Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
He hasn't threatened to lock me in my room, so I'll take it as a good sign. Now if he knew about the baby, that’s a different story. I wish I didn't still feel the rush of guilt that twists my stomach as it has been doing all day. I'm walking around with a tiny little secret that will get much bigger soon. I wish I could envision Dad being happy and welcoming his grandchild with open arms. Maybe he will, eventually, but I'm not naïve. It will take adjustment, time, and a lot of patience.
The aroma of garlic fills the air by the time I pull buttery bread from the oven. “Sorry it’s nothing more impressive,” I offer while saucing the pasta.
“Are you kidding? I don’t need anything fancy.”
It must be the relief of not having to lie anymore about work that makes him seem younger, less like there’s something weighing him down. Not that he’s going to forget about Mom—neither of us could. He’s more like the dad I used to know, however.
“How’s work treating you?” he asks as we eat. “You have said little about it.”
“It’s work.” When he lifts an eyebrow, I shrug. “I mean, I’m glad to have a job, and everyone there is nice, but there’s nothing interesting about it.”
“Well, if it was always fun, they’d call it ‘play’ instead of work, right?” What a Dad thing to say. I’d usually roll my eyes and pretend to gag, but right now I’m happy to be having a normal conversation with him.
For the first time in forever, it feels like we’re having a normal meal.
That is, until there’s a knock at the front door.
Dad lowers his plate in the middle of taking a second helping, shrugging as he wipes his mouth on his napkin. From my chair, I can see straight through to the front door, even though the curtain hanging over the glass pane minimizes whoever’s out there to a featureless lump. “I’ll get it,” he murmurs, halfway through the room. I turn in my chair to watch him walk to the door, which he opens slowly. His entire body tenses all at once.
“Oh. Hello.” I still can't see who’s there, though the strain in his eyes when he looks at me over his shoulder tells me this isn't a welcome visit. He doesn't step back to give them room to come into the house, either—no, it's like his body expands, like he's blocking the way.
My thoughts instantly go to Callum. He knows better than to show up here, especially unannounced. Tatum? Maybe.
“Charlie, hello. I'm sorry to drop by unannounced—we both are.”
I recognize the woman's voice, and the sound of it—plus the emotion, the tears, the way it quivers—makes my stomach drop. Oh, God, no. Not this. I can't do this.
“It's just that we don't know where else to go.” Yup, I know the man’s voice, too. After five years of dating their son, I would know Lucas's parents anywhere.
I almost forgot about him. How could I forget?
Again, Dad throws an apprehensive expression over his shoulder, and I don't know what to do. I never told him anything about Lucas—I'm not supposed to know what happened to him. As far as I know, he’s living his life, doing his thing.
Damn it, I'm not prepared for this.
I have to force myself to push through my jittery nerves and shaky legs to leave the kitchen and venture into the living room, as if I am not absolutely terrified of what's about to happen. I have to be strong. I have to.
“Sarah, Josh, I'm not sure what you expect me to do.” Dad is still blocking the doorway with his body, but now I see Lucas's dad. God, it looks like he's aged ten years since I last saw him. They took me out to dinner a few days before graduation, so it hasn't been very long.
I have to pretend I don't know why. How could I have practically forgotten about him? Then again, what's the alternative? I can't spend the rest of my life obsessing over what happened, either. I didn't do anything wrong.
Except for pretending nothing happened.
“Bianca,” Josh says my name like a saving grace which makes his wife stand on tiptoes to get a look at me. “When did you last see him? Did he reach out to you or say anything?”
“I...” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “No, I haven't seen Lucas in weeks.”
“You are aware they broke up,” Dad announces.
At least he finally moves aside, giving them room to enter the house. I thought Josh looked bad, but Sarah is a wreck. Her hair looks like she hasn't washed or even brushed it in days, pulled back in a tangled ponytail, while the old college T-shirt she's wearing is stained and torn at the collar. Like it's something she would wear to clean the house. Before now, I've never seen her appearance less than impeccable, even if she was dressed casually.