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)
I have to be the one in the house who takes care of myself so that Zach can be the one who’s broken and lost. That means I will eat, work, shower, and be everything he cannot be yet.
The next morning, I water her garden and the plants in her jungle.
Her … are these things still hers? When one dies, can things still belong to them? Does Zach wonder if she still belongs to him? Or has she found Tara? That thought must hurt.
At 12:01 p.m., I knock gently on his bedroom door.
No answer.
I ease it open. Zach is in the exact same position as he was last night.
“Zach?”
No answer.
I don’t know what to do. Aaron seems to trust me. Why? That’s a mystery. Suzie trusted me too, as if she thought I’d have this magical Zach intuition after she died.
I don’t.
Part of me wants to pack my bags, grab Harry, and leave. Never looking back. Does Zach even care if I clean the house now? Probably not.
Does he want me here? Probably not.
Does he need me? I don’t know. I try to put myself in his shoes and imagine what I would want or need. But when I do this, I imagine him wanting everyone to leave him alone and let him decide what happens next. Let him decide if he wants to go on or if he wants to chase her into the next life by leaving this one now.
While I think on it, I take a seat in that paisley chair a few feet from the bed. There’s just enough light prying through the blinds to let me see his face. Pulling my knees to my chest, I wait.
Nearly an hour later, he opens his eyes. It’s so slow and hesitant; I imagine the sound of a door creaking open against the will of its stiff hinges.
“Hi,” I whisper.
After a few blinks, he returns a gravelly, “Hi.”
“I’m supposed to get you out of bed and feed you. But I’m okay with you not eating until dinner. I just …” I swallow. “I just can’t let you …”
Die?
Can I say that? No.
“I can’t let you check out. Sorry.”
With painfully stiff movements, he pushes his body to a sitting position. His bare feet dangle off the edge of the bed. “I have to take a piss.”
“Of course.” I stand. “I’ll let you do that by yourself.”
He leans forward, resting his hands on his knees before lumbering to standing. “That would be great.” There’s no detection of life in his voice, but he’s standing on his own. That’s something. I’ll take that small victory today.
I close the bedroom door behind me and retrieve a bowl of pasta salad from the fridge, giving it a quick sniff.
So much food …
As I spoon some into a bowl, Zach appears a few feet behind me. “Oh … hi. Um … I’m having pasta salad. Do you want some?”
In his right hand is a wadded-up shirt. After giving me a blank stare for a few seconds, he nods and wrestles with his shirt, threading his arms and head through the holes. Then he takes a seat at the table. As I spoon salad into a bowl for him, he stares at the empty chair beside him where Suzie always sat.
Where she will never sit again.
We eat in silence. Zach goes back to bed until the next day. We repeat the same routine for several days, only it’s not pasta salad the next day. It’s a chicken and rice dish.
Taco casserole.
Lasagna.
We will never run out of food.
Aaron and his mom text me to check in every day. I fudge the report, saying he’s doing pretty well. Eating. Getting out of bed. I just don’t mention that he only gets out of bed for an hour and he’s only eating one meal.
With each passing day, he stays out of bed a little longer. He showers. His family visits. And I get back to my normal routine. But we don’t talk. Zach doesn’t say much to anyone. He’s perfected the tiny fake smile and easy nod that makes everyone think he’s hearing them. And I’m sure he does hear us, but I know he’s not listening.
Zach is with Suzanne—straddling this life and the next one—figuring out where he belongs, where he can find happiness. I see it. The eyes don’t lie. They can’t, not like faking a smile, not like nodding or murmuring the occasional, “Mmm-hmm.” Is he missing her? Is that what consumes him the most? Or is he thinking about what he did? That consumes me the most.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Zach
“Oh …” Emersyn jumps as she turns away from the toaster. “You’re working?” She eyes me in my uniform. Face shaven. Hair combed.
I’m playing the part.
“Yeah.” I sidestep her and reach for the pot of coffee she made.