Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
The sound of my smile crashing could have been heard around the world. “Wait. Why aren’t you cooking at the restaurant?”
“Because I’d rather we not suffocate from paint fumes on this date.” She stepped to the side, trying to get around me but I blocked her path.
“I don’t mind paint fumes.”
“Quit being silly.” She stepped to the right and I moved with her.
“No. We can’t do it here. I, uh…” I laughed awkwardly. “It’s a mess in here. I’d be so embarrassed. Just let me grab some shoes and we can head to the restaurant. It will give me a chance to touch up the edging in the kitchen while you cook.”
She laughed. “Truett, your mess is my definition of organization. I promise not to judge your one single dirty plate in the sink.”
She started left, so I went with her, my frazzled mind trying to come up with any excuse to keep her from going inside. But at the last second she spun around me, ducking under my arm into the house.
“Ha! Gotcha! You gotta be faster than—”
I died right along with her words.
The bags slid from her limp arms, landing on the floor with a loud thud.
Embarrassment engulfed me, a boulder of shame settling in my gut. I didn’t want her to see that. I didn’t want anybody to see that.
As she stood there, her gaze sliding through my house, the obstacle that I’d feared would be a volcano erupted right before my eyes.
“What is this?” she whispered, lifting a trembling hand to her mouth.
I shook my head, not knowing how to answer. Or even if I should. After all, she’d lived in that house. And not just the same address. It was the same…exact…house, frozen in time for over eighteen years. Nothing, from the couches and tables to the pictures and paint on the walls, had changed. It was the same wood floors and tattered area rugs. Not even the TV had been upgraded.
Everything was older now, but I’d kept it up as best I could.
“Truett,” she whispered, tears already in her voice. Bending over, she picked up Kaitlyn’s sneaker from the shoe rack beside the door. “Oh, God,” she croaked, turning it in her fingers. She looked up, catching sight of the basket of toys beside the couch. Still carrying the shoe, she walked over and squatted in front of it. She lifted a toy tiger in a doll’s tutu, wearing homemade pink glitter shoes. “This isn’t happening.”
My throat got tight, not a syllable able to pass through.
When I didn’t respond, she dropped the toy and the shoe and then sprinted down the hall as if she feared I was going to stop her.
I wasn’t.
I couldn’t.
Not even as I heard the door of Kaitlyn’s bedroom creak open.
A mixture of shock and agony filled her chanted cries. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”
I knew what she was seeing. An unmade bed, a hamper of dirty clothes, a cup from which the water had long since evaporated still sitting on the nightstand. A coloring book open to a picture of a tiger. Crayons haphazardly spread around the floor. A row of stuffed animals lining the back of the bed.
I’d memorized every inch of that room, because standing in that doorway was my Friday routine.
Eighteen years earlier…
“Why doesn’t she just go home?” I snapped in a shitty tone that had become the only tone I possessed anymore.
Allen Stanley, the Doogie Howser of the VA’s therapists, narrowed his eyes. “What part of Gwen waiting outside upsets you the most?”
The part where I know she’s out there, within my reach, for the first time in months.
The part where she fucking smiled when she saw me get out of his car, still happy to see me after the absolute hell I’d put her through.
The part where she was still wearing her wedding ring despite the fact that we were divorced.
“She shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“Did you get the feeling that she thought of this meeting as a burden?”
No. Not my Gwen. She loved so damn hard she’d have sprinted through the gates of hell if she thought there was even the smallest chance of saving me.
“I don’t know,” I replied.
“You want to tell me what you’re feeling right now?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I snapped, using the back of my hand to wipe away the sweat beading on my forehead. “A whole fuck-ton of nothing.”
“Truett, if you want this to work, you have to be honest with me—and yourself.”
I cussed under my breath. Not wanting to dive deeper into the topic of Gwen, I went for a distraction. “Look around. Everyone’s so fucking happy.”
“Does that seem unfair to you? That you can’t be happy too?”
“Fair?” I barked a humorless laugh. “What part of any of this is fair?”
“You’re right. It’s not. You’ve been through a horrible tragedy. You’re allowed to be frustrated and angry. But I’m proud of you for coming here today.”