Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Have fun. Text me updates and let me know you haven’t perished in the wilderness.”
“Wait! What do you have going on? You started to tell me yesterday before I mentioned the child that asked for my number. I don’t want this conversation to be all about me.”
She snorts. “Your life is infinitely more interesting than mine these days.”
“Share.”
“Well, I have a presentation Monday on social media and its effect on marketing to a bunch of men in suits that probably don’t even care because God knows they won’t listen. We’ll have the same problems and discussions next month and the month after that and the month after that.”
I smile. “Good luck. I know you’ll be so interesting that they won’t be able to do anything but listen to you.”
“Right.”
My grin grows. “Also, wear a low-cut top. That might help too.”
“I want them listening, not staring.”
“Oh, they’ll be staring anyway. You’re a hottie.”
“Thanks, babe.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I gotta go. Bye, Billie.”
“Bye.”
The call disconnects from the car. Billie’s voice is replaced by a hit from the nineties blasting a bit too loud. I toggle the switch on my steering wheel to lower the sound.
The foliage grows darker and thicker as we make our way up the hill. Pathways that Jack and I used to take the kids on when they were little are nearly overgrown. I only know they’re there from memory.
My heart tugs as I sort through the moments stored away in my head. Michael attempting to ride his bike down the trails at thirteen years old, only to wreck into a tree and separate his shoulder. Maddie stopping every five feet to pick flowers, making our hikes infinitely longer.
Jack and I stealing weekends here during college and getting snowed in over Christmas break.
I smile at the memory.
“Hey,” I say, reaching over and shaking Maddie’s leg.
She pops out an AirPod. “Yeah?”
“Talk to me. You’re the one that was jazzed to come up here.”
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” She rolls her eyes with the dramatics of a daytime actress. “Kidding. Daniel made me a playlist. He said every song reminds him of me.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “He did, did he?”
“He did. Isn’t it so romantic?”
“There’s nothing romantic about a fourteen-year-old boy.”
“Because you don’t remember what it’s like to be a fourteen-year-old girl.”
I lift a brow. “Do we need to talk about the birds and bees again?”
“I don’t know. Do you want to ruin this trip?” She waits a beat before sighing happily and swaying to a song that I can’t hear. “I love music. It speaks to my soul.”
“Good for you.”
“Can I ask you something? What was your and Dad’s song?”
Oh, Maddie. Please don’t.
“I bet it was super romantic, wasn’t it? You’re the kind of mom that probably had cheesy lyrics about loving someone forever.” Her eyes flicker with mischief. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
I grin. “It was actually ‘Livin’ on a Prayer,’ by Bon Jovi, Miss Smarty Pants.”
She makes a face and plays on her phone. She stares at me as I drive around a fallen tree branch.
“This explains a lot,” she says, scoffing.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Mother, this song isn’t a love song.”
“Child, it’s one of the greatest songs ever recorded.”
“Okay.” She falls back in her seat. “Does it make you sad to think about you and Dad and the happy days?”
The hope in her voice stabs me in the heart. That she knows these days aren’t happy is salt in the wound.
I regrip the steering wheel. “Who says me and Daddy aren’t happy?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Body language. That you’re never together. That you bailed on our family trip this year.”
Shit.
“I can’t imagine not being happy with Daniel. Especially after decades, like you and Dad. I mean, how do you just stop holding his hand or hearing about his afternoon? Isn’t that sad?”
“I’m sure Daniel’s afternoons are absolutely riveting.”
She lifts a brow in her boyfriend’s defense. “I’m sure they’re more riveting than yours, since you sit home alone and make scrapbooks for strangers.”
“Those scrapbooks are going to pay for your college tuition.”
“If you say so.”
My lips part to volley back—to tell her to mind her business. To remind her that I’m the one giving up my riveting life so she can have hers. But I stop before I plant any ideas in her head about Jack.
He might not be a dream husband, but he loves his kids. That’s my problem, not hers.
“Did your brother ever text you back before we left the house?” I ask instead. “Make sure he knows we set the alarm, in case he goes back for anything. I don’t need the police rolling up and us not being able to be reached.”
Maddie runs a hand through the air. “Oh yeah. He said they’re having a great time. The truck is loaded to the roof with . . . equipment. You know, tents and coolers and stuff.”