15
When Laura arrived home, she sat down cross-legged on the living room floor and placed the journal in front of her on the carpet. Her heart thumped beneath her chest, echoing loudly in her head. She swallowed to calm her nerves; the sound of her uneven breathing permeated the air around her. Laura picked up the journal, pulled it toward her face and fanned through the pages, closing her eyes and feeling the cool air and the ever-so-subtle smell of Ryan—his shampoo, his aftershave, his warmth.
A photograph, its edges slightly worn, dropped into her lap. She picked it up. On the back, in Ryan’s black handwriting, it simply read: Us. She turned over the photo, and saw the faces of herself, Ryan, Tom, and Rachel staring back at her. The foursome were sitting on the back of the farm Ute at
