Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“You want me to help with anything?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. I’ll figure it out.”
I want to help somehow. I want to make her feel better. Doesn’t she see that?
She must read the disappointment in my face. “It’s kind of you to offer,” she says, “but I can’t rely on other people for things. That’s how…” She doesn’t finish her sentence. She just shrugs.
I shift to face her. “That’s how what?”
“I’ve never been independent. First my mom, then Frank. I’ve never made my own decisions about anything. I’ve never taken action that wasn’t approved by my mom. I need to give the trailer back to Frank. I’ve made that decision and it feels like a big one.” Her voice cracks and I want to pull her into a hug. This is clearly a huge deal for her.
“I’m not trying to influence your decision.”
She nods. “I know. But I’m terrified that if we keep going like this, or if I let you fix my problems, I’m going to slip into a role where… I’m not myself.”
“I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself,” I say. “I like you too much to want you to change.”
“I know. The thing is, I feel like a toddler out in the world. I’ve spent my life trying to please my mom or at least avoid making her angry. I’ve bent and changed myself so much to fit her needs that I don’t know who I am when I’m standing tall. I need to learn that.”
“And you’re worried you’re going to bend for me if you talk to my lawyer, or if you spend a few more days in the cabin?”
She holds my gaze. We both know that her not volunteering to delay her move is circling our conversation like a hawk.
“This isn’t about you wanting me to be different. I know you don’t—you wouldn’t. This is about me trying to second-guess what you want and make myself fit without being asked. I’m not saying I’d deliberately do that. It wouldn’t even happen right away. But little by little, I think I’d change myself. To make you happy.”
My heart sinks right into my boots. I hate that she feels this way. And although it’s the last thing she wants, I want to scoop her up and make her feel better. I want to take all her years of hurt and put them back on the person who created them—her mother.
“You’re a wonderful woman, Rosey,” I say. “You shouldn’t change for anyone.”
She offers me a small smile. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
I slide my hand into hers and we sit in silence, looking out into the dark.
A chill burrows beneath the blanket and I wonder if it will ever leave me. Rosey has been just what I need. She’s helped me see the good in Star Falls. She’s helped me fall in love with all the wonderful things about this town. That was the healing I didn’t know I needed. There’s a voice in my head that says I need her, too.
But life doesn’t always give you want you want. I should have learned that lesson by now.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Rosey
My apartment in staff housing is clean and comfortable. Some people are complaining about the size of the rooms, but having spent most of my life living in a trailer, I feel spoiled having a bedroom to myself. There are built-in shelves and closets running along one side of the room, with the door to the bathroom and a double bed against the opposite wall. Between the two is a small green armchair, complete with a cushion shaped like a daisy and a low table beside it. The floors are polished wood, the view out the window a climb of a grass verge and the bottom of pine trees. It’s not the view from Blossom, but I’ll take it.
Is it weird that I can’t shake the feeling that Athena disappeared just before I moved so I didn’t have to feel bad about leaving her. Cats can’t read minds, right?
I set my weekend bag on the floor by the chair and unzip it. It was Snail Trail’s smallest size, but it’s not even full. Everything I own is in this bag, plus one thing I don’t. I pull out a Ziploc where I’ve put Frank’s ring. Now that I’ve moved and it’s clear I won’t be returning to Oregon, I need to return this to him. That, and transfer the trailer back into his name.
I reach to place the ring on the small table near the chair, knocking the cushion off-center as I do. A small, white envelope with my name on it peeks out from behind the daisy.
I sit on the chair and pull open the envelope. It’s a greeting card, illustrated with a picture of a cabin nestled among pine trees, a swing on its porch. My heart squeezes at the memory of sitting on just such a swing, on just such a porch, at just such a cabin, drinking hot chocolate under a warm blanket with Byron.