Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
“What could possibly be better than you and the bond you two share?” she asks me. “You’re selling yourself short, Noah. I think sometimes you forget that I know what’s on the inside. I know your heart, the real you, and while you’re hurting and buried deep in this pain, eventually, you’ll be able to overcome it. I just hope that when that time comes, you haven’t pushed her so far away that you’ll never be able to get her back.”
I don’t respond, not really knowing what to say, and after a few moments of intolerable silence, Mom hits me right where it hurts. “She still loves you, you know?” she says, reaching over the center console and gripping my hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Even after all the distance and hurt, I still see it when she looks at you. You haven’t lost her yet, and maybe if you’d let her, she’d be able to pull you out of this sea of despair.”
“Mom,” I sigh, a subtle warning in my tone, begging her to stop.
“I’m sorry, my love. I just worry about you,” she says, trying to force an encouraging smile. “I see how much pain you’re in, and it kills me.”
“I know,” I say, squeezing her hand. We keep driving, and we’re just reaching our street when I glance over at her, she’s deep in thought, and I know without question, she’s thinking about a possible future for me and Zoey. She thinks about it more than I care to admit, but I suppose that’s what happens when one of your children dies too young without getting a chance to live life to its fullest. She doesn’t want that for me. She wants to make sure I’m happy and that I get everything I’ve ever wanted in life, and she and I both know all too well that has everything to do with Zoey James.
“Mom,” I say as I bring the car to a stop outside the house that hasn’t felt like a home in three long years. “Can I ask you a question?”
Her brows furrow, and she turns to look at me, giving me her undivided attention, not even daring to reach for the door handle. “At dinner, you called Zoey your little warrior. And I know you used to call her that all the time, but I don’t really understand why. When I asked Zoey, she looked at me like I’d slapped her across the face.”
“Ooooh,” she says, scrunching up her face. “That probably wasn’t your best move.”
“Mom,” I groan. “Just put me out of my fucking misery and tell me what that’s all about.”
Her face falls, and for just a moment, I think I see pity flashing in her eyes. “Oh, honey,” she says with a heavy sigh, reaching out and squeezing my hand again, this time refusing to let go. “Do you really not remember?”
“Remember what?”
“When Zoey was six, she was very ill.”
“Of course I remember that,” I say with a grunt, frustrated that I’m still missing the point. “We were at the hospital with her all the fucking time. I’d sit in her bed with her playing her stupid girly games on the iPad. But she was just sick for a while, and then she got better.”
“You were only seven at the time and didn’t fully grasp what was happening,” she explains, a heaviness plaguing her eyes. “I was trying to shield you from the magnitude of what was going on. I didn’t want to tell you just how sick she really was, Noah. I didn’t want you to shoulder that burden so young. If you knew just how severe it was, you would have been the most heartbroken seven-year-old boy to ever walk the planet. I didn’t want to frighten you, and Zoey needed your positivity. I supposed I just assumed you would have learned all about it at some point.”
My brows furrow, and I pull my hand back from hers, curling my fingers into my palms. “What are you talking about?”
“Those times Zoey was at the hospital, honey,” she says, swallowing hard. “She was undergoing chemotherapy. She had cancer.”
“What?” I question, my whole body going rigid. “She didn’t have cancer. I know everything there is to know about her. I know her better than her own fucking parents. Even after being away from her for three years, I still know her better than anyone. I’d have known if she had cancer.”
My mind starts to whirl, memories of Zoey in her hospital bed, weak and connected to all sorts of machines. Sometimes she’d have to run to the bathroom and throw up, other times she was too weak to even lift her head before getting sick. Her mom and the nurses would quickly clean her up, but there were times like that I wasn’t allowed near her. I was pissed. They told me the type of medicine she was taking meant that I couldn’t be there, and I was too young to even question it. I wasn’t a doctor. I didn’t know any better, but I knew if they said it was helping Zoey, I would have done anything, even if it meant not being there to hold her hand. At times like that, I would FaceTime her instead. But childhood cancer? I would have known.