Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
On the other hand… I can't risk anything happening while I'm out on my own. Already my conscience is plaguing me, but it's for the right reasons. There's a guard patrolling nearby, rounding the side of the house and approaching when he finds me standing by my car.
“Nathan?” I call out when I recognize him.
“Everything alright?”
“It's fine. I have to take a drive and wonder if you'd come with me.” When he glances toward the front door, I know what he's thinking. “I'm sort of in a hurry. We won't be long, and you're armed. Right?”
“Right.” But it looks like he wishes he hadn't found me out here, just the same. Better somebody else get in trouble.
“Come on. I'll drive.” When he scowls, I add, “It's been weeks since I had the chance. You can drive back if it makes you feel better… or you can stay here and be the one who lets me go off on my own.” Sort of a shitty thing to say? Maybe, but nevertheless, it gets the point across. He rounds the car and slides into the passenger seat while I text Callum to tell him I'm leaving and am not alone.
There's a sense of something close to confusion when I get behind the wheel. It's not like I forgot to drive or anything, yet the last time I did was the last time I went to work. The last time I opened the door, it was with the expectation of going out with my best friend and having dinner.
Instead, I was kidnapped, and from there, it only got worse.
I shake off my nerves and start the car, pulling out before there's a chance of getting lost in my thoughts. I still don't know where I'm going to go. I only know I love the freedom surrounding me, a freedom that I wasn't aware I had missed so much. I still don't have anyone to talk to, to honestly talk to, but at least I can choose my own adventure for a little while.
At first, it's enough to simply drive with a silent Nathan watching out for any threats beside me. I'm almost amazed at the way the world keeps turning. People are eating their lunches in the park the way I used to do sometimes. Kids riding on bikes, couples holding hands as they go for an afternoon stroll. I wonder how many of them understand how suddenly everything can change. It's almost enough to make me want to shout out the window and tell them to get as much out of the good times as they can.
It's not like my life is inherently bad or anything like that, but I know how it feels to lose. That nauseating shock when everything changes all at once. I've been through enough of that to last me a lifetime.
I don't know if my thoughts guide the car or what, but before I know it, I'm rolling slowly through yet another tall, iron gate. This time, it's not the gate in front of the Torrio compound. This place is much more peaceful and holds more meaning. Nathan only grunts softly as I drive along the wide, gravel road that cuts through the heart of the cemetery.
I can't remember the last time I visited Mom's grave. All I know is that she's the one person I wish more than anything I could talk to at this moment. All my questions and worries about the baby, and myself. About what to do next, and how to build a life with a man willing to go as far as Callum went and will undoubtedly continue to go. I've never wished so hard that I could sit next to her, maybe put my head on her shoulder like I used to, and have a good cry. I'm not little anymore, but I guess we all need to act like little kids sometimes.
It's a beautiful day, full of sunshine and the promise of a stunning autumn around the corner. The sky is so blue it's almost unreal, and there isn't a cloud to mar its perfection. The leaves are still green, but they won't be for long. I'm sure the towering yet graceful trees will burst out into a riot of color in another month or so.
I pull up close to Mom's plot on the south end of the cemetery and step out of the car, noticing the various bits of evidence that plenty of people visit their loved ones more often than I do. Flowers in different stages of decomposition, wreaths, and decorations adore the other headstones. Other graves sport weeds around the base of the gravestones. Some of the plaques in the ground are covered by overgrowth. Are those people forgotten? Maybe their loved ones are all dead and gone, too, or perhaps they never had any, to begin with. What a sad thought.