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)
“Not a good look, huhs?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know that anyone would have a good look when they found out the man they thought they divorced had managed to keep them married.”
“Bingo bongo, girl.” I point one index finger at her face.
“How long ago did you divorce?”
“Um…” I try to count the years in my head, and when that feels impossible, I lift a hand and start to use my fingers. “One…two…three… Like…five years, I think?”
Her eyes are wide. “Five years ago?”
“Yeah. I’ve been married to that fucker for five years and didn’t even know it.”
She shakes her head on a laugh. “Now I see why you almost strangled him on the altar this afternoon.”
I burst into laughter, but as it goes on, it transforms, turning into a sob of sorts. Tears stream down my face, and I have to clutch at my chest it feels so tight. All the stupid emotions and feelings and memories, so many memories, feel like they’re stuck inside me, and if I don’t let some of them free, I’ll explode.
“I didn’t want to divorce him, but I had to. Too much shit had happened. So many sad and terrible things. And the accident! I almost lost him in a car wreck, did you know that?”
Breezy shakes her head…or maybe she doesn’t; I don’t know. All I can do is keep talking as my vision turns a little hazy.
“I was driving and we were fighting, and next thing I knew, everything was chaos. Screeching and, God, the sound of the metal crunching. It was so terrible.”
“God, Josie.” Breezy’s voice is near my ear, but I’m too busy staring at the table. “I’m so sorry, honey. But thank goodness you all survived.”
My words are a haunted whisper. “Not all of us.”
I don’t even realize tears are streaming down my cheeks until she reaches out to swipe a few away. “Josie.” My name on her lips is the embodiment of all my pain.
“He never even knew about the baby,” I admit shamefully. “I never got to tell him. I wish I’d told him.”
“Oh, honey,” she whispers and slides her chair closer to mine to wrap her arms around me. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”
“It’s all my fault. The wreck. The baby. Grandma Rose being alone.”
“No, Josie,” She squeezes me tighter. “None of those things were your fault.”
Yeah, they were. And so was the rest of it.
I find myself wrapping my arms around her and hugging her right back. Some things, no matter how much I wish they would be, will never be the same.
36
Clay
Tuesday, August 31st
Josie clings to Breezy as she cries, the two of them highlighted by the soft light of only a single lamp. The town is quiet, the wedding decorations are stowed, Bennett and Norah have Summer resting at home, and all that’s left is the damage I’ve created.
I stand there in the street for a long moment, watching the two of them embrace and wishing things were different. Wishing I could be the one to comfort her—wishing she wouldn’t rather anyone else on the planet but me.
If I were a better man, I’d say I regret keeping us married, even though I don’t. That tomorrow, I’m going to call my lawyer and tell him to file the papers. I’d give her what she wants and do it without consternation or guilt trips.
But I’m not a better man.
I’m a desperate man. A man who still loves his wife more than he loves anything in this world and knows we should be together.
I can’t make myself give up because it’s not an option.
It doesn’t matter that my best friend got in my face and read me the riot act or that we nearly came to blows after Josie ran off, and it doesn’t matter that half the town gave me reproachful looks as I knuckled down to help clean up.
Josie Ellis is the love of my life. And I’m the love of hers, too. After seeing the way she looked at me during those damn vows I’ve been sitting on for all these years, I know it.
I want to rap my knuckles against the glass window of her coffee shop and beg her to talk to me. I want to tell her the truth—that I love her, that I’ve never stopped loving her, and that I’m sorry for all the ways I went wrong.
I want her to tell me why she had to leave—to tell me where the hell I went wrong so I can fix it.
There are so many things I want to say, but as I stand here, peering in her store’s window like a fucking creep and watching tears stream down her face while Breezy rubs a comforting hand on her back, I know now isn’t the time.
I may be impulsive and fucked up and self-serving sometimes, but none of those things are going to help heal my wife. She needs space and support, and she needs patience.