Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
That I’m part of the problem.
The corners of my lips are weighted down like the lead in my chest keeping me where I am until he repeats that I’m free to go.
“Thank you.” My whisper grants me a nod from the man and I mentally prepare to see my sister.
Remorse isn’t the word I’m feeling. It’s so much more than that.
I know what she walked into alone, dreading what she’d find.
People move about me in blurs of blue and white. The phone at the front desk never stops ringing. Somehow I manage to continue moving along, taking one step after another.
I speak at the appropriate times, thanking someone at the desk as I wait in the lobby.
Through the windows of the front doors, the parking lot is clearly in view. Several cop cars are lined up in front with an assortment of random cars on the left.
I can just imagine how the red and blue lights would have hit the house late last night. How they would have shined bright against the brick. All the while, my sister was alone.
The doors open and the freezing cold air blows in. There’s not a soul here I recognize.
I busy myself checking my phone. Texts from my sister, asking where I am and then others … all that would prove my sister didn’t know where I was or why my mother and myself weren’t there.
Texts from Cody. He was worried. It’s only then that I realize he would have gotten the news that my father was shot dead and my mother and I were missing.
The streams of texts and messages flood my soul with guilt.
What the hell is wrong with me?
There aren’t enough apologies in the world, but it’s what I start with: I’m so sorry. I’m okay, I swear, just shaken up.
It’s not a lie but it feels like it is. I don’t know what I’ll tell him when I see him. That’s the worst part.
As I’m holding my phone, a new text comes in. This time from Marcus.
I want you to meet me at an old barn.
The red barn on Cannon Road.
I respond:
I know it. Why there?
My father used to meet his friends there to work on tractors and other machinery. It was a hobby of his. I don’t have time to mourn the memories because two things happen at once.
My sister cries out, a purse dangling from the crook of her arm and her coat hanging from her shoulder as she runs toward me.
“Baby,” my mother calls out behind me and the two pass just to my left, hugging each other with tears streaking down their faces. I stand there alone, feeling my phone go off. Glancing down, I see it’s both Marcus and Cody.
I can’t even begin to think of a response to Cody. I’m depleted and I have a pile of lies to explain to him, none of which I want to … and a million apologies on top of that. I don’t know what to say to him and that’s become a staple in our relationship.
Again the doors open and all that hugs me in this moment is the chill of the autumn wind.
“Cady cat,” I say and I don’t know why the weakly spoken nickname comes out like that. I haven’t called her that in years.
Slowly, her grip loosens on my mother and she peers at me, the kohl liner around her eyes making them look even larger than they are. She readjusts her black wool coat before pulling me into a firm hug.
My grip on her is tighter than I consciously allow. I can’t let her go even if I wanted to.
“It’s going to be okay,” she tells me, but I’m not sure I believe it.
Marcus
Nineteen years ago
He looks just like the rest of them. There’s nothing at all distinctive about his features. Maybe the reddened cheeks would set him apart if it were any other day. But with the festival, all the adults with beers in oversized plastic cups have red cheeks.
He smiles too, just like them. His isn’t as white and polished, though. Years of smoking took its toll. Maybe his skin is slightly more yellow too, although it’s hard to tell from this far back.
Slipping my hands into my jean pockets, I keep my distance, slipping down the cracked sidewalk between rows of people cheering on the green floats. My shoulder brushes against the brick wall and occasionally there’s a bump from someone stepping back or trying to get around the crowd.
“Hey, watch it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, kid.”
“Where’s your mom?”
I ignore them all, keep my head down and smile. I’ve found if I just point ahead and keep walking, no one stops me. They don’t bother to get a response before turning their back to me and carrying on.
It’s warmer down here than it is at the barn. It took me three days to get here although it’s only hours if you take the highway. I learned that from my last hitchhike.