Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
I swallowed hard. No matter how broken we were as a married couple, her being in pain hurt me too. She was the mother of our children, and Casper missed her.
She whimpered and wiped at her cheeks. “Why are you still here? Why are we still doing this?”
I frowned.
“Have we ever been truly happy, Roe?”
Whoa. That…came from somewhere else. I mean, that wasn’t just postpartum depression, was it? She was talking about our entire marriage.
“What is it that you want, exactly?” I asked.
She sniffled and began crying again. “I don’t know. I just… This wasn’t what I envisioned when we got married.”
That made two of us.
“Your family will never be mine.” She went over to the counter and grabbed a paper towel to wipe her nose. “Mine will never be yours. Your friends—Christ. It always feels forced to hang out with them. You certainly aren’t fond of my girlfriends. We’re so different. I don’t care about your boring documentaries, and I don’t get your stupid inside jokes—”
“I get it, I get it, we’re different.” Okay, I got irritated. “Sandra, you can only shove me out the door so many times before I actually leave. If you want me gone, say it one more time. Or, we can get through this as parents, and then decide when you feel better. We gotta put the children first.”
“Something that comes naturally to you because you’re the best dad ever,” she laughed humorlessly. “Fine. We’ll decide when I feel better, as if that’s ever gonna happen.”
I suppressed a sigh and scrubbed a hand over my face.
We weren’t gonna get any further than this today, so I turned around and walked out. I picked up my duffel in the hallway, and I paused with the door open.
“Call me if you need anything. I’ll be home on Saturday.”
She didn’t reply.
I took the elevator down again, feeling like I’d just put myself through a boxing match. Under other circumstances, I would’ve asked for a divorce already. Lord knew I wanted to get on with my life. But I’d unlock a whole other level of guilt if I walked out on her in this state. Whether she admitted it or not, she needed my help—and with more than just our sons and daughter. I paid the bills, I ordered groceries, I reminded her of birthdays and appointments, and the list went on.
I’d given up on two things, cleaning and cooking. We had a cleaning service that came twice a month, and we ordered in more than we used to.
I’d become decent at doing laundry, though. And a champ at mopping up whatever the kids threw on the floor.
Jake started the engine when he spotted me, and I threw my duffel in the back before I got in next to him.
Next stop, LAX. We had a Skype meeting in the lounge before our flight. Ortiz and Seth were already in New York, a couple other guys were flying in from Seattle, and Martina was arriving from Boston.
“Do I wanna know?” Jake asked quietly.
I shook my head and threaded our fingers together. “I’m just so damn tired.”
He squeezed my hand. “We’ll get there.”
Yeah. One day.
Jake and I had discovered last time we’d attended the Emmy Awards that the red-carpet event was everything the actual ceremony wasn’t. As in, full of life and energy.
Of course, the News & Documentary version of the Emmy Awards didn’t have the same oomph in the media coverage, but it was still a major show. And then everyone was seated inside Lincoln Center—all thousand-plus people of us—and we had four hours of sitting down in uncomfortable chairs to look forward to.
It was a grand concert hall, with balconies and everything. Thankfully, we weren’t seated up there. We were pretty far back on the main fl—
“Take a breath, Denver.” Martina put a hand on Jake’s knee and smiled knowingly.
Oh—he’d been bouncing his knee. He did that sometimes.
“My bad,” Jake chuckled and adjusted his tie.
I wanted to grab his hand or something. I knew he was nervous.
I was too.
Currahee was nominated in three categories, and if we just won the award for Outstanding Editing, I’d be happy. I’d be over the moon. Because the editing had pretty much shot our project straight to the stars, and it was mostly Jake’s work. He’d poured all of himself into making sure every second was perfect. Weaving an intricate tale between the horrific trauma the men and women we’d interviewed had lived through, the interview segments, the contrasts between the hope and determination the people had personified before tragedy had struck…and the desolation they faced when everything was over. Currahee didn’t wrap things up on a happy note. Each portrait landed in a “This is what we’re dealing with” sort of way, with first responders and home-coming veterans facing depression, anxiety, addiction, standing in line for care, jumping through hoops to get welfare—and the ones whose family members didn’t make it home or lost their battle along the way.