Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“So where does that leave us?”
He flipped back to his calendar. “Deck construction will start once we’re done in Frisco. Should be about another two weeks, and then window installation in three. Feel free to start ripping apart the inside now that your foundation is reinforced.”
Now that your foundation is reinforced.
The phrase ran through my head as we finished the scheduling talk and I walked him to the door.
Standing in the living room a few minutes later, I looked out over the ocean through the open door. The breeze was heavy with salt and humidity but better than the stagnant air inside the house.
A few weeks and I’d have my deck back instead of this rough, wooden X nailed into the lower portion of the doorway baby gate-style. Like I was going to forget there wasn’t a deck there and step into nothingness.
But the pilings were in, ready to support what came next.
The house’s foundation was done. Mine still felt cracked.
“Hey,” Sam said as she came down the stairs, twisting her hair into a ponytail. “Are you ready?”
I glanced at the tiny cassette recorder that rested on the counter next to the refrigerator and cringed.
Tuesday had been brutal. Turned out that the base of complicated grief therapy was telling the story of Will’s death over and over…then listening to myself tell it every single day on that damned cassette player, only to record it again the following week and so on. It was supposed to lessen the emotional impact, which seemed rather like showering before a tsunami. Or, in my case, like the showering actually brought on the tsunami. I still sucked at the now visualize yourself putting the memory away, just like you’re putting away the tape recorder part of the instructions.
“I don’t want to.” Instead, I poured another cup of coffee.
“Right, and you know that I respect your choices, so I’ll give you one.” Sam hopped up onto the kitchen counter next to the tape recorder. “I can hit play on this one or the one I recorded on my phone before I realized we were using that slice of ancient technology.”
That earned her a little side-eye.
“Support person, remember? So we listen, and then you get to pick your reward!”
“Already done.” I pointed to the hardback of Mrs. Dalloway that rested on the kitchen counter, my bookmark peeking from about midway through the novel.
“Virginia Woolf is not a reward. She’s a homework assignment,” she challenged.
“I happen to love Virginia Woolf. I’m actually about three quarters through all of her books, I’ll have you know, you giant math nerd.” I sent her a face that made her laugh.
“Uh-huh.” She muttered something about English majors as she reached into the drawer to her left and pulled out pamphlets. “We’ve already done pedicures and the aquarium—”
Someone knocked at the door. I tossed Sam a fake sorry face and ran for the foyer.
“Dad has off today!” Finley exclaimed before I had the door fully open.
“Does he?” I smiled down at her.
“He does! And you’re coming with us!” She bounced on her toes.
“I am?”
“Wait, I’m supposed to ask you that.” Her forehead crinkled. “We’re going to the surf shop opening. Wanna come?” The light and hope in her eyes made it nearly impossible to deny her.
“Sure, she does!” Sam answered for me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “Look, Morgan, your reward has appeared like magic!”
My chest tightened.
“Reward?” Finley asked.
“Yep! Morgan has a quick chore to do, and then she’ll be right over!” Sam shot me a look that told me I hadn’t gotten out of the therapy assignment.
“Okay! Miss Sam, do you wanna come, too?” Finley bounced again.
“I would, but my husband is calling me in a couple of hours, so I need to stay by the reliable internet so I can see his pretty face.”
Finley giggled and took off after I repeated Sam’s promise that I’d be over momentarily.
“Jackson cannot be my reward.” I shook my head emphatically, crossing my arms.
“Well, I said Finley was your reward, and Jackson can be whatever you want him to be. Or were we sitting in different sessions of therapy when Doc said to explore new relationships?” She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t think she meant Jackson!”
“Oh. Right. She meant every other person on the planet with the exception of Jackson Montgomery. My bad.” She sent me a look that said I was full of shit.
My phone rang as we walked back to the kitchen. Paisley. Just seeing her name on the caller ID made my stomach plummet.
“What are you going to do about that?” Sam asked.
“I’ll just hurt her if I answer it.”
“You might be hurting her more by wearing out the decline button,” she observed, then turned toward the refrigerator and pulled out one of the dozens of coffee creamers I’d stockpiled for her. “She’ll understand if you’re honest with her, and Doc said it was okay to ask her for space until you’re further along in your treatment, right?”