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)
“Well, he’s lovable. He told me about the stones in that jar, and that’s …” I shake my head.
Emotion fills her eyes. “I know.”
“But you …” I grin, trying to keep her from crying. “You’re artsy.”
“What? No. I’m not.” She laughs, wiping the corners of her eyes.
“Yes. You are.” I turn and start scrubbing the sink again. “I’m not sure what I’m doing most days, but I know who I am. I am an artist—an artist who loves photography. That’s my true passion, so I feel like I recognize fellow artists. Maybe you don’t design clothes, sculpt, paint, or take photographs like me, but you see emotions. And emotions are invisible. Artists take the intangible things in life and give them form—give them life. You just made the idea of soulmates tangible for me with your words.” I laugh a little. “It’s a huge weight off my conscience to know that I’m not looking for the soulmate, just a soulmate.”
Suzie nods a few times. “But don’t rush it,” she says. “We women tend to fall in love with love. Don’t settle. Even when Zach got up the courage to pursue me after Tara died, I made him work for it. Even after he had full custody of my heart, I made him continue to work for it.”
After rinsing out the sink, I turn and peel off my gloves again. “The way he looks at you…” I shake my head “…well, I can’t imagine how amazing that must feel.”
A sad smile pulls at her dry lips. “Mmm … indescribable. That’s just Zach. He gives a hundred and ten percent to everything he does. His job. His friendships. His marriage.”
I twist my lips. “I’m glad I can give him more time to be with you.”
“Well …” She rolls her eyes. “A dirty house isn’t keeping him from me. You’re feeding his need for control and order, so in a way, he’s using you as an extension of himself. Zach can’t save me, so he will make sure he can do everything else. A clean house will not grant me one more day than what I’m probably predestined to live.”
“Can I ask …” I pause a second.
“Ask me anything.”
Trapping my lower lip between my teeth, I nod slowly. “How much time do you have?”
She shrugs. “You can ask, but I can’t answer that.”
“They didn’t give you any idea?”
“No. They did. I should have been dead six months ago.”
CHAPTER THREE
Zach
“How’s Suzanne?” Matt asks as I exit the plane. He and Suzanne used to work together.
I slide my bag over my shoulder. “She finished her last round of chemo.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yeah. It’s good.” I don’t tell him it’s the last trick in the bag. I don’t tell him it didn’t get all the cancer. I don’t tell him hope has turned into acceptance. I don’t tell anyone these things because I can’t say them aloud.
“Well, tell her hi for me and that I miss her overly cheerful self.”
My mouth finds a small smile as I nod. It’s true. Suzanne has always been glitter and confetti. Knowing her is a gift. Loving her is life. Saying goodbye will gut me.
On the way home, I pick up a bouquet of fuchsia tulips—her favorite. When I walk into the house, I hear the TV from our bedroom. After removing my shoes, I wash my hands in the kitchen, put the tulips in her favorite recycled glass vase, and carry it to the bedroom.
She’s there.
She’s alive.
That’s all I need for this to be a great day.
“Captain Hays.” My wife grins from her side of the bed that’s raised to a forty-five-degree angle.
My gaze attaches to hers while she shuts off the TV as if she can click the button before I notice that she’s watching a reality TV show. She’s not wearing anything on her head—a peach with a bit of hair attempting to sprout back to life.
She’s too thin.
She’s too frail.
She’s too sick.
But she’s always perfect in my eyes. Every time I see her, I have to take a minute to catch my breath and tell my heart to chill because it’s impossible not to fall in love with her every single time I see her.
“Trashy TV, Mrs. Hays?”
“Are those for me?” She ignores my TV comment and acts surprised that I brought her tulips.
I always … always bring home tulips.
“They might be for you. I haven’t decided yet.” I set them on the nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed.
“Give me those lips.” She wets hers, but I’m already leaning in to take them. The way she ghosts her fingertips along my jaw as I kiss her never fails to make my skin tingle all over.
“How were your flights?” she asks, pulling back just enough to put a breath between us.
I used to answer that question with something like “Long and lonely without you,” but my fear and impending grief would only steal her happiness. And we have so little time left I don’t let myself look forward. I don’t let myself feel anything outside of this moment. “Smooth sailing. And Matt said to tell you hi.”