Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“I appreciate that,” I say softly, but brush his hand back. “But I’m sitting up front. You can join me if you want.”
He silently follows, which I didn’t expect.
The service is nice, as far as funerals go anyway. The priest does his thing, and her father gives the eulogy. He’s a mess, but he gets through it. There are about a half-dozen different stories I’d love to add about Natalie and me, like the time we snuck into the student center right before closing and got a dozen day-old bagels from the little bagel shop and ate them all on the floor of her dorm room, or the night we got trapped in an elevator together and ended up getting drunk on a stolen bottle of vodka she had hidden in her backpack, and the campus maintenance guys found us wasted out of our minds when they finally got it working again. She and I were always getting in trouble because we felt invincible together. We were a couple of outgoing weirdos, and I always wonder what would’ve happened to me if I hadn’t found a friend like her.
Now she’s gone. And I don’t know what to do.
Declan drives us to the cemetery. Watching them lower Natalie’s casket into the ground nearly breaks me. I don’t know how, but I find Declan’s arm around my shoulders as I sob into my hands. He’s stiff and uncomfortable, but at least he’s trying.
Otherwise, he’s distant and aloof. When everything’s over, I go out to a luncheon with the family. He disappears without a word. I don’t know why that bothers me so much, but it doesn’t matter. I spend the evening finally telling all those stories and making people laugh as they get a glimpse of the friend I loved.
Going home is hard.
Declan’s place is so cold and uninviting. Even though I’ve tried to make it feel more like home, it just isn’t. The colors are all wrong. The blankets and pillows aren’t comfortable enough. I try to curl up on the couch, but it’s like I’m floating in the middle of a frozen river.
I can’t stop staring at the TV.
The front door opens after a while. That’s probably Declan coming home. I don’t bother looking over. I hear him fussing around in the kitchen. I can’t wait for him to be gone so I can be alone again.
The only person who could possibly make me feel better right now is in the ground.
But he comes over and lowers a tray down onto the coffee table. I glance at him, frowning. “What’s this?”
“Sleepy time tea and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
I stare at the tray. “You cut off the crust.”
“Sheila said you’d like that.”
I pull myself from my stupor. I feel like a hibernating bear shaking off the lost frost of winter. “You asked Sheila what I like?”
“No other way of knowing. I couldn’t just ask you.”
“And you did it?”
He frowns at me. “Was this a mistake?”
“No, no, this is nice. I mean, it’s really nice…” I trail off and pick up the tea mug. It’s gray, but at least it’s warm. I take a sip, and it revives something in me, at least a little bit. “Thank you, Declan.”
He nods, jaw tense. “Sir.”
I smile a little. “Sorry. I mean, thank you, sir.”
“That’s better.” He lingers for a moment. I think he’s about to walk away, but instead, he sinks down onto the couch right beside me. Our legs are touching. It’s such a surprise, but I don’t mind it.
I actually could use the comfort right about now.
“You don’t have to do this.” I speak very quietly and stare down at my tea. The steam rises slowly in wisps and curls.
“Lie back. Sheila told me one other thing you like.”
I stare at him in a panic. “What did she say?!”
“It’s not gross. Just lie back.”
I do as instructed, propping myself up slightly with a lumpy pillow, the tea in my hands. He takes my feet, puts them into his lap—
And begins to rub them.
I don’t even know how to react.
“Are you giving me a foot massage right now?”
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“No, please don’t. It feels good.” And it really does. The man’s got exquisite hands. He kneads and rubs without ever tickling. It’s honestly impressive. “Sheila used to do this sometimes when I had a bad day.”
“Do you want this to be something you only ever do with her?”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m just saying, it’s nice. I really needed…” I trail off, choking back tears. He’s so serious and intense. He doesn’t need me crying again. I’m pretty sure I’ll just scare him off.
“It’s okay, baby.” His voice is very soft. “You can cry if you want to.”
“You’re not going to run away? You normally treat me like I’m radioactive the second the tears start.”