Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
All of the emotions I’d been carefully packing down to deal with later were like, surprise, bitch! Later is now! The tightly compressed ball of hurt trapped in my ribs let go, and a shocked wail burst from me. All at once, the horrible realization that this was it, that Emma and Michael were really dead, knocked the wind out of me. This wasn’t a matter of a few shitty days, and then it would be over, and everything would be back to normal. Emma and Michael were gone forever. She would never roll her eyes at me, again. He would never surprise us all with a rare comeback to Neil’s fond hostility.
Death had ripped that part of our life away from us. No one asked our opinion about it. There wasn’t a second chance to undo it, no appeal, no going back.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Sophie!” Neil’s chair scraped as he shot out of it. Of course he was alarmed; I was having a full on gasping meltdown. He took me into his arms and crushed me to his chest. I clung to him, because if Emma and Michael could be taken from us, we could be taken from each other, too. Oh, god, one day we would. This would be all over. Everything about my life would be all over. All that existed, everything I was living for, would be gone in an instant. Yeah, I’d known all that before, but now, it was there, refusing to be ignored.
Neil’s arms closed around me, and even though I was supposed to be the one who was strong, I was supposed to be supporting him, I let him hold me up. I buried my face against his chest—and probably smeared foundation all over his jacket—and sobbed hard, while he stroked my hair.
“I know,” he whispered against the top of my head, his voice strangled by his own tears. “I know.”
* * * *
On the way home, Mom rode with Tony in the front. We kept the partition rolled up. I held Neil’s hand in mine as he dozed in the seat beside me, and occasionally, he roused and squeezed my fingers. Maybe, if I kept his hand in mine, it could be a leash to keep him tethered to life, and us to each other.
When we arrived at the apartment, I gave Mom an awkward hug through the passenger window, then followed Neil inside. We rode up in the elevator in exhausted silence. Laura met us in the foyer as we took off our coats and hung them in the closet.
“Olivia is sleeping right now, but she’s been really cranky all day. She doesn’t have a fever, so I don’t think it’s teething.” Laura stopped herself there.
I wanted to snap at her that we just needed a goddamn minute to come home from Emma’s funeral and wallow in our sadness. Then, I remembered why she was telling us all this. Olivia’s problems were our problems, now, and babies didn’t wait for a convenient time to need you.
“Thank you, Laura,” Neil said, the dark circles under his eyes explanation enough for his weary tone.
Laura handed me the baby monitor. “I’ll go, then, if you don’t need anything else.”
“Thanks. Really, thanks so much for helping out.” I felt like I should have given her a hug, but I was so, so done with people touching me.
She took her coat from the closet and was pulling it on when she said, “Oh, a delivery came while you were gone. Baby stuff? There were some duplicates of things she already has at the house. If you want, I could make a list of what she already has, so you’re not buying everything a billion times.”
Neil’s expression softened. “Thank you. That would be very helpful.”
“Okay, well.” She backed toward the door. “I’ll see you…later.”
“We’ll be in touch,” I assured her. We had to give her a paycheck and references.
The apartment was so quiet. Everything was quiet lately. The noise and excitement of the gala last week seemed like a dream I’d had, and I’d woken up to this sad, tired vacuum where sound ceased to exist. I never thought my nerves would be so shot from too much quiet.
“I’m starving.” Neil’s announcement woke up my stomach, too.
“Do you want me to order something in?” I asked, almost giddy at the idea of talking on the phone to a stranger, just for the contact with the outside, non-grieving world.
“No. No, I think I’ll make something,” he said, his voice lifting at the prospect. “We’ve been eating so much take out this week. And to be quite tastelessly honest, I’m…bored.”
“Oh?” My eyebrows shot up. “I guess I figured since we’ve been so busy—”
“Busy isn’t necessarily interesting,” he pointed out, loosening his tie. “I didn’t find a moment of this week enjoyable or entertaining.”