Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
I can’t read his expression, but it doesn’t give me a good feeling.
“Before we tell your mom and Reagan, you need to decide right now if Reagan is it for you. I will not be giving you a child. Not ever.”
“I choose you.” No hesitation. He says it so quickly, so confidently, it punches a hole in my gut. He’s giving me the kind of love most women only dream of. And I feel unworthy. “It’s you. No question.”
I nod just as he glances over my shoulder.
“What are you two up to?” Becca says, holding her arms out for Colten.
He hugs her before picking up Reagan, hiking her onto his hip. “I asked Josie to marry me, and she said yes.”
Incorrect. But I don’t squabble over the details.
Becca’s eyes fill with tears while she pulls me in for a hug. “Finally,” she whispers.
“I want to be the flower girl!” Reagan claps her hands together several times.
“Of course, Button.”
When Becca releases me, her palms press to my cheeks. “You’ve always been my daughter. I can’t believe my boy is finally making it official.”
I smile. “My mom’s coming tomorrow. How do you feel about shopping for a wedding dress?”
“Ah, perfect!” Her hands drop from my face and go straight to my left hand. “Where’s your ring?”
“It’s being fitted,” Colten says before I have a chance to answer. “Let’s get going. Parking is expensive.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
My mom arrives Saturday morning in time for the four of us girls to have lunch before shopping for dresses. While my mom chatters nonstop, Becca sips her post lunch coffee and strokes the back of Regan’s long, dark hair while she plays on her iPad.
I’m mesmerized by it, fixating on it. I can see it hanging from a tree in a cemetery. The silky strands whipping in the breeze. I can imagine what she’d look like without her hair. I know exactly what she would look like without a pulse. Without a breath. No reflexes. No pupillary constriction. Her skin would sag, making her prominent joints become pronounced. Her sphincters would relax, passing feces and urine. All the blood would drain from smaller veins. She’d be pallid. Pallor mortis. As hours pass, her body temperature would drop to the air temperature around it. Without a heartbeat, blood would pool from gravity. Livor mortis. More time would pass, and her muscles might stiffen. Children don’t always follow the same pattern as adults. Rigor mortis might spread from her jaw and neck to her chest, abdomen, and extremities. A lifeless body. The end of innocence.
“Where are you?” Mom rests her hand on my arm, tearing my gaze away from Reagan.
I feel warm. Too warm. And my heart’s racing fast. Too fast. “No … nowhere. I … um …” I scoot back in my chair. “I need to use the restroom. Please excuse me.” When I get to the ladies’ room, I splash water on my face and press several hand towels to it. Using the same towels, I shove them inside of my blouse and blot the sweat from my cleavage and armpits.
“She’s fine,” I whisper. “She’s fine.” I didn’t hurt Reagan. I would never hurt Reagan.
Right?
While I run my fingers through my hair, I curl them into fists and tug … tug more … harder … harder …
The door opens to my right, letting the chattering from the restaurant seep inside. I release my hair and fix it while a lady closes the stall door behind me.
“Everything okay?” Becca asks when I return to the table.
“Absolutely.” I smile, sitting in my chair just as the waitress sets the bill on the table. I grab it before anyone else can.
“No. I’ve got this, Josie.” Mom tries to argue with me.
I shove my credit card into the black check presenter, and the waitress scoops it up two seconds later.
“Sorry. Too late.” I wink at her. I’ve gone from trying to pull my hair out of my head to a version of chipper that makes me cringe.
In the cool fall air, we stroll down the busy street toward the bridal boutique and pass a hair salon.
“Mind if we stop in here to see if they have an opening?” I ask.
Mom and Becca share looks of confusion.
“I’ve been so busy with work that I’ve totally neglected my hair. And I’d love to have it looking nice before I try on gowns.”
They nod and offer agreeable smiles.
“Great. Uh …” I gesture to the opposite side of the street. “There’s a toy store if you want to walk around it with Reagan until I’m done.”
Again, they return slow nods. “Text me when you’re done?” Mom asks.
“Sounds good.”
I’m in luck. They have an opening.
An hour later, I meet them outside of the toy store. The door opens, and they emerge, glancing around for me. They look right past me the first time.