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

by Lowe, T. I.

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,” sh
e 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.

  I notice her staring at me, but I ignore it. I let out a sigh of relief when she finally lifts the spoon, taking a small taste test. “Is that oil or butter I detect?”

  I’ve already put about half my chowder away. I shrug my shoulder. “Probably both. It’s sinfully good.”

  Julia eats all of two bites before dumping the rest into my cup.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, but already know.

  “Just help me out and eat it. That man scares me. Who knows what he’s gonna force me to eat next.” She shivers as though the idea repulses her. This is Julia, so I guess it does.

  Sully brings more food than we can possibly eat. As he slings the plates down he rambles off the lunch items. “Lobstah rolls. Baked beans. Onion rings. Clams.”

  “Wow. How good is this stuff?” I ask in awe. “Is it just good or w—?”

  “It’s wicked good. Now don’t be a chowdahead and make me say it again.” He walks away.

  I pop a fried clam in my mouth as I look over at Julia. “Wicked good,” I comment, making her laugh.

  She turns serious as she inspects the food. “Ugh. I can’t eat any of this.”

  “Why not?” I ask around a mouthful of lobster roll. It’s buttery goodness.

  “Everything is slathered in fat.” Julia pushes the plate my way while looking around for the waiter.

  “I can’t eat all of this, Thorton.”

  “Just eat what you can, honey. I don’t want Sully to scold us,” she says full of tease.

  “I will if you take one bite of the lobster and eat one clam.” I’m bartering with her like she’s a child. It frustrates me to no end that she just won’t eat. She finally agrees to my demand, so I let it go and dig in.

  By the time I roll out of the tavern, I feel nearly drunk with the food overload. The closer we get back to the RV, the sicker I feel myself get. Dizziness and nausea is rolling over me with such force that I cannot even answer anything Julia asks. I’m not really clear on what she’s saying anyway. All I can focus on is keeping the food down and getting to the campground. I climb in the driver’s seat and cringe with the knowledge that it’s going to take forty minutes to get to the campground. I don’t think I have even twenty minutes, but I give it all I’ve got.

  Chapter Nine

  Greyson

  Last week was…rough. I didn’t make it but ten miles out of Boston before I had to pull the RV over and puke my guts out. The food was just too much and too rich. I feel like such a weakling. It sucks.

  To Julia’s credit, she said nothing—just retrieved me a bottle of water and cautiously watched me until we pulled into our site and got everything hooked up. Then she let loose. I was already mad at myself and Julia sent me over the edge when she had enough nerve to accuse me of being bulimic. I might have punched the wall. No, honestly, I did punch the wall—albeit it feebly.

  “No,” I had yelled. “I want to keep the food. My body just won’t let me.” I tried calming down and explaining that I had been on a restrictive diet for so long that my body couldn’t handle it. But she kept on wanting to know just what sort of mess I had gotten myself in while I disappeared. I had no desire to explain any of it.

  I think I punched the bathroom door at that point. She kept on my heels in the small space and wouldn’t let up, so I laid into her. “You’re one to being pointing fingers. You’re an anorexic bombshell. A ticking time bomb!” I yelled weakly. I had hardly any fight left in me from being so weak.

  “Wow. Way to make a girl feel special,” Julia said as she began to sniffle, which made me feel even lousier. I can’t ha
ndle a crying Julia. It hurts too much.

  I calmed down and pulled her towards me and held her close. “I’m nothing if not honest with you, Julia. I’ve always been straight up with you. No need in sugar coating it.” I held her for a few minutes before I whispered, “You’re anorexic and we both know it.”

  She had gripped the back of my shirt tighter. “Please don’t try taking me to a facility.”

  “How can you expect to get any better, if you don’t get any help?” I smoothed her hair down, trying to calm us both. I was dead on my feet, but it was a conversation I couldn’t walk away from. “If someone is sick with cancer, wouldn’t you encourage them to get help medically?”

  “This is different,” she tried to defend.

  “I don’t see it that way. I’m worried we can’t figure this out on our own.” I squeezed her tighter to emphasize the point.

  “Since when did this become a ‘we’ problem?” she mumbled into my chest.

  “It’s always been a ‘we’ problem,” I commented.

  I eventually released her and headed for bed. Julia spoke up before I was able to get the door shut. “Please tell me where you’ve been.” When I didn’t answer her, she continued, “You realize you are a ‘we’ problem too.”

  “Please, not tonight,” I said and continued to bed.

  Today we are back on the road. We’ve been heading down the interstate for about three hours when I ask Julia to look up the next rest stop on the GPS. I need to break the news to her and I’ve got to get it over with sooner rather than later. I keep glancing over at her as she taps away on the screen. She’s studying the screen in concentration when I see her face fall.

  “Greyson, I thought we were going to Pennsylvania next.”

  Without meeting her eyes, I say, “I’m going to Pennsylvania.” She’s realized the GPS is programmed for NYC.

  “Why?” Julia’s voice sounds defeated. Man, I can’t bear to look at her. I can only stare straight ahead at the road.