Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
God, what ensued was awful. Without really even understanding why he was doing what he was to me, I tried to hold on to the illusion of happiness we had. It ended up being me…flat-out begging Rafe with all my might to change his mind. It was so ugly. The woman I am today is so ashamed of how pathetic I was back then, down on my knees, holding on to his legs, sobbing and begging him not to leave me behind.
My face heats up just from the memory of that pitiful eighteen-year-old girl who didn’t understand her own worth. Who couldn’t figure out that Rafe wasn’t good enough for her, and not the other way around.
But I know it now.
Rafe shifts in his seat, gaze still on the scenery whizzing by. I steal a glance at him, irritated that he’s only gotten better-looking over time. He’s filled out…become brawnier, but it’s the face that always gets me. Warm brown hair that always looks tousled and expressive hazel eyes. Gone is the boyish hotness, and in its place is an incredibly handsome, rugged-looking man.
Hell, even his gorgeous looks piss me off, and I turn back to the road.
The silence between us should be welcoming, but in a way, it’s grating. I’m torn between wanting to be a bitch to him because he deserves it and wanting to hug the hell out of him because of what he’s going through right now. To complicate matters, I love his father, too. I’m grieving just as he is, and I can’t even accept comfort from him, which I know he’ll attempt to give me at some point. I figure I’ll reconcile those conflicting feelings eventually.
I pull into our neighborhood. It’s mostly modest split-levels built in the sixties on small lots shaded by oaks and pines. Rafe’s house is the same dove gray it’s always been, with burgundy shutters and a small slab concrete porch with three steps. My parents’ house used to be a baby blue, but they just recently painted it white with black shutters. They added an iron railing to the porch, something my mom had wanted for years and my dad surprised her with.
I choose to park at my parents’ home since I’ll be joining them for dinner tonight—not that it matters. The parallel driveways actually run right beside each other, separated only by about three feet of new spring grass.
“Thanks for the ride,” Rafe says without looking my way, and then he’s out the passenger door. It’s closed before I even get the engine shut off. By the time I’m stepping out, he’s got his suitcase out of my rear hatch and is headed to his front porch.
I follow along behind, telling myself that it would be nice to check in on Jim and Brenda. Doesn’t matter that I just looked in on them a few hours ago, which led to me being asked to pick up Rafe from the airport. Doesn’t matter that Rafe and I aren’t even on speaking terms really. I stick close to him as he bounds up the porch steps and drops his suitcase off to the side beside an empty planter.
He hesitates for just a moment, his hand inches from the storm door handle. His face angles my way, and I get a glimpse of hesitancy in his expression. It doesn’t last but a second before his jawline hardens, and he pulls open the door. Without delay, he steps into the house, and for a moment, I lose sight of him.
I scramble…the screen door closing all the way. I wrench it open, finding that Rafe left the interior door open. There’s nothing wrong with me barging into the Simmonses’ home…I’ve been doing it for well over two decades, and no one expects me to knock.
I step into a small foyer from which a half staircase leads up to the living area, and a half staircase leads down to the basement level. I choose up, knowing that’s where Rafe will find Jim in his cozy recliner, watching sports. It’s where the recliner will eventually be replaced by a hospital bed once he loses mobility. I was there when Brenda sat down and talked with a hospice representative not long ago.
I trot up the steps—five in all—and round the banister that opens into a small living room.
I see Brenda first, pulling away from a hug with Rafe. He holds on to her just a bit longer than he might ordinarily, then releases her with a wan smile. She touches her fingertips to his cheek and steps away.
A lump forms in my throat as Rafe turns toward his dad. Jim struggles out of his recliner, his body becoming noticeably weaker every day. Brenda takes a step his way, intent on helping him up as she often does, I’m sure, but Rafe places a restraining hand on her shoulder. A silent plea to let his dad do it himself because he wouldn’t want to look weak to his son.