Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
* * *
He didn’t ask for my number. I didn’t offer it. But he said, “See you Wednesday,” and he said it like he meant it.
* * *
I don’t know what this is. I don’t know who he is.
* * *
I miss Jersey. I do. But for the first time since I got here, I feel a little less lost.
I can’t help a sad smile. I loved that T-shirt. I got it at a concert my senior year of high school, and damn, Lindsay did hate Springsteen. We almost broke up over it. At least, that was the line I gave her. I was kidding, of course.
Her handwriting fills the page…but I have nothing to compare it to.
I deliberately left the suicide note back at my townhome.
No way could I take it out in front of Barry and Lisa. It would bring back too many painful memories—memories they’ve learned to cope with.
“May I take some of this with me?” I ask.
“Of course.” Lisa tilts her head. “But you’re the one who gave us most of this after Lindsay passed, Jason. You said it was too painful for you to have such reminders.”
I clear my throat. “A lot of time has passed. I’d like to have more mementos now.”
Lisa nods. “Take whatever you need,” she says.
I gather a few letters and the diary while Lisa excuses herself. “I need to get dinner on the table. I made baked ziti, Jason. I remember how much you used to love it.”
I give her a weak smile. Lisa is a wonderful cook. I used to joke about how Lindsay hadn’t inherited that quality. Lindsay wasn’t a bad cook by any means, but she hated doing it. We shared kitchen duty, and on weekends we went out. After Julia was born, we didn’t go out as much. Thank God for food delivery apps.
It sounds like Lisa changed the menu when she learned I was coming. The stone of guilt in my stomach doubles in size.
Barry talks about his current caseload, and I give the impression of listening. At least I try to. I give another weak smile and then silently thank the universe when Lisa calls us in to dinner. Now I’ll have something to do with my mouth other than talk.
Don’t get me wrong. I like Barry and Lisa. I always have.
They’re good people, and they raised three awesome children.
But looking at Lisa is like looking at future Lindsay. Lindsay’s brother and sister both favor Barry, but Lindsay was always a dead ringer for Lisa.
Sitting there, at their dining table, partaking in their familial comfort, I feel like I’m drowning. I see Lindsay in every corner of the house, hear her laugh in the soft hum of conversation, feel her presence like a ghost that refuses to be banished.
“It really is wonderful to see you, Jason,” Lisa says between bites. “I was just saying to Barry the other day how much we’ve missed getting to see you.”
I give my bit of food a few extra chews to put off responding to her. Finally, I swallow. “Yeah, well, I guess life has been pretty busy with my new position at the medical school.”
“How is that going?” Barry asks. “Lisa and I always thought you’d be a great teacher. You have a great temperament. You were so great with little Julia—”
I drop my fork.
Lisa widens her eyes, glares at her husband for a second, and then returns to me, her gaze softened. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m sure you don’t like talking about her. Or about Lindsay.”
I shake my head. “No. I loved them. I’d be a sorry excuse for a father and husband if I simply pretended they didn’t exist.”
“Right on that one.” Barry takes a drink of his bourbon. “And you were a great husband, Jason. Have no doubt about that. Lindsay worshiped the ground you walked on. Especially after that creep she dated in high school.” He strokes his chin. “What was his name again? Rolland? Roderick?”
“Ronny,” I answer dryly. “Ronny Burgundy.”
Lindsay rarely mentioned him, but the name was easy to remember. So similar to the character Will Ferrell played in Anchorman. I didn’t know much about the guy, but he apparently flew off the handle when Lindsay ended things between them. He stalked her and her family to the point where they all left New Jersey and came to Colorado.
“I haven’t thought about that awful boy in years,” Lisa says. “Though I suppose we all owe him for getting Lindsay and us out here to Colorado. She would never have met you otherwise.”
Fuck.
I nod slowly to mask the thoughts raging inside me.
Yeah, Lindsay fled New Jersey and came to Colorado, where she met me. And then she married me, had a kid with me. A kid who died in the car I was driving.
And then Lindsay was dead a year later.