Chapter One: Work in Progress

It had rained and the scent made him nostalgic, bringing him memories of autumn mornings hiking with his parents. The forest behind his childhood home had been his backyard and he’d learned to climb tall trees before he knew how to ride a bike. It was sweet, how the sensation of gripping branches and stepping himself upward came back so vividly. Ever since he could remember he’d known that he wanted to have a home like the one he grew up in. A place of unchanging security, where each thing and trinket had its rightful place and nothing ever got so lost that it couldn’t be found again.

A cottage on the coast, with a small garden where he could grow his own greens—after learning how to—and a path of sea views to walk along into the nearest village.

That was his ultimate goal in life and what he was working toward. It was the reason he’d decided to apply to Oxford, even though he’d known it would be a struggle and he’d have to work twice as hard as everyone else. His father may be a doctor but he ran a small private practice in an ever shrinking hamlet in south Sussex that no one had ever heard of. The ambition to get wealthy off of his patients had never manifested and he had always advised Patrick to accept suffering as a part of life, and to steer clear of medicine altogether.

Patrick hadn’t argued since he had a tendency to faint at the slightest hint of blood.

Early on he’d leaned toward the anatomy of buildings anyway, thanks to his grandmother’s sincere love of history making her an equal fan of architecture. The places she would take him on their weekly field trips had opened up a world to him as a young lad, one that was full of all sorts of stories that to his marveling mind were all true. He’d walked the footsteps of Viking invaders, of medieval druids, of witches bound for trial. What did fiction hold to that?

And so his wish of a seaside home, a place where he could grow old in utter peace, had fused with the dream of leaving behind a landmark for the generations to follow his. Something that combined the great buildings of old, so meticulously kept and impressively still standing, with a futuristic touch that would speak of his interest in where humanity might be headed aesthetically. If history told him anything it was that style evolved but function remained integral. His playful approach to this basic impression was what had won him the internship and had taken him to Rome, a place his grandmother had yearned to visit but had never gotten to see for herself before she passed.

He had spent the three months patiently embraced by the employees at Balaustro, Rome’s leading architectural firm, where the pace was languid and where the attention to detail was meticulous. The owner was the kind of team leader who insisted on short but productive days, starting at 6am and finishing at noon, one of many revelations. Rome had been a place of acceptance, of fresh insight. It had prepared him for three more years of focused Oxford studies to secure his coveted bachelor’s degree. And it had put many things into perspective for him.

He was turning twenty-four in a month. He’d been with Sally for nearly a year. For the first time he felt ready to take their relationship to the next level. He was going to ask her to look for an apartment together. The thought gave him the jitters. What if she refused? He knew he would deal with it but every time he considered she might not want to, it made him understand how ready he was. He’d missed her more than he’d expected he would. He truly hadn’t known if she was it for him, or if he should be it for her, but now he couldn’t imagine anyone else next to him.

It made him smile to himself again, tilting his head back to look up at the darkened skies.

There were no stars, only a cloud cover to remind him he was home.

It wasn’t far to his dorm. A short ten minute walk and he’d be in bed. There was the urge to call Sally but he bypassed it with his usual ease. It was better to speak to her in the morning, following impulse never lead anywhere good. And he really wanted this conversation to lead somewhere good. Somewhere great, even.

He stepped off the curb with a sense of lightness that had been unusual for him until a month ago, but perspective was a sweet thing. It permeated your body until every nerve ending was singing with it and his were singing of a bright future ahead.

Then there were car tires screeching and bright lights shining, his eyes blinded, the world toppling over itself and he was sailing through the air, time slowing down in a way that defied any natural law. All he could think, knowing there would be an impact following this strangely calm floating, was: I should’ve listened to Sally.

How ironic that just as he felt he might be on the brink of actually starting to live his life, he was going to die in some freak accident, all because he hadn’t learned how to say no to unsolicited invitations.

Author’s note: This chapter will be updated as I write it until it’s completed and the Work in Progress tag can be removed.