Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I keep pretending I’m okay. I get in the car and make my way home and walk into the room. Again, I look around the quiet house and walk to open the curtains and the windows. I unpack the bag that I brought to my father’s, and when I carry the things to my closet, I see his shirt. I stop in my tracks, afraid to get close to it. I drop the clothes in my hand and walk to the white shirt. The cotton feels so soft in my hands, and I do what everyone would do. I close my eyes and bring it to my nose and smell him. The tear escapes without warning, remembering when I wore this back home after he tore my shirt off. I take off my shirt and replace it with his, then walk to the bed and slide into it. I watch the outside, my eyes falling closed with the smell of him settling my heartbeat for the first time in over a week. It’s all a daze; it’s all just going through the motions.
I get up, go to work, come home to sleep, and then repeat five days a week. Sleeping is my escape from everything, but even with all the sleeping I’m getting, the dark circles are still around my eyes. I’m sitting in my office on a Friday afternoon when my phone rings from an unknown caller.
“Hello,” I answer on the second ring.
“Hey, Erin, it’s Jessica.” I drop my pen that I was writing with. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“No,” I answer her. “Not at all. How are you?”
“I’m good, a little sick, but hey, that’s to be expected when you’re knocked up.” She laughs nervously.
“Oh my gosh, I had no idea,” I tell her. “Not that I’ve been reading the tabloids lately.”
She laughs. “We haven’t announced it yet. But I was calling because I finally was able to finish the story.” I take a deep breath. “I am just about to send it to you for your approval, and then I’m going to be publishing it.”
“I’m actually not the one doing the PR for Carter anymore,” I tell her, “but I can send it to Sylvia, and if she has anything she would like to change or add, she can get in touch with you.”
“That sounds great,” she says. “Whatever it is, just let me know.”
“I will and congratulations again,” I tell her, and we disconnect. I scroll on my phone list and dial Sylvia.
“Hey, Erin,” she says, answering the phone on the third ring.
“Hey, Sylvia,” I reply, “are you busy?”
“Not right now,” she says. “We are waiting for the car to come and get us.” I try not to think about who the we are.
“I just got a phone call from Jessica about the piece she wrote for Carter,” I tell her. “I’m going to forward you the email, and you can check it out.”
“Perfect. You can send it now. The plane takes off in an hour, so I can look it over on the plane.” I check my email and forward the email to her. “I will be back in the office Monday morning.”
“Perfect,” I tell her. “Have a great weekend.”
“Thank you, Erin. You, too,” she says and disconnects. I do what I shouldn’t. I open the document and read the article. It’s baffling to me that it’s already been three weeks since that day.
I open the calendar and write in a couple of items that I need to take care of next week. I schedule a meeting with Sylvia on Tuesday to go over the game plan to take care of the movie premiere in two months. I turn the pages and see the red circle around the date and then flip through the pages. My neck starts to burn, and my stomach flutters. I flip the pages again and count backward. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. I get up, grabbing my purse, and rush home, suddenly feeling sick.
When night comes, I don’t sleep. I sit on the couch in the dark wearing his shirt. When morning comes, I slip on my clothes and get into my car.
The drive goes faster than I want it to go, my heart speeding up a bit and my hands holding the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. When I pull up to the house, I get out and walk down the step, ringing the doorbell. I stand here holding my purse in front of me with both hands. My head’s down as I count to twenty when I hear the lock click, and the door swing open. I thought I was ready for it. I was not.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Carter
“I can’t wait to be home,” Sylvia says from beside me, getting into the car. We are in Montana, where we have been for the whole week, and on our way home.