Page 64 of Falling For Alaska

“So Lakeside wasn’t that bad after all,” he says, the shadow of a smile tugging at his knowing grin.

“No, sir. It isn’t bad at all.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replies. “Shouldn’t be hard to keep you on after all the good work you’ve done here.” Relief washes over me. I’m staying. This means I’ll get to hold Alaska every day from now on. A weight lifts from my shoulders, one I hadn’t realized was crushing my lungs like a ton of bricks.

“Take a pill, Parkson. You can relax now. You did a good job, son. Now shut the damn door on your way out, I’ve got a ton of calls to make,” he mumbles, waving the tape at me.

“Thank you, Captain.” I salute him and make my way out, walking toward my office, where Jared is standing and putting on his jacket.

“We gotta go, Jack. Some old lady just got her purse stolen at the gas station.” I grin and grab my jacket to follow him out.

“So, what did he say?”

“He said he’d t-take the case upstairs.”

“Good,” Jared says firmly, his serious side shining through. We make our way to our patrol car and slide in. He starts the engine, then glances at me.

“And…about you staying in Lakeside?” I wait a beat.

“Well, he said you’d miss me if I g-go. So he’s keeping me on permanently.” Jared grins as we drive ahead.

“Nah, I wouldn’t have missed ya one bit,” he says, putting the music on. “Alright, maybe a little,” he admits, and I chuckle.

I was wrong all along.

Lakeside wasn’t a stop on my road. It was my destination.

Alaska

“Mom?”

“In here, honey pie!” she calls from upstairs as I step into my family home. I never liked coming here after the accident. Matthew was always waiting, lurking in the corners of every room, watching me with daggers in his eyes, accusing me of the worst betrayal. And no matter how hard I tried to hold on to reality, I used to see little puddles of melted ice wherever he had been. I hold my breath as I take in the living room on the left. No sign of him. The kitchen on the right. Still clear.

My heart hammers in my chest as I hesitantly climb the staircase, gripping the banister, each step creaking beneath my weight. Framed photos line the walls, snapshots of a life that feels so distant now. One of us as newborns. Another of Matthew sticking his tongue out behind me as I laughed in front of my sixth birthday cake. A family photo from a mountain hike. I remember being sick that day, but when I told Matthew, he said I’d be a crying baby if I didn’t come. So I did. I reach the top floor and hear rustling in my parents’ bedroom.

“Your father always finds a way to misplace his socks. It’s unbelievable,” Mom grumbles, chuckling warmly as she digs through the third drawer of the dresser. I used to love being in their bedroom. I remember crawling between them during thunderstorms or after nightmares. Back when this house was my safe place.

“Oh, there you are, honey,” she says, lifting her head as I hover in the doorway. Her smile falters. “I... Are you okay?” She frowns. I force a small smile, “All good.” Only my fingers tingle as my eyes flick toward the corner of the room, where Matthew used to stand, his back against the wall, that cynical smile carved into his face. It’s okay. He’s not here. It’s over.

“I…I was in the neighborhood,” I lie. Mom sees right through me. Pushing off one knee, she stands, her blue eyes searching my face.

“Let’s go downstairs, honey. I’ll make us some tea,” she says, already heading toward the stairs. She’s so pretty in her long burgundy dress, cinched at the waist with a leather belt.

“Sure.” My feet follow out of habit, but just before the stairwell, I hesitate. A glance to the left. The door to Matthew’s room stands closed, untouched.

“Be right there,” I murmur, turning the knob. Six years of anxiety unravel with the motion of a hand. Everything inside is exactly as he left it. The blue bedsheets he refused to trade for new ones. A poster of his favorite soccer team still hanging above the bed. His piano, positioned in front of the window, with sheet music left open as if he’d be back any moment to play. Even the air is different. My steps are slow as I cross the threshold and lower myself onto his bed. Tears well up, blurring the familiar shapes around me.

“You’re really gone now,” I whisper. Silence answers, but for the first time in years, it doesn’t suffocate me. My lungs expand fully, no longer crushed by the weight of his ghost. So this was really goodbye. A single tear slides down my cheek, and I brush it away.

“I come here from time to time.” Mom’s voice drifts in from the doorway. I hadn’t heard her approach. She’s watching me as I sit on his bed, a gentle smile on her lips, her gaze sweeping across the room with quiet acceptance. There’s peace now in her features where a familiar storm once raged.

“You do?” I ask, my voice trembling. She sighs and steps inside, lacing her fingers together as she takes in the room, the remnants of all the things Matthew once loved.

“I started coming here after the first year,” clasping her hands together, “it was too difficult before. But now, when I miss holding my son in my arms,” her voice tightens, “I come here and sit exactly where you are.” A gentle smile flickers across her lips.

“I took your spot, then,” I say, half-standing.

“It’s okay, honey.” She lifts a hand, motioning for me to stay. “Why don’t you tell me why you really came today? I’m always happy to see you, but…I get the feeling there’s something on your mind.”