Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
My stomach roils again, and just like that, the gravity of the fact that we didn’t use a condom—twice—hits me square in the nose. Both times, I didn’t even consider it.
Holy shit.
Shaking hands cover my mouth as I turn to Summer’s headstone once more and beg her for a sign. A signal that I’m not crazy and a reason to believe—something to tell me that she’s there, that she’s watching, and that this isn’t the kind of thing that’ll put her father right into an early grave.
“Please, Summer,” I beg. “Show me something, anything, that means this is going to be okay.”
With timing so perfect it feels summoned, a leaf hits me in the face, bright green in its entirety except for seven bright pink spots. It’s too early for the leaves to fall, and it’s too rare for a leaf in the middle of making its change to be so green and pink at the same time.
This sweet little leaf has to be Summer.
I tuck it close to my cheek and breathe it in as emotion overtakes me. I know the next step is a test, and I know, in my heart, I can’t do it alone.
Packing up slowly, I say my temporary goodbyes to Summer’s headstone and head for CAFFEINE to find my sister.
This isn’t the kind of thing you do alone if you don’t have to.
This is the kind of thing you do with the people you love. People are the only important thing in our lives. Summer taught me that.
45
Bennett
Monday, September 27th
Today is the fourth day in a row I’ve been sober, and I can still smell the booze fermenting through my pores.
Clay came by to check on me the first night I didn’t show up at his bar, worried I was dead, and Norah has texted at least once a day. Earl brought me soup for dinner Saturday night, Pete came by with a casserole baked by his wife yesterday, and Breezy has called almost every hour, on the hour, since she left for New York.
But as much as there’s been no shortage of compassion and friendship, I’ve still never felt more alone. I only stopped drinking because I woke up Friday morning covered in puke and the corresponding shame from it.
Usually, I’d paint to deal with my emotions, but I can’t bring myself to paint just yet. It’s not the same in my studio without Summer. Or Norah.
So, needing a viable outlet that doesn’t involve reckless behavior, I’ve taken to chopping wood. And as a result, I’ve acquired quite the pile, and I’m sure it doesn’t come as any shock that I’m thinking about burning it tonight.
With an aggressive swing of the axe, I cut through another large log and pick up the remaining half to chop it again. I swing, releasing all of my anger and frustration on the piece of wood, and it shatters into a dozen tiny fragments.
I wipe sweat from my brow before setting up again, but when I rear back to swing, the sound of a car crunching its way up the gravel drive stops me. Out of a dozen people I expect, I’m surprised to find it’s not any of them.
Charlie pulls her Jeep Liberty to a stop next to the house, shuts it off, and then climbs out, putting a hand above her eye to shield herself from the glare of the sun. I haven’t seen her since Summer’s funeral, and truth be told, I never expected I’d see her again.
Something shifts inside me at the sight of her, and the very real, very numb weight I’ve been carrying around in my stomach starts to tingle. Her walk is slow and steady as she approaches, but it’s not until she’s standing in front of me that I find the ability to speak. “Charlie.”
Her smile is small but wholesome. “Hi, Ben.”
My lips feel dry as I lick them, willing the burn in my chest to ease. “I…I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
Her mouth flexes, just a tiny impression of a curve at the corners. “I know. But I made a promise to Summer that I’d come.”
My jaw locks, and I have to look away as the sting of tears becomes more than just a nuisance.
“Two weeks,” she says simply then, bringing my attention back to her. “She told me I had to wait at least two weeks. Enough time for you to feel your feelings, she said.”
My head begins to shake, the mystery of how my sweet girl managed to get so smart in seven short years confounding me.
Charlie chuckles softly. “She knew you well, Ben, and loved you so, so dearly. She had me write down this note for you and wanted you to have it after the initial impact had passed.”