Free Megan's Way by Melissa Foster

landing on her sleeve and
spreading like a snowflake, deep in the center and soft on the
fringes. She thought of the next time the box would be opened and
the contents set free, and she was overwhelmed by sadness.
    She set the box next to her and stared at it,
stood, and took a few steps away. Her cotton dress swayed as she
turned back to look at the box. She furrowed her brow, wrapped her
arms tightly around her body, and continued staring, as if the box
would give her the answers she so desperately sought. After a
moment, she stood up straight, smoothed her dress with her hands,
and took another deep breath. She let the air out of her lungs
slowly. She pursed her lips and moved forward, taking the chest
into her small hands. She carried the box carefully, coddling it as
if it were a newborn, fragile and trusting. She placed it gently
back on the top shelf of her closet, tucked between her thick
sweaters and old pocketbooks. She sighed, steepled her hands
together at her chin, and silently said another prayer, this one
for Olivia—that the letter would offer answers and bring with it
relief, without inflicting torment and anguish to those she
loved.
     
     
    Megan lit candles around her room, turned on
her meditation CD, and allowed her body to relax. She sat with her
palms facing up to release the bad energy and accept the good, her
legs crossed. She welcomed the emptying of her mind and
replenishing of her soul. She fought the thoughts of her earlier
spat with Olivia, bidding them to be gone as if they had never
existed, and willed away the pains in her stomach—pains that she
knew she was experiencing as they lingered in Olivia’s body and not
her own, angst from earlier in the day. She smiled as they gently
subsided. The music weaved its way through the air and she took it
in with each breath, consoled by its life-affirming comfort. At
last, her mind settled peacefully into acceptance.
     
     
    Music vibrated off the walls of Megan’s
client’s office. Her body swayed to the rhythm, enjoying the
freedom and release it provided. She was mid-spin with a paintbrush
held high in the air when she saw Peter in the doorway.
    She laughed, “Hey!” She smiled, turned the
volume down, and hugged Peter’s slim waist.
    “How’s my girl?” Peter kissed her cheek.
    “Awesome! How are you?” Megan realized,
suddenly, that today she did feel awesome. Her body didn’t
hurt quite so much. She hadn’t thrown up or had diarrhea yet, as
she had most days since discontinuing her medication, and Olivia
had actually said good morning with a slight smile instead
of a grunt.
    “Great. I had to come by and see how the
Bourbon Street scene was turning out.” He was visibly pleased with
what he saw, smiling with little nods as he took in the mural. “You
are an amazing painter.”
    “Yeah, well, I had good direction.” Megan
watched Peter’s eyes dance over her artwork. She’d known Peter
since their second week at college. His boyish good looks had been
the first thing that had caught her attention. It had only taken
one conversation for her to learn that he was gay, which had suited
her just fine.
     
     
    It had been Peter who had wheedled his way
into her and Holly’s tight friendship. He had bumped into Holly in
the hallway outside her english class. They had both dropped their
books and laughed. Peter, always the gentleman, had walked Holly to
her class, and it seemed he had tagged along with her and Megan
everywhere after that fateful day. They didn’t mind. They loved his
insight on clothing and art, his quick wit, and the convenience of
his willingness to act as if he was their boyfriend when
undesirable men approached them.
    He had complemented their friendship with his
ability to add calm to Megan’s far-beyond-the-norm views, and quell
Holly’s obsessive need for perfection, which eventually subsided.
Holly’s calm demeanor fit well with Peter’s rightfully-owned chip
on his shoulder. When Peter spouted off