Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Though,” I continue thoughtfully, ignoring him, “if I did decide to stick around, make your life miserable as a specter, I would make a pretty hot ghost.”
Tom snorts. “You forget I’ve seen you before your coffee and date with your hair straightener. I don’t think they have those or your phone in the afterlife.”
A fresh flood of memories rushes back to me uninvited. I never really thought about it during our marriage, but in hindsight, mornings were always our time. We’re both early risers by nature, and that precious hour before my phone started exploding, and before his did too—though he likes to pretend that it didn’t—that hour was always just about us. Connecting.
“So. Now what?” I ask.
“I guess . . .” He checks his watch. “We see about getting a rental car. Hopefully something with four-wheel drive to handle the snow.”
My eyes go wide. “You want to drive to Chicago? From here? In this weather?”
Fine, yes. I was wrong about the weather, and the meteorologists were right. Winter Storm Barry is, in fact, a total monster.
Tom tiredly runs a hand through his hair. “If you have a better plan, I can’t wait to hear it.”
“I do,” I snap. “Way better, thanks for asking. How about we get a couple of hotel rooms, book a flight first thing tomorrow, which will get us there before a car can . . .”
“Oh, brilliant! I’m so glad you’re here with these bright ideas, Katherine!”
My shoulders slump in defeat at the sarcastic bite of his words and what it means. “You already checked for flights, didn’t you?”
“I did. Last-minute tickets on Christmas Eve would have been a long shot even without all the canceled flights from the storm.”
“Well.” I bite my lip. “Well, what about first thing Christmas morning? The storm will have passed, and your family will understand—”
“No.” His voice is as harsh as I’ve heard it this entire trip. “I have to be there Christmas Eve.”
Tom stands abruptly, reaching for his suitcase. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
I stare after him, baffled. What in the world was that about? Tom likes Christmas Eve as much as normal people, but he’s never been a weirdo about it.
I narrow my gaze, suddenly very sure I’m missing something. Something that explains why he’s a little off, for reasons that have nothing to do with me.
Or at least not just me.
“Grab your precious phone and hurry the hell up,” Tom yells back at me. “I’m not waiting for you this time.”
Puzzled and a little disappointed at his sudden change in mood, I start to follow him. He pulls out his cell phone, his expression pensive as he reads whatever’s there.
And then some of my smugness fades as it hits me:
Tom’s been on his phone almost as much as I have during our little adventure.
Suddenly, my brain is desperate to know why.
Even as I’m pretty sure my heart won’t like the answer.
TWENTY-THREE
TOM
December 23, 10:02 p.m.
For a long minute, Katherine and I stand side by side staring at the sign on the rental car counter.
Sorry, no more cars available.
She’s silent for a moment, sharing in my shock. Then she opens her mouth, and before she can speak, I lift a warning finger. “Not. One. Word.”
I need a moment. Need a moment to process the reality that I’m standing in Buffalo with my ex-wife instead of curled up on a couch in Chicago, stuffed full of Mom’s pasta Bolognese with my soon-to-be future wife.
And that we’re increasingly running out of transportation options to get to Chicago.
As usual, Katherine ignores my request for silence.
“At least this one doesn’t say ‘Happy holidays’ at the bottom,” she says in a voice that sounds way too chipper, given the situation. She gestures around at the neighboring rental car counters that all have variations of the same bad news. “I mean, that’s just savage.”
For once, I agree with her. It does seem cruel to deliver a blow to beleaguered travelers just before Christmas while simultaneously using the word happy.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and for a second, I fantasize about letting it go to voicemail because there are only two likely options of an incoming call at 10:00 p.m. on December 23: Lolo or my family.
Neither is going to be happy to hear this particular update.
With a sigh, I pull out my phone to face the music. I glance at the screen. Lolo. I swallow an unfounded surge of annoyance that it’s a FaceTime. She and I have always been text message people, but I suppose it’s fair that, given the circumstances, she’d want a more personal connection.
My phone continues its persistent buzz, and Katherine glances down at the screen. As has been the case all day, my instinct is to hide Lolo from Katherine—an instinct I still don’t understand. But my reflexes are dulled by sheer weariness, and I don’t move quickly enough.