Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Anxiety? Or anticipation?
As the party bus drives away, leaving us at the curb with our luggage, I think it’s more of the latter.
After stopping for lunch yesterday, we did a few more hours on the road, then took a break for the night at a motel in some little town in the middle of nowhere. I thought, with everything that had happened and was going to happen, I’d be too wired to sleep, but I surprised myself by having one of the best rests in recent memory.
Luca says he slept well in his room, but there’s a small (large) chance he lied.
On the anxiety to anticipation scale, he’s been leaning toward nervous wreck all day. I’m just thankful he didn’t throw up on the bus. There were quite a few moments when he was pale and sweaty.
It could have been the bus. It probably wasn’t the best choice. Even I had to chew gum for hours to help with the motion sickness that was trying to creep up on me.
“Can I get that for you?” Luca reaches for my bulging suitcase. In comparison, he’s got a small duffel, while I have a bag twice my size and a bursting full backpack.
This is one time when I don’t need to assert my independence. “Sure. Thanks.” Any distraction is a good distraction.
We didn’t leave early this morning. We got breakfast, and the driver clearly wasn’t hurrying down the road. It’s Tuesday, and the bakery is only open until seven. It’s been closed for thirty-five minutes, but I know my parents are both here.
My dad has a surprise for Luca. He wants to make a pie together.
It’s fitting that Luca and I never made one. The first one he makes since leaving here should happen right back where it all started. Full circle.
But Luca doesn’t know that.
He’s stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, one hand on the handle of my suitcase and the other steadying the brown leather duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. The clothes he wore just for me yesterday are put away. Today, he rode in a T-shirt and jeans. Before we got out, he pulled on a black hoodie and did the hood up tightly to hide that one side of his face.
I didn’t comment on it. If he needs this to step back into society, that’s okay. He can set the pace. I’m not going to rush him into anything.
I promised yesterday that I’d give him time in all respects.
Luca’s transfixed by the faded blue and white awning. This place hasn’t changed much in fifty years. Every five years or as needed, the windows get a fresh coat of blue paint on the wooden trim, and the wooden door gets a new layer of stain. The lettering on the windows that swoops down in half arcs becomes sun-faded and starts peeling, so every couple of years, my dad has someone come in to scrape it off and redo it.
It was nice growing up here. It was big enough that there was always something to do, but small enough that we’ve never had to worry about smashed windows or break-ins.
The front counter is clearly visible through the windows, as are the shelves and display stands.
I know the door will be locked. I could call, but I have my own keys in my purse. I’m ready to dig for them to unlock the door and let us in when a flash of white appears. It pauses and angles fully into view.
It’s my dad in his white coat and apron.
I freeze, but he doesn’t. He rushes to the door. The lock isn’t sticky, but in his excitement, he fumbles it, making it seem like it is.
“Shannon!” He calls for my mom, his big voice barely contained inside the store. “Shannon, they’re here!”
The door flies inward. I have never seen my dad smile so big. I’ve been through all the family photos. My grandparents lived here before my grandpa passed and my grandma moved to Arizona to be with friends and to avoid the cold weather. She grows grapefruits in the front yard of the most adorable little house. Anyway, I’ve seen all the photos of my dad and his siblings from all stages of life. I’ve seen him at Christmas and Easter and plenty of times in photos at the bakery and at pie contests and exhibitions all over the state and beyond.
But I’ve never seen him look this happy.
It’s not just because Luca’s here, but because I’m right beside him.
It’s not pride that I could do this for my dad that surges through me, but also for Luca. It’s a feeling far closer to relief. It hits me hard, squeezing my lungs and wringing my emotions out of me. I can’t make an effort to keep myself from crying. It happens like that crazy storm at the cottage, rolling over me and letting loose.