Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry you lost—” I clear my throat, a meager attempt to clear the lump forming there before continuing, “I miss Mommy, too. It’s not fair that she’s gone.”
I clamp my mouth closed, lips pinned between my teeth to the point of pain. I have so many things to say to my little girl, but I can’t keep her safe if I get too emotional while driving.
I concentrate on the road instead of whispering confessions, and it works for a while. Then I find myself driving on streets that are only familiar in a ghostly sense. I’ve spent more time driving to the clubhouse than I ever had the opportunity to in my old neighborhood, and as the SUV turns down my old road, I think, not for the first time, that maybe going back home to Texas is a better idea than staying here in New Mexico. Texas has more memories of Lana, though.
I’m not trying to forget my wife, but remembering hurts. Thinking of the broken promises has the ability to make me physically sick. Knowing Aria is going to miss out on so much makes me want to sell my soul to the devil for just one more smile, one quick kiss from the love of my life. I’d live happily if I could bring Lana back only for her to be Aria’s mother. I’d sacrifice every memory I have of her just so my daughter wouldn’t have to go without.
It’s apparent I’m fully in the bargaining stage of my grief.
Something shifts when I roll to a stop outside my old house. I was thinking there was a chance I’d catch Ali walking into the house after grocery shopping or going to the gym. I never anticipated I’d find her on her knees, wrist deep in dirt in the flowerbeds.
Potted plants are situated in the places she plans to root them as she starts on the right side of the yard, her intent to work her way to the porch clear.
Lana would’ve started planting flowers in the spring, and I know she would’ve chosen things with more color. We had the conversation so many times, I regret now that I started to tune her out the last couple of times she’d mentioned her plans for the yard. How much did I miss? Not just that topic of conversation, but how many times did I get distracted by everyday life and miss an opportunity to love her more? Probably too many times to count. I guess that could be said for every relationship. Sometimes you just get bogged down by the tasks at hand, and you can’t fathom a life where they aren’t in it. It’s just one more thing to add to my ever-growing list of regrets.
I try to focus on the hearty green plants Ali is working with, because noticing the way the sun heats her skin, causing it to be slick with sweat, is the very last place my head needs to be. Plus, Aria is in the car, bearing witness to my reaction to the new woman. Granted, she’s in a rear-facing car seat, and from the sounds of her little intakes of breath, she’s asleep, but none of that assuages my guilt.
As if she can feel someone’s eyes on her, she looks around when she stands to move on to the next plant. Shock at me being here washes over her face, and she lifts her hand for a little wave. She drops it quickly, no doubt a response to the look on my face, which if I know myself is probably a scowl.
I don’t know exactly what response I expected from her, but it sure wasn’t her turning back around and dropping to her knees to continue working on the planting.
What is even more shocking is the way I feel at having her back to me. First, I don’t want to be near the woman and now it annoys me that I don’t have her undivided attention? Talk about inconsistency on my own part.
My eyes dart to movement on the porch, and I’m hit with an entirely new wave of emotions as I watch Boomer climb down the front porch stairs with a couple of bottles of water in his hands.
He smiles in her direction, before walking closer and shaking the bottles over her back so the condensation lands on her skin.
Unbidden, my tongue traces my lower lip, making me even more frustrated and annoyed.
She looks up at him with a grin, telling him something that makes him look in my direction. After handing her one of the bottles, Boomer starts in my direction.
Like seeing red and blue lights in the rearview, my first instinct is to drive off, but that would require more explanation later than just getting it over with right now.