Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
When I unbuckle my seat belt, Colten retrieves my walker. He lets me step out of the car on my own, in my own time. Then he leads me to his front door.
I take a deep breath as he opens it.
“Oh thank goodness. We’ve been dying to find out the surprise—” My mom’s words die like they stepped off a cliff when she comes around the corner and sees me. Her hand slowly covers her mouth, eyes unblinking while they fill with tears.
“What’s the surprise—” My dad turns the corner right behind her.
I force a smile while wiping a few tears from my own face. “Hi.”
My mom’s gaze inches along my body, stopping at my hands gripping the walker. “Josie,” she exhales while her hand falls from her mouth and tears cover her cheeks.
Before I can take another step forward, my parents rush toward me, sandwiching me between them, casting my walker aside.
“Oh my god …” My mom cries. “You’re a-alive …”
My dad doesn’t speak. I don’t think he can speak without breaking down. When their hold on me finally loosens, I grip my dad’s arm, reaching for my walker with my other hand.
He catches me, scooping me up into his arms like he did when I was a little girl.
I wrap my arms around his neck and smile. “I can walk … with a little help.”
He drops his forehead on my shoulder and just … breathes. It’s reminiscent of Colten having a moment when he put me in his car at the CVS.
Disbelief.
Shock.
Utter speechlessness.
I give him the moment, as does my mom and Colten. Nobody says a word for a few seconds.
Canting my head toward his, I rest my cheek on it and whisper, “I missed you too.”
His head makes a slight nod without lifting it from my shoulder. When he sets me back on my feet, sniffling to keep his emotions in check, Colten has my walker waiting for me.
“Well…” I glance up at the three of them “…I’m sure you have questions.” I smile.
Over the next hour, I tell them what I know, what I’ve been told, how Colten discovered me, and what Felix and Izzy have been doing for me.
“You’ll come home,” Mom says with a sharp nod.
“Yes,” Dad seconds.
Colten stiffens on the sofa beside me.
“I have therapy.”
“We have therapists in Des Moines,” Mom says. “There’s no need for you to be a burden on Felix and Izzy anymore.”
I open my mouth to argue, but I can’t. She’s right. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone.
Colten clears his throat and sits up straight before leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees. “She should stay with me. I’ll hire help for when I’m at work.”
Who’s going to take care of me? I hate this conversation. I hate how helpless I feel. I hate that I’m now this decision that has to be made.
“Or I can live in my own house. Everything is on one floor. I can pay for rides to therapy. I can have groceries delivered, or I can set up a meal service while I’m recovering.”
There’s a collective no. My parents and Colten eye each other as though I’m not in the same room.
My mom moves from the chair to the sofa, taking ahold of my hand. “Come home, just temporarily. Stay a few weeks. A month? Stay until you’re feeling more confident.”
Colten readjusts in his spot again. “Why is everyone acting like I can’t do this?”
“You have work,” Mom says to him.
“I said I’d hire someone.”
“And you have a daughter,” Dad adds.
Colten gives my dad a look. I think he’s used to him being his ally.
“I’ll come home,” I say, giving my parents a sad smile and slight nod. I’m thirty-six and moving back home so my parents can take care of me. It’s a new low.
Colten stands and walks out of the room.
“Colten?” my mom calls after him.
He goes upstairs without a word.
Mom squeezes my hand. “He’ll be fine. This is just a lot right now. Give him time, and he’ll see this is for the best. When you get better, you’ll be able to move back to Chicago. Go back to work. Get married. We just want to help you get your life back.” She hugs me. “Josephine … you’re alive,” she whispers in my ear, her voice cracking beneath the weight of the day.
“I’m alive,” I whisper back, not feeling the same level of gratitude or relief.
“We could go fishing next weekend. That would help with strength and coordination of your arms, Jo,” Dad says while we eat dinner.
Colten hasn’t said more than a few words to anyone since the food arrived, and he came back downstairs with us. Even now, his head is bowed toward his plate while he picks at his food.
Just as I start to speak, Colten’s phone vibrates.