Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Shit, Greta! Congratulations!”
When he pulled me into a quick but firm hug, I quickly closed my eyes because it felt so good to be in his arms again. Every nerve in my body came alive in that brief moment.
I kept hearing Evelyn’s voice in my head.
You have twenty-four hours.
It was less than that now. A funny visual of Evelyn with a gun to my head entered my mind.
I put the money back in my purse. “Let’s go out to dinner to celebrate.”
As we walked the corridors looking for a restaurant, his phone rang. We stopped in our tracks.
“Hey, baby.” He quickly glanced over at me when he’d said it, and I instinctively turned away.
With my heart in my mouth, I walked a few feet away, still listening to every word.
“I’m glad you made it okay.”
“I had a little bit of a freak out at the burial, actually. Greta drove me around for a while until I calmed down. We ended up at a casino in Connecticut. That’s where we are.”
“I will.”
“Me too.”
“Have fun. Tell everyone I said ‘hi.’”
“Love you, too.”
Love you, too.
Well, that was a reality check. And why was I upset that he told her the truth as if this trip were supposed to be some secret rendezvous? In that moment, I realized I was delusional. Sure, his feelings after seeing me may have been a little conflicted, but he loved her, not me. Plain and simple. His heart was in a different place than mine was, and I needed to accept that.
He walked over to me. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“That was Chelsea. She says hello and to thank you for helping me out today.”
I flashed a fake smile. “Hello and you’re welcome.”
“Have you figured out what you’re in the mood for?”
Admitting the true answer to that question would have put me back at square one.
Seeing as though the rum and Coke I’d had earlier had gone right through me, I said, “I’m heading to the bathroom. You decide what you feel like.”
I took the opportunity to freshen up even though I still smelled like the alcohol that spilled on my dress earlier. I guess I could have afforded to buy myself a new dress now.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Elec was looking down at his phone. When he looked up, his face appeared pale.
“Are you alright?”
His hand was trembling, and he wouldn’t answer me.
“Elec?”
“I just got this text. It’s from an unknown number.”
He handed me the phone.
I was confused. “22?”
“Look what time it says the message came in.”
“2:22. That’s weird, but why does it bother you?”
“Randy’s birthday is February 22nd.”
Chills ran through me. “You think the message is from Randy?”
His eyes stayed fixed on the phone. “I don’t know what to think.”
“It might just be a coincidence. Why would he just send you the number 22?”
“I don’t normally believe in that shit. I have no idea. It just weirded me out.”
“I can understand why.”
Elec was preoccupied all throughout our meal at the steakhouse. I knew he was obsessing over the text. To be honest, it really freaked me out as well.
Reentering the bright lights of the casino after dinner did nothing to lighten Elec’s mood. At one point, I’d gone to get us a couple of drinks.
When I returned to where he was sitting, my heart felt like it fell to my stomach. He was wiping tears from his eyes. It shocked me to see my hardened stepbrother crying out in the open.
It was proof that we can’t always choose the moment the reality of a loss hits us. Sometimes, it’s predictable, and other times, it happens in the place you’d least expect. He hadn’t cried at the wake or the burial but had chosen this moment here in this crowded casino to let go.
“Don’t look at me, Greta.”
Ignoring his plea for privacy, I put the drinks down and slid my seat closer to his. I pulled him toward me and held him into my chest. He didn’t resist. The moisture from his tears seeped through the top of my dress. His fingernails dug into my back as if he were holding onto me for dear life. The harder he cried, the more I wanted to comfort him and the tighter I held onto him.
No one seemed to notice us in our corner of the room, although it wouldn’t have mattered to me if they had.
His shaking seemed to calm down, and eventually, he was just breathing onto my chest.
“I hate this,” he said. “I shouldn’t be crying for him. Why am I crying for him?”
“Because you loved him.”
His voice was trembling again. “He hated me.”
“He hated whatever he saw in you that reminded him of himself. He didn’t hate you. He couldn’t have. He just didn’t know how to be a father.”
“There’s a lot I haven’t told you. The screwed up thing is, after all the shit we went through, I still wanted to make him proud of me someday, wanted him to love me.”