Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“I’ll see you after,” I promised.
“Stay.” His arms loosened, and when I moved to step back, he caught my free hand and pulled me to his left side, clasping his frozen fingers with mine before greeting the next mourner.
I held the umbrella over him the best I could. There were only a few people left, but I offered them each what I hoped was an appropriate nod of thanks as they offered condolences for a woman I’d never met.
A woman Nate had loved wholeheartedly.
The last of the crowd passed through as the minister took his place under the canopy, and I faced a man I didn’t need to meet in order to know he was Nate’s father.
Nate was a few inches taller, but they had the same nose, the same facial structure, and even though his eyes were darker than Nate’s, they were infinitely colder as his gaze narrowed on me.
“If we could all be seated,” the minister said. “We’ll start in just a few minutes.”
Nate put himself between his father and me, then took the aisle seat, cringing when I sat on the metal chair next to his. “I’m sorry. You have to be freezing.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” Water soaked into my wool coat as I shuffled the umbrella, trying to keep him covered. He reached across my lap for my hand, and I gave it, holding him tight.
“They only had one canopy,” he said, facing the minister. “And I thought she should be the one covered.”
“You did great.” I rubbed my thumb over his frigid skin, wishing I had another way to warm him.
“How did you know?” He glanced my way.
“I set up a Google Alert for your name,” I admitted. “But I set it for weekly. I should have set it to daily, and then I would have known sooner. I would have been here sooner.”
“I’m just glad you’re here.” He squeezed my hand. “And if I’d been able to think about . . . anything for the past week, I probably would have called you, but I don’t think I realized how much I wanted you here until I saw you.” His gaze shifted forward to the casket. “She was in a car accident and died instantly.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “So it’s good that she wasn’t in pain.”
“It is,” I agreed, unsure of what to say, or why the chairs beside me were empty. “But I’m still sorry you lost her.”
“I can’t talk about her. Not up there. Not anywhere. I just can’t.”
“So don’t.”
He nodded, and the service began.
It felt short, but I only had my grandparents’ to compare it to. Nate’s aunts spoke, and his father recited a verse, but Nate shook his head when the minister looked his way. The wind picked up, numbing my face as the service drew to its conclusion.
I stood when Nate did.
Moved when he did.
Went wherever he did.
It was just us and the people I assumed were immediate family by the time the grounds crew was ready to lower Nate’s mom into the ground.
Nate’s body stiffened as his father approached us next to the casket.
“We’re going to have to talk about the farm.” His father planted his feet in front of Nate and leaned in. “No more avoiding me, boy.”
His tone told me everything I needed to know about their relationship.
“Is there anything you’re scared of? There has to be something, right?”
“Sure. Becoming anything like my father.”
Wasn’t that what Nate had said that day on the beach?
Nate let go of my hand and lifted his arm in front of me, gently pushing me backward.
“Now isn’t the time, David,” one of the aunts said, the older woman snapping her umbrella closed now that the rain had passed. Her hair was black like Nate’s, and the set of her shoulders told me she wasn’t a fan of Nate’s dad.
I lowered my umbrella, too, pressing the button to close it as the tension thickened.
“When else are we supposed to talk about it?” Nate’s dad snapped. “He hasn’t said a single word to me since he got home, and we all know he’s headed back to Afghanistan tomorrow. Are we going to talk then?”
Tomorrow? My heart sank.
“It’s no secret that she left the farm to him,” his other aunt said, coming to stand next to her sister. “We’ve all seen the will.”
“It should be mine,” his father argued, but Nate didn’t move a muscle. “I was her husband.” When he couldn’t provoke a reaction from Nate, he turned to me. “Maybe your pretty little girlfr—”
“Don’t fucking talk to her.” Nate took a step forward, simultaneously urging me farther back.
Oh shit. In all my years of knowing Nate, I’d never seen him angry.
“He speaks!” His father threw his hands up like he was thanking God. “You ready to talk about the farm now? It’s been my home far longer than yours.”