Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“Good days?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“Magnolia? She didn’t tell me anything about him. I didn’t ask.” Asher takes a moment, seeming to ponder over whatever he was thinking.
“She has Alzheimer’s that’s just gotten worse over the years.”
“Shit, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Asher waves it off as he walks over to the edge of the porch railing and leans against it. I follow him, joining in looking out into the thicket of trees.
“I’ve known her all my life. When my dad was having moments, I’d go hide out over at his place and vice versa,” Asher says. He blows out a breath and then crosses his arms over his chest. “I came with him a few times, but it’s hard …” he looks at me to add, “seeing her like that, you know?”
“Yeah, I get it,” I tell him although I’ve never gone through such a thing. I can imagine, though, and it only adds to the mournful mood.
“She told Robert once, one time when she was more with it and remembered who he was, that Magnolia would never love him the same way. They were star-crossed lovers and he’d already had a chance to love her, and he needed to let her go.”
Shit. I look down at my boots, not wanting to imagine that.
“I think it fucked him up real good,” Asher comments and then pats the railing of the porch. “Like I said, he’s a good guy, he’s just had a real hard time and he’s shit at dealing with it.”
I nod in understanding and struggle to find something to say in return. “He’s going to have one hell of a hangover to add on top of it all.”
Asher huffs out a laugh. “A couple Advil and he’ll be all right. Don’t let me keep you,” he tells me and then adds, “If you need anything, I’m here.”
“Thanks.” I give him a wave and stop myself from turning around before adding, “Same to you. If you need anything, or if …” I can’t help but to add, “If there’s anything I can do to help him.”
“He’ll be all right. It’ll take more than two pills, but he’ll be all right.”
Magnolia
Calm comes after a storm. That’s what people say, and it’s true.
For a long time I thought I’d never feel settled, never feel whole again. It didn’t seem possible for me with everything that happened four years ago. The scandal my dad caused … Finding out I was pregnant … Moving home again only to feel it was nothing like home at all anymore.
I thought it would just keep raining and always be gray skies I learned to deal with.
It still feels like a storm after telling Robert it’s over; I don’t know that the pain will ever really leave. My eyes still burn with all the tears I’ve shed. It was never supposed to end this way with Robert. It was never supposed to be this painful. But that’s the thing about storms. You can’t stop them from coming. You just have to ride it out.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes then pull the sheet and comforter up to my neck and let my heartache take me to sleep. It’s a clear night, but soon I hear the patter of rain on the roof. After a few minutes it’s coming down in buckets. When it rains, it pours. That’s what they say, right? Maybe I was wrong about the calm after the storm. If the calm was before the storm, I’m in trouble.
It takes hours for me to actually sleep. Regret keeps me up, reminding me of all the mistakes I’ve made. A few times I glanced at the clock, reading 1:00 a.m., 2:00 a.m. … and then I just stopped looking. Eventually, though, I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I wake up, Bridgey’s standing at the side of my bed, staring at me. “Mama, it’s morning,” she whisper-shouts, in the way kids do. I can’t help but to smile at her chubby little cheeks as I cup her face.
My heart may hurt forever, but it’s filled with love forever too.
“It’s morning?” I question her as if that’s not obvious. The light’s peeked in from my blinds and the clock reads it’s already after eight.
“Look,” she says and points to my window, “the sun’s awake.”
With a grin, I nod my head and stretch as I sit up in bed. “You’re right about that, baby.”
My eyelids are puffy from all the crying and my heart still aches, but other than that … I’m okay. I feel washed clean, in a way. Just like I would if I stood out in those buckets of rain I heard and let it rinse the pain away.
Climbing out of bed, I lead Bridget out of the room with a pat on her back, listing all the fun things we can do today, and head into the kitchen.