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)
Melba telling me how happy Grandma Rose would be and Pete Peeler joking that he can’t wait to see little Josies and Clays running around Red Bridge while I’m still dealing with the internal crisis of the timing of it all was too much all at once. I know I’m processing slowly, but I’m processing. I don’t need to be rushed.
“You’re mad that I didn’t give you time to prepare?” he questions, and shock is evident in his voice. “Jose, I’ll be honest, I’m not understanding how you could possibly be mad that I told some of our closest friends that we’re married. Because we are married. Call me fucking crazy, but in my mind, that’s something to celebrate.”
He’s not wrong. But I don’t think he’s right either. His viewpoint is a narrow tunnel, completely lacking in consideration for how much more complicated this is than married equals good. I wish more than anything I had the emotional tether to explain that rationally and at a stable volume, but my raw nerves and pregnancy hormones assure I don’t.
“It’s not so black-and-white and simple as you make it sound, Clay! Eileen Martin is going to have that in tomorrow’s paper. And what’s the headline going to be? Clay and Josie got married the day Rose had a stroke? How dense are you that you can’t see why something like this has me feeling a certain way?”
By the time I finish, I’m nearly shouting.
“I get that you’re sad, Jose,” Clay challenges back, his voice escalating too. “I get that you miss Rose. Fuck, I miss Rose. I loved that woman like she was my own grandmother. But at some point, we are going to have to start living our lives. At some point, we are going to have to move the fuck on.”
Move the fuck on? It’s so cavalier. So fucking selfish. He’s got to be kidding me.
“Move on and live our lives? You say that like I got a paper cut, Clay. I lost one of the most important people in my entire life, and I wasn’t there! I wasn’t there when she needed me most! In her final conscious moments, she was all alone because I wasn’t there!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “You want me to just act like none of it happened? Act like I’m happy and perfectly fine?”
“That’s not what I meant, Jo—”
“You know, maybe I can just paint a permanent smile on my face so that no one has to see how sad I am. That would probably be easier, huh? Easier if I just hide my grief because it’s such an inconvenience for everyone.”
“Jose, I—”
“Don’t worry, Clay,” I continue, my voice still far too loud for the small confines of the car. “I’ll find a way to just shove it all down. We can go pick out wedding cakes and flowers and—”
“Josie!” Clay screams just as my gaze catches sight of headlights from the other side of the road, crossing the yellow line. “Watch out!”
I hit the brakes, but it’s too late. I don’t react in time. The car is going too fast, and the roads are too slick to stop. My scream echoes in the tight corners, and the headlights collide with us, head on.
44
Clay
Thursday, November 24th
Time is in slow motion. Everything is black around me. Tires squealing and the sounds of glass shattering and metal crushing blare inside my ears. The car spins. Josie screams, and the airbags pop from the dashboard with the kind of force that shoves me back into my seat.
The sounds of Josie’s screams fade as I feel a sharp stabbing pain in my stomach, and by the time the car comes to a stop, my ears are ringing loudly and my mind swirls with shock.
I stare straight through the place where the windshield used to be to the dark, snow-covered field in front of us. Cold, wet flakes land on my skin, and frigid wind howls past my face.
Adrenaline laces my blood, and my heart pounds so hard that it’s all I can hear inside my ears. Time doesn’t exist, and my cognition is definitely impaired.
Everything hurts, and any movement at all takes Herculean effort.
Josie.
I force myself up to sitting and crane my neck to the side, my breath coming in short pants. “Josie?” I ask, my voice sounding stilted through gritted teeth. She’s still in the driver’s seat, and her whole body is covered in glass, her eyes wide and scared. “Josie?”
“Clay?” she whispers, not looking in my direction. I think she’s in shock. “Clay?”
“I’m here,” I tell her and squeeze her hand. “I’m here. Look at me, Jose.”
She turns to meet my eyes slowly, and I get a look at the blood that’s trickling down her forehead on the other side. It’s in her hairline, muddying the bright blond, too. “Fuck, Jose. Are you okay?”