Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Including my feelings.
That wasn’t being a coward, was it? That was being a man. At least, that’s what I’d been raised to believe.
But what about now?
I reached for the remote and turned on the television. I needed a distraction. I’d go crazy if I let myself start rethinking everything. The bottom line was, they were better off without me.
Without even thinking about it, I searched for Kids Baking Championship and binged an entire season.
I missed April so much it hurt.
I stayed that way for eight straight days.
Alone. Miserable. Depressed.
I ignored my phone and never once checked email. I even told Anna not to come. I didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone, or answer any questions. When I ran out of meals in the freezer, I had my groceries delivered, cooked my own food (okay, I mostly microwaved shitty frozen entrees), and did my own laundry. Of course, I turned a load of whites pink because I didn’t realize a new red T-shirt had gotten in the washer with them, and I remembered the night April had scolded me about separating my colors. My first instinct was to take a picture of my new pink socks and undershirts and tell her she was right, but of course, I couldn’t do that.
And I couldn’t call her and tell her that the spaghetti sauce I made from a jar didn’t taste right. And that my bed felt too big without her next to me. And that I’d heard that Stevie Wonder song and—swear to God—started air-dancing with an imaginary partner, turning her out and bringing her back in just like she’d taught me.
On Friday, one week after I left April, I went up to my cabin in the mountains, but the silence and solitude there no longer felt peaceful to me—they felt stifling. I couldn’t stand being alone with my thoughts in such a small space. The voices in my head argued constantly.
You did the right thing. She’s better off.
You’re a dumbass. Go get her back.
You’re a head case. Quit doubting your decisions.
You’re a chickenshit. If she doesn’t care what people say, why should you?
I left after just one night.
Back in San Diego Saturday afternoon, I swam fifty laps in my pool, and the physical activity helped a little. I was just pulling myself out of the water when I heard a voice.
“Good, you’re alive. You asshole.”
I straightened up to see my sister standing there on the patio. “Sadie?”
She ran straight for me, and threw her arms around my neck, soaking herself. “I was so worried about you. I thought maybe something had happened.”
I hugged her back, amazed at how good the human contact felt after a week of isolation. “Sorry.”
“You should be.” She let me go and stood back. “Now that I know you’re okay, I’m super pissed at you.”
“Look, I can explain. I—”
“How could you leave without saying goodbye?”
I frowned and moved past her, grabbing my towel off a chair. “I had to get out fast.”
“Why?”
I dried off and wrapped the towel around my hips. “It’s complicated.”
“Lucky for you, I’ve got all night.”
“You flew all the way out here for one night?”
“How else was I supposed to make sure you were okay? You weren’t answering texts or calls. I’m just glad I had the code to the privacy gate or I’d still be sitting out there in my rental car.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “I just needed some time by myself.”
“You mean you needed time to mope,” she clarified with a sniff. “What happened to your coaching job? What happened to a house on the water? What happened to red hair and dimples?”
“That was never going to work,” I said. “It was a stupid idea.”
“What happened to no more hiding out?” she pushed.
“What do you want me to say, Sadie?” I ran a hand through my wet hair. “I changed my mind about it. About all of it.”
“But why? There must have been a reason.”
“There was. There is.”
“Well?” She put her hands behind her back like a patient teacher. “I’m waiting.”
Exhaling, I shook my head. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But I’m not going back there, okay? So don’t try to convince me.”
“Okay,” she said. “I won’t.”
She followed me inside, and I went up to my room to throw on dry clothes. When I got back down, she was sitting at my kitchen island drinking a bottle of water. I grabbed a beer and sat next to her, spilling the entire story.
“Wow,” she said. “So you knew him the whole time?”
“The whole time.”
“That’s so crazy. A lefty pitcher.”
“And he looks just like me. I almost passed out when I saw that picture.”
“I bet.” She took a drink of water. “But I still don’t see why you left.”
I got off the stool and went to the pantry for a bag of chips. “Sadie, I just explained it. I left to protect them.”