Free The Death of Me by Yolanda Olson Page B

me.
    Gramps is sick. I hated seeing him like that and I don't think I can do this anymore if he's not here.
    I'm sorry.
    I love you and I hope that you love me too.
    Scott
    p.s. Don't be sad. You didn't do anything wrong.
    ***
    H ours later and the sun was starting to set over the horizon somewhere behind me. I was still sitting at Grandpa's grave trying to fully understand what I had just read. If it was what I had assumed it to be, then Garrett must have found out by now too. I didn't know if I should cry and I didn't know if it hurt me yet, because I didn't know him. What I did know was that even without being in his life I had failed him; he hadn't stood a chance with me or without me and no matter what he said, it was most definitely my fault.
    But the fault wasn't mine alone and I wouldn't bear what should have been the heartbreak of this by myself.

Eighteen
(Tuesday)
    I was driving to the airport with all of my bags in the backseat of the rental a week and a half ahead of schedule, because I knew that it was definitely time to go home. I had decided to stop by Rockford High and leave a copy of Scott's letter with Garrett's secretary on my way toward LAX. It cost me a fortune to switch the tickets around, but I didn't want to be in Los Angeles anymore. This really was the one place that seemed to continually break me the longer I stayed.
    I knew that I would never have a reason to come back to this place and it made me feel a little less broken. As I pulled onto the highway I decided to turn on the local rock station. I needed noise to fill the short drive to LAX or else my own thoughts would consume me and it would drive me crazy. In my heart I knew that I wouldn't have time for torturous thoughts; not now at least. That would have to wait until I got home.
    I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music and glanced up to see the LAX signs starting to appear. I sighed and glanced at the letters, then raised the volume of the radio and gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles were starting to turn white.
    Easy Zaydee, I told myself. Deep breaths will keep the path clear and you need to see now more than ever.
    Three more miles and the highway opened into the huge airport parking lot. I drove past all of the airlines that were sectioned off for easy arrival and departures, and went straight toward the garage I had gotten the rental from. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going to leave it, but I figured as long as it was close to where I got it from then it should be okay.
    I pulled into an empty spot on the third level and reached over for the stack. I glanced in the backseat and reached for my carry-on bag, so I could put the envelopes in it. I didn't want to lose any of them because they would be the best way to explain everything that I was going to do. Forcing a smile onto my face, I dragged my luggage behind me as I walked over to the rental car attendant in the small booth he was sitting in.
    "One moment while I look the car over, please," he said pleasantly, walking past me with a clipboard in his hand.
    I waited, the envelopes boring a hole through my bag and onto my hip, while he looked over the truck with a fine tooth comb. When he was satisfied that no damage had been done to it, he had me sign the clipboard attesting to that fact, then let me go on my way.
    I glanced at the clock mounted in his small booth and realized that if I didn’t get a move on, I would most likely miss my plane. All of the damn daydreaming in the car had made me lose time and I hadn’t realized it until now.
    I hoisted my baggage onto my back and ran down the stairs as quickly as I could, readjusting them when I reached the ground level. I knew that airport security wouldn’t be too excited about me running through the airport, so I decided to power walk my way to security after asking a guard where my gate would be.
    I went through the same scrutinization I always did when I handed someone my