Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
But that night, after slipping beneath the covers, I did something I hadn’t done in years—closed my eyes and said a prayer.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in God, but our relationship had been a bit strained after losing Trisha. I’d never understood how a God who was supposed to be good and just had allowed something like that to happen. It was an unsettling feeling, to have your faith stolen. To wake up one morning believing in something, and by nightfall, discover that belief has been destroyed. It made it hard to trust your instincts. Hard to plan for the future. Hard to believe that you can protect those you love—or protect yourself. Nothing was promised. Nothing was certain. And prayers went unanswered all the time.
But tonight, I found myself willing to try again.
Nineteen
Cole
The following evening, Mariah and I left for the ice rink as soon as I got home from work.
It was crowded, but we had fun circling the ice together hand in hand, and she showed off some of her moves from her figure skating class. She recognized a few classmates, and I was more than happy to stand to the side with the other parents while they darted around the rink, playing games and judging one another’s attempts at fancy twirls and jumps.
When we were done skating, we put our boots back on, tossed our skates in the car, and walked down to our favorite pizzeria. The owner greeted me with a handshake and made a big deal about how tall Mariah was getting before seating us in a red vinyl booth along the wall.
We ordered soft drinks and pizza, and I gave Mariah some quarters to go play video games while we waited for the food to arrive. I told myself I wasn’t putting off the conversation, I was just ensuring she was in the best possible mood before broaching a difficult topic. No sense in trying to talk seriously to her while she was hungry, or grumpy that I wouldn’t give her any game time like I usually did.
While she was gone, I looked at a TV screen that hung in the corner, barely registering the hockey game that was on. I sipped a Coke, wishing it was a beer, but knowing I needed to stay clear-headed. I texted Cheyenne that I was at the pizzeria and promised to call her when I got home.
And I twisted my wedding band around my finger. I’d dug it out of the drawer and put it on at the last minute, although I wasn’t even sure exactly why. Maybe I thought it would soften the blow of my announcement. Maybe I wanted to reassure her that I took my promises seriously. Maybe I hoped it would show her that she could still trust me to protect her from her fears.
Eventually she returned and the pizza was placed on a tall stand in the middle of our table. After sending her to the bathroom to wash her hands, I served her a piece and took one for myself, although my stomach was too knotted up to eat.
“So I wanted to talk to you about something,” I said as she picked all the pepperoni off her slice.
“What?”
“Well, first I want you to know that you are the most important person in the world to me, and your feelings matter more than anything.”
“‘Kay,” she said, licking her fingers.
“And you know how much I love you, right? How much I will always love you?”
She gave me a weird look. “Yeah.”
“Good.” I was tempted to pull the folded-up piece of notebook paper from my jeans pocket, but I didn’t. “Okay. Good.”
“Are you going away somewhere?” Her voice shook slightly.
“No,” I said firmly. “Nope, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay, good.” She picked up her slice of pizza and took a bite.
“I will never leave you. You understand that? It’s you and me forever, kiddo.”
She nodded and smiled, her mouth full. “In our new house.”
“In our new house.” I cleared my throat. “But sometimes moms and dads who don’t have a husband or wife anymore like to spend time with someone their own age. Sometimes they get a little lonely being on their own without a partner, and they meet someone they like spending time with, and they . . . they want to date that person.”
“You mean you met someone you want to date?”
“Yes.”
Mariah’s face fell. “Oh.”
“Does that make you sad?”
She set her pizza down. “Kind of.”
My chest tightened, and I reached across the table for her hand. “Is it that you feel scared I won’t want to spend time with you anymore? Because that would never happen.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s just . . . I was hoping you would date Miss Cheyenne. Not some new person.”
My jaw fell open. “You were hoping I’d date Miss Cheyenne?”