Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“He thinks you died.”
She flinches. “Why?”
I lift a shoulder into a tiny shrug. “You said it yourselves. You haven’t seen him in over twenty years. I don’t mean to upset you, but the truth matters.”
She leans into Waylon and softly cries.
“I think you should visit him. Help him piece together a reality.”
After two days with my grandparents, including a trip to the Grand Canyon, I fly home only to find out that I won’t be getting an extension at the hospital in San Bernardino.
“I’m heartbroken,” I say to Melissa while eating salad and a side of cauliflower wings at a sports bar near my apartment after work.
All by myself, surrounded by Christmas decorations. And Sinatra in the background suggests I have myself a merry little Christmas.
She cuts out for a second.
“What?” I push my earbud tighter into my ear.
“I said you’ve experienced too much heartbreak lately.”
“Agreed.”
“Have you heard from Maren or Will?”
“Maren called me while I was in Flagstaff. She apologized for waiting so long to contact me but didn’t know what to say.” I take a bite of salad and chew several times before mumbling, “There’s nothing to say.”
“Did she say how Fitz is doing?”
“I didn’t ask. And she didn’t say.”
“Why didn’t you ask?”
“Because I’m not emotionally ready for the answer. If he’s doing fine, it makes me feel inconsequential. If he’s miserable, it makes me feel like an awful person for ruining us.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.”
I nod to myself, sliding my bowl away from me. This conversation has robbed me of my appetite. “She was pregnant,” I murmur.
“Who?”
“Annie. My mom. She was six months pregnant the day she died.”
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah. Dwight has never mentioned it. Well, maybe he did. He talked about a baby, but then he said Barbara’s name in the next breath. I can only imagine how repressed the memory is in his mind. And I don’t want to imagine how he would handle that memory surfacing. He’s already so sad, Mel. He reminds me of Fitz’s grandma in a way. Fitz never reminded her that his parents died in a fire instead of a car accident. And he’s never told her that he had a sister. I bet he hopes she never remembers. Well, I hope Dwight never remembers the baby.”
She hums. “How are you doing, hon?”
“I’m fine,” I mumble, handing the waiter my credit card.
“No. How are you really doing? I know you’re not fine.”
With a nervous titter, I sign the credit card slip and hand the copy and pen to the waiter. “I’m in a restaurant. You can’t ask me for that level of honesty when I’m in public.” I snag my purse and zip my lightweight hoodie before exiting the restaurant.
“Oh, Jamie. I wish I were there to hug you.”
“Me too.” I unlock my car. “But then I’d be crying all the time. And my eyes can’t take much more crying. My heart is buried under a pile of sadness and grief. This isn’t sustainable.” I fasten my seat belt. “Maybe leaving San Bernardino is a good thing. I can visit Dwight. And his parents are coming for Christmas to see him. They’re renting a house and staying through New Year’s. Part of me hopes they’ll decide to move here to visit him more often. But I think it’s doubtful.”
“Hey, it never hurts to put that out in the universe. Maybe it will happen.”
I hum. “Perhaps.”
“How did you end things with Maren? Was it a nice-knowing-ya goodbye, or do you think you’ll ever see her or Will again?”
“She said she’d fly to San Bernardino for a girls’ weekend after the holidays, but I don’t know if she was serious or if it was the easiest way to say goodbye without too many tears.”
“Sorry, hon.”
“I’m heading home, so I should get off the phone. I’ll call you tomorrow and talk solely about your love life. Okay?”
Melissa laughs. “It will be a thirty-second conversation.”
“Then we’ll strategize and review your dating app profiles and pictures.”
She giggles, and it’s exactly what I need. “Night, Jamie.”
“Night, Mel.”
Chapter Forty-Five
CALVIN
“Want to talk?” Gary pulls out the chair next to my sewing machine and straddles it backward.
“About?” I stay focused on the zipper.
“Jamie.”
“What about her?”
“It’s a week before Christmas, and I’m just now finding out that your life imploded over Thanksgiving.”
“Implode is a strong word. Who couldn’t keep their mouth shut?”
“Maren talked to Evette.”
Figures.
“You finally shared your past,” he says.
Gary’s one of a handful of people who have known for years how my family died. He knows his fires. He reads as much, if not more, than I do. He’s also been a good friend who has never breathed a word to anyone else. Maren’s brother was that kind of friend too.
“Jesus Christ, man . . . Dwight Keane is Jamie’s father.” He shakes his head and whistles. “That’s some fucked-up shit.”