Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Gus sighs sadly. “I wish Markie could’ve come with us.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I like her a lot.”
“Me, too, kiddo.”
He turns to me. “Are you going to marry her?”
My eyes widen in surprise. Talk about being unprepared for a question.
“It’s not that crazy of an idea, Dad.”
Oh, to be eleven and naïve.
“Marriage is a big deal, Gus. You don’t just marry someone because you like to hang out with them or they’re hot.” I smile at him before looking back at the dark road ahead of us. “You marry someone because you love them. You make all of these promises before God and you have to take it seriously.”
“What kind of promises?”
I sigh. “Well, you have to promise that you’ll take care of them and you’ll treat them well. That they’ll be your best friend, and you’ll prioritize what they need and what makes them happy. And when they mess up, that you’ll try your very best to forgive them. And they make the same promises to you.”
“I promised to go to war with you. And I keep my promises.”
Disappointment that I failed her, that I might have made her feel like her life and what’s important to her isn’t important to me, presses on my heart. I would never hurt her. Not intentionally.
I know this isn’t my fault and that she doesn’t blame me for it. But the fact is that I did break my promise. I’m not there for her when I said I would be. Worst of all, I left her with a bunch of questions … and without knowing the truth. That I love her so fucking much.
I glance over at my son again.
“Do you know why I like Markie so much?” he asks.
“Why all the talk about Markie? Want to listen to the radio or something?”
He lifts a brow. “No, I want to talk about Markie.”
I shrug, feeling helpless. Whatever you want, kid.
“She reminds me of my first dad,” Gus says.
This isn’t what I expected. “Oh, really? How?”
I’m curious now. I don’t know much about his first dad, as he calls him, a title that doesn’t bother me in the least. He was, in fact, Gus’s first dad, and he loved my son. I have nothing but respect and gratitude for him. But I don’t bring him up because I feel like if Gus wants to talk about him, he will. And if he does, I’ll listen.
“I have some memories of my first dad,” he says quietly. “I remember the sound of his voice and how he loved baseball and how our house felt so happy. And then he died and it wasn’t happy like that anymore.”
Fuck. “Gus, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says, nodding. “It was a sad time. And things got better and Mom got happier, but it was never the same, you know?” He takes a breath. “But at your house, when Markie is there, it reminds me of that time before he died. It’s happy. It feels … I don’t know. Full.”
My elbow rests against the window as I lay the side of my head against my palm.
Gus snuggles against the seat. “I’m going to try to sleep now. My head hurts.”
Mine, too, buddy. Mine fucking, too.
***
Markie
I wander aimlessly through my house, wearing a path in the carpet. I made Mira go home to Hartley about an hour ago, and the depths of the loneliness I’ve experienced since have been indescribable.
I can’t sit, can’t read, can’t focus long enough to clean out a cabinet. Lying down isn’t an option because my bed reminds me of Jory. Even the bathtub reminds me of him, which is unfortunate.
I might just have to buy a new house and start over.
Or become a nun.
“Yup, that’d probably be easier,” I say, sighing.
My head throbs from crying off and on for the last however many hours. I hate crying for any reason, but I really hate it when I’m feeling sorry for myself. Sure, I’m crying for Gus and Jory and Deidre. But, if I’m being honest, I’m crying for myself, too. And I really, really feel like a shitty person for that.
The phone rings and I jump, racing to the table to pick it up. My heart in my throat, I hold my breath until I see that it’s not Jory.
“What do you want, Miles?” I ask, taking the blanket off the baby. My annoyance with him is thick in my tone, and I don’t care.
“Hello to you, too.”
“It’s your lucky day. If you called to fight, I’m ready. Let’s go. Throw the first punch so I can rip your head off.”
“Woah,” he says like he just cornered a badger. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Bad night. What do you want? We both know you only call when you want something, so get it out of the way so I can tell you no and to eat shit and die.”