Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Life is a joke. A cruel, fucking joke.
I blink when Amos touches my leg, squatting before me and guiding my feet into my work boots. As he stands, my gaze locks with his.
I’ve never hated him. He’s always tried to see things through my eyes, even if doing so has been challenging with a wife who refuses to walk a single step in anyone else’s shoes.
“Son, did something happen to Maren?”
I stare at him for long seconds, letting his words bounce and echo in my head. When the real possibility of never seeing someone again cuts through the surface of denial, it feels like an out-of-body experience. I felt it with Brynn and my father. It’s as if we’re forced to choose to stay or go.
I haven’t loved Maren for long. My brain knows that. It’s good at math and reason. But my heart doesn’t have filters. It doesn’t do equations. It doesn’t acknowledge the existence of time. The heart is unreasonable and completely illogical.
Childlike. Innocent, like Lola.
“Yes,” I whisper. And it’s no longer an echo. I’m acknowledging my willingness to go on no matter where Maren is on this earth or the world beyond this life.
“Her plane?” Amos asks.
Brynn was a daddy’s girl. Maybe it’s because she was too much like her mom and they butted heads. Amos was protective like a good father, but he always awaited her with open arms—a safe haven.
“Yes,” I whisper, averting my gaze to the glass he’s swept into a pile by the fridge. “Search and rescue are looking for her now. That’s all I know.”
“You can’t tell Lola.”
I return my attention to him and swallow hard with a slow nod. “I know.”
“One of the pilots who works for Cielo had trouble with a mission.” Amos grabs my shoulders to ensure I’m listening. “You don’t know the details yet. But you’re concerned about them. And when your friend told you, you took a step backward and accidentally tripped. She will assume that you would tell her if it were Maren. Okay?”
“I can’t lie.” I shake my head.
“You can do whatever it takes to keep her from worrying about something you don’t know with certainty. Okay?”
I laugh.
Amos squints, drawing together his bushy gray eyebrows.
I laugh some more.
Lola and I will pull up to Maren’s funeral on bicycles. We can set our handlebar lights to flash mode to fit in with the procession. Maybe we’ll bring Bandit with us. I should get Lola one of those backpacks for cats with the domed window.
“Dad?” Lola peeks her head around the corner.
My laughter simmers into a light chuckle. “Sorry, Lola. I didn’t mean to scare you. Someone from work called me with some concerning news, and when I took a step backward, I tripped.” I take the broom that Amos leaned against the counter and continue to clean up the mess. “Go get ready for bed. I’ll be down after I clean this up.”
I feel everyone’s gazes on me, heavy and suffocating, but I don’t look at them. My composure and survival hinge on my ability to believe my own lies and imagine bicycles and cats in backpacks for funeral processions.
“Okay,” Lola says.
Amos, once again, steps up and shows me some compassion. “Come on, Tia, let’s get out of Ozzy’s way while he finishes cleaning this up.”
I will cover for his late-night pastime until the day I die because he’s throwing me a lifeline when I need it the most.
After sweeping the glass into a bag, I use the vacuum and a wet microfiber mop to remove any remaining shards so nothing ends up in Lola’s feet. I have to keep moving. Idleness is the enemy.
I go over things I need to do.
Take the trash bags to the garbage.
Check the air in the bike tires.
Make a grocery list.
Pay bills.
Throw in a load of laundry.
Tuck Lola into bed.
Then I robotically follow them.
“Did you feed Bandit on your way home from work?” Lola asks when I step into her room.
“I did. You have an appointment with your therapist tomorrow. Nana or Pa might ride with you there, and I’ll come straight from work and meet you.”
Apples.
Bread.
Yogurt.
I go over my grocery list. We might stop by the store after her therapy appointment.
“Okay. Is Nana upset about the broken dishes?”
“She shouldn’t be. They’re our dishes. I’ll replace them. They’re just broken dishes.” I straighten her blankets and the pile of stuffed animals around her. “Good night, my girl.” I press my lips to her forehead.
I don’t think a guy kisses a girl on the forehead until he loves her. It’s like a parent kissing a child on the forehead to see if they have a fever. It’s a loving gesture.
My heart surges into my throat, a noose cutting off all the oxygen.
“Love you,” Lola says.
I keep my lips on her forehead because I can’t speak. All I can do is nod.