Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
I take one final look at her, one last sweeping assessment of her remorse and her health. Because you can’t turn love off like a tap.
“I can’t listen to this, Kennedy. I can’t . . . Fuck, I have to go.”
42
Kennedy
PRESENT
HAM & PINEAPPLE
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Wilder peers over the top of his comic book from the other side of the room.
“Yep, definitely.” I give a definitive nod. “It’s just allergies.” I rub my nose to accompany my lie as a tiny intake of breath reminds me about what happens when you cling to falsehoods. Despite current appearances, I wasn’t built for lying. But I will not burden my son with all this. All parents lie. This is a statement of fact. But we should do it to protect them and not to protect ourselves.
I realise I’ve spaced out, and Wilder is still staring at me. So I send him a bright smile before straightening the afghan draped across my legs. It’s a little colder today. We’d had some weather over the last two nights, but the thrum of raindrops had kept my tears company while . I pick up my book, but my son deposits his treasured pet onto my lap seconds later.
“Moose’ll make you feel better,” he asserts, turning back to his seat.
I stare down at the bundle of wiry fuzz as she pokes my legs with her claws, tangling herself in the blanket’s weave as she turns in a circle to find the optimal comfy spot.
“You make me feel better,” I murmur, catching Wilder’s eye as he sits. He sends me a shy smile and returns to his book, but every little while, I feel the weight of his attention again. I can’t say I blame him. I know I look a mess, but two nights spent crying will do that to a girl.
But as the indomitable Scarlett O’Hara said, today is another day, and I’ve decided there has to be a way out, a way through. This is a situation of my making, and I’m done playing the victim. Done feeling like I don’t deserve to be loved. Because I have been denied love, I know, but I have been shown love. By Wilder. By Holland. Even by the stinky thing curled on my lap. And I have been loved by Roman, and whatever happens, I will always be grateful for that. So that was the conclusion I’d come to in the early hours of this morning, after I’d cried my eyes dry. I never want to feel that way again, and I’m not just talking about my mind’s attack on my body. I’m talking about watching Roman process what I’d done to him. That his confusion and sadness are mine to bear makes me feel worse than any panic attack could.
But things don’t go wrong so you can give up. They do so to give you a chance to fix them. And if you have the tools and the determination, you don’t have to settle for patching them up. You can instead make them into better things. Stronger things. You can make them into all they can be. I hope.
“Is Dad coming over today?” Wilder brushes his overly long hair from his sun-kissed face, his freckles more pronounced than usual. He’s still tired after a week spent running around outdoors, but yesterday he was easier to distract for the facts. I’m grateful for that because I spent the day trying to tame a brain that was spinning like a hamster on a wheel. A bit like it is now.
What do I say? Tell him the ruth? Another lie.
“I don’t know,” I say eventually, setting my books aside. “I think he might’ve said he had something to do today.” Wilder’s expression is neither pained nor hurt. Worse, it’s suspicious. “I mean, I think I remember him mentioning something. Errands? I don’t know,” I add, turning quickly. “Maybe you could call him.” Because I’m not brave enough yet.
“I’ll go down to the pixie house,” he begins, folding his comic book closed.
“I think it might be better if you call first. To see if he’s home.” Because that seems like the cowards way out. Hey, son? Go and ask your father if he still loves me.
“Why? He’s just at the end of the yard. I’ll come back if he’s not.”
We’ve both needed the time to process but today, we need to find time to talk. But it’s not like I can ask Annie to step in again, but I need a little privacy to clear the air. To tell Roman of my plans. I have a proposal that’s so scary, I feel it can’t be anything but the right thing to do.
Wilder tilts his head, studying me with a considering squint. “Is he angry with you?”
“Why would he be angry with me?” I should probably choke on those words. Choke myself dead. “I mean, why can’t it be the other way around?” I add lightly.