glasses of water, and plops them down too.

The cup of creamy soup is making my mouth water. “Thanks,
man. This looks great.”

“I’ll be back with the rest of
you’s
food.” He points to Julia sternly. “You be ready to eat.”

After the waiter disappears, Julia slaps the thick wooden
table top with enthusiasm. “He used R!” We both crack up at this.

“I think the rule is to only use R at the beginning of a
word,” I say as I grab Julia’s hand and bow my head. “Thank you dear Lord for
this life and this special woman before me. Please bless this food to the
nourishment of our bodies. Amen.” I let go of Julia’s hand, and without meeting
her gaze, I tear into the rich chowder. It’s thick and creamy and I find myself
trying to slow down and really enjoy it.