Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
It’s the man standing before me. So tired. And maybe he’s thirty-three, but he looks at least fifty right now. A little gray in his hair and peppered in his five o’clock shadow. Permanent worry lines on his forehead. Bags under his eyes. But it’s the look in his eyes that says the most.
Lost.
Zach looks irrevocably lost.
So, yeah … I start crying silent tears that I brush away as quickly as they fall from my burning eyes.
“What do you think she wants out of here?”
He retrieves something that’s snagged his attention, pulling out a dangly thing with feathers and beads.
“What is it?” I ask.
He holds it up between us as a sad smile graces his face. “It’s a dreamcatcher. Before her mom died, she gave it to Suzanne to protect her from evil spirits and bad dreams. Suzanne was ten. Her mom said it would help Suzanne remember her life … not her death.” His gaze meets mine. “Thank you, Emersyn.”
Without blinking, I look at the ceiling and bite my lips together to keep from losing it again. “Mmm-hmm.”
“She’s awake if you want to see her.”
See her? He means say goodbye.
I hate goodbyes. I’m bad at them. I’m good at looking for any excuse to right wrongs and fix stuff. I’m an artist, a creator. I make things. I mend things. I find the upside to every situation.
Cancer doesn’t have an upside.
Death can’t be mended.
I can’t upload her to Photoshop and erase the cancer.
There is nothing good about her dying. So why would I ever say goodbye?
My pain and anger recite ridiculous reasons for what I do and don’t want as Zach waits for my answer.
“Okay,” I whisper. I’ve adopted his foolish heart. It’s impossible to love Suzie and not want her here forever. So I don’t let myself believe I’m going to say a final goodbye.
Zach opens the door and leads me to their bedroom, but a few feet before the doorway, I stop and press my hand to my chest. This feels too final, and I’m not ready for a final anything.
I can’t.
I can’t do this.
There’s a constricting sensation in my throat, and my chest aches to the point of actual pain. I can’t breathe or stop shaking.
Zach turns back toward me.
I don’t move an inch. Not a breath. Not a blink. The tiniest of threads holds me together. If I move One. Single. Inch … I won’t just cry. I will sob like the day I left home, a death of its own kind.
Instead of taking the last two steps to the bedroom doorway, Zach retreats until I’m in his arms, his hand on the back of my head pressing my face into his body to stifle my sobs as he walks me backward as quickly as possible to the spare bedroom—my bedroom—on the opposite side of the house, closing the door behind us.
And …
I cry for all the stupid reasons rolled together in one big breakdown that he doesn’t deserve to see, let alone feel burdened with the need to comfort me.
Me! He’s comforting me when his wife is dying. It’s official. I hate myself right now.
I allow myself ten seconds in his embrace, and not a second more, before I push away and wipe my face. “I’m sorry. Oh god … I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” His eyebrows knit together.
My hand covers my mouth as I grapple with my emotions and suffocate from the lump clogging my throat.
“You don’t have to be strong for her,” he says.
Strong? Is he crazy? I’m not merely lacking strength. I’m an earthquake of emotions—shaking and crumbling from the inside out.
“There’s no shame in walking away with the good memories.”
I sniffle, shaking my head. “I hate you, Zachary Hays. Killing me with kindness. And …” I sniffle. “She’s not going anywhere. Okay?”
He blinks several times, veiling his emotions. Then he nods because that’s what people do when children are on the verge of a breakdown. And right now, I feel like a child with no control of my emotions.
I want Suzie to live, and if she doesn’t, I might throw a tantrum.
“I have to get this to her.” Pivoting, Zach heads back toward Suzie.
Running my hands through my hair, I close my eyes and shake my head. Suzie would never run away. She’d put on her big girl pants and leave nothing unsaid because that’s what courageous people do. Our friendship has only been measured in months, but it feels like years. True friendships form in a single moment and last a lifetime. It sucks that one spring and summer is the lifetime of our friendship.
“You can do this,” I whisper. Then I wipe my face again and stop in the bathroom to blow my nose, frowning at my swollen eyes. Praying for two to three minutes of emotional stability, I pad my way to the bedroom and peek around the corner just as Zach sits on the edge of the bed next to Suzie.