Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
That’s pretty sobering.
So is the grim fact that Mom’s more likely to see Ethan again than her waking up and seeing me with Grant.
My laughter dies and the butterflies in my stomach go dormant again.
The bottle of eye-burning sriracha in my hand blurs. With a hurt breath full of the broken shards of my heart, I drop it into my cart, turning away.
I want to believe what he said—that my mother’s too stubborn to let go when she’s beaten this disease before.
But if this round of ultra-experimental chemo and its induced coma doesn’t work, I know what’s next.
I can’t think about it.
Struggling to breathe, I turn away, gripping the handles of my shopping cart—only to draw up short as a voice behind me calls my name.
“Ophelia? Ophelia Sanderson, is that you?”
I take a few seconds to compose myself and pull on a smile for Janelle Bowden.
Such a sweet woman.
It’s been ten years since I last saw her, but she’s still the same vibrant, warm lady with a trim figure and a no-nonsense bob. Looks like the red in her hair has almost fully gone grey, but I still see a few faint ghosts among the silvery strands.
There’s something else different about her, too, I think.
Her smile looks harder to find and there’s something haunted around her eyes. Like she’s faced unspeakable tragedy over the last decade, the sort that can age a person well beyond their years.
Oh, no. What happened?
I try to remember anything Mom or Ros might’ve told me, but I’m blanking.
Her husband’s still alive, so it can’t be him.
There’s been no terminal illness, she’s been fine as far as I know.
Right now, she’s putting on a front of enthusiasm as she abandons her cart to approach me, reaching out for a hug.
“It is you! Why, you’ve grown up into such a beautiful young woman.”
Oh, boy.
I don’t try to escape.
This is Redhaven, after all.
If you’re from here, you’re always from here, and if you leave for so much as a week, you’re going to get hugged to death by the nice people when you come back.
So I just smile and pull Janelle into my embrace.
It’s a good distraction, a bit of comfort, this motherly woman holding me close for a few moments to ease my wandering thoughts.
“Good to see you, Janelle.” I pull back. “How’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know,” she says with a little cluck of her tongue. “No big changes. I’m as boring and predictable as a summer squash. But you.” Her soft sound of sympathy is twinged with pain. “Oh, sweetheart, I wish you were coming home under happier circumstances.”
“...yeah. Me too.” I swallow hard, brushing my hair back from my face, forcing my smile to hold. “But it is what it is. I’d rather be here for her than not.”
“You are a sweet girl.” Janelle cups my cheek. “Are you settling in all right? How’s Ros taking things?”
“I...” For a second, I almost spill everything.
It’s on the tip of my tongue, this rough, angsty confession, but I can’t.
Janelle is way too lovely to trouble with my drama.
So I just shrug and smile.
“I’m managing, you know? Seeing old friends helps a ton. Grant, he’s been wonderful. Ros, she’s...” I shake my head. “I think she’s just super busy. But I can’t blame her, it’s a big job running the shop.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Something strange pinches Janelle’s face with a worried look. “...about that.”
My eyebrows go up.
I hesitate.
“Is there something I should know?”
“Maybe, maybe. Honest to God, I’m not sure.” Janelle screws her lips up before she glances over her shoulder, patting my arm. “Finish your shopping first, dearie, and then I’ll treat you to coffee. What do you say?”
Janelle flies through catching me up on ten years of town history as we finish our shopping together—little things like who moved away, who came back, the new out-of-towners who bought the Yardsdales’ lovely old vacation home, the tourist who drowned in Still Lake about six years back, who adopted a dog, who had a kid, and who had three boyfriends in one year.
All those little tidbits of small-town gossip you end up steeped in day in, day out, condensed into a single hour until I’m dizzy.
I’m still pretty grateful for the distraction when her ominous little comment stoked my worries again.
But I’m patient and I wait until she’s good and ready.
I’m also not sure how to ask.
Though once we make our way to the local café and settle at the outdoor tables with our drinks, the air feels lighter.
It’s a lovely fall morning, bright and sunny and colorful. Crisp enough to make the chill a pleasant nip instead of a stinging discomfort. The light carries that gold-red tint that only comes with an autumn morning, turning the shadows into champagne bubbles.
Honestly, it feels strange to see Janelle so grey, like the light just doesn’t quite touch her anymore.