Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
The cycle continued from there. I was made out to be the troubled child she couldn’t control, and the treatment only got worse after my father died.
When we were kids, my sister Norah and I were close. I watched out for her much like a mother would and cared for her in all the ways I wished our mother would’ve cared for me. I was the voice of reason in a clog of mis-influence by Eleanor, and I thought I was doing right by leaving Norah to come back to Red Bridge when I did. She was young, but I still thought she’d see through our mother’s bullshit enough to come find me when she came of age.
But I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Seeing her at the funeral, clinging to our mother’s back, was like a sharp knife to how I thought everything would be. I talked Clay’s ear off about it all last night, including all the sordid details of Jezzy’s death and the truth about how tragic it really was.
I burdened him with all my heartache and all the pain, and I let him comfort me when it all became too much. He asked if he could come with me this morning to visit with Jezzy and to the doctor after, but there’s still a selfish part of me that feels like all of this is mine to work through and mine alone.
It’s shortsighted and not quite fair—I know—but I’m still working on getting past it.
The alarm on my phone goes off, and I lift my head carefully, my neck stiff from how long I’ve been lying here in the cold.
I sit up and touch my hand to Jezzy’s headstone and pray that wherever she is, Grandma Rose has found her.
“Love you, Jezz,” I whisper one last time before climbing to my feet and dusting leaves and dead grass from my leggings.
My lungs sting and my breath puffs in front of me as I walk back through the cemetery to my Civic, passing straight by Grandma Rose’s gravestone without stopping. It’s not that I wouldn’t like to visit her—I want it more than almost anything else in this world. It’s that if I do, I’ll never be able to make myself leave in time to get to my doctor’s appointment. And it’s taken me nearly three weeks to get in as it is. The last thing I need is to miss this thing.
I climb in the car and start it, heading straight for our tiny health clinic on the outskirts of town. Dr. Klenny is my regular doctor here in Red Bridge, but something about going to someone I’ve known my whole life and asking for drugs to help me survive didn’t sit right.
I’d rather see someone I don’t know, someone with a fresh perspective on me as a patient, rather than knowing my whole life story the second I set foot in the door.
Dr. Masterson is new to town and moved here from Indianapolis, so she’s got more of a big-city, none-of-my-business attitude.
My phone rings from the passenger seat just as I’m pulling into the parking lot, and upon seeing Clay’s name on the screen, I pick it up and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe. Just checking in. You doing okay?”
I know it’s probably killing him not to be here, but with just the sound of his voice, I’m glad he isn’t. Not because I don’t love him or he wouldn’t be supportive. But because I’m tired of him seeing me so incredibly weak. I want to be the woman he so desperately wanted to marry, and I need to find a way to be her on my own.
“I just pulled in. I stopped to see Jezz first.”
“That’s good. She was talkative, I bet.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
I surprise myself by laughing. It’s not something I do a lot anymore. It figures it’d be something seriously twisted and morose that would actually do it for me.
“Oh yeah,” I reply. “Chatty Cathy, that one.”
I can hear the relief in his voice as he says, “Okay, babe. Call me after? Or come see me. Whatever you want.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Jose.”
“Love you too,” I say simply. Because for as much of a mess as I am and as hard as it’s been to rationalize how the timing of our union intersected with Grandma Rose’s death, I do love him. So much it hurts sometimes.
Running late now, I click out of the call and gather my purse quickly to jump out into the parking lot. I wrap my scarf around my neck a little tighter and jog to the front door, pausing only briefly when the sickening wave of furnace heat hits me in the face.
Almost as quickly as I wound it, I unfurl my scarf and pull it off and into my hand as I approach the front desk. There’s a sign-in sheet on the little window ledge, and I fill out my name and information while the receptionist smiles at me. I don’t recognize her, and that feels like a good thing.