Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
I narrow my eyes.
She grins. “Your heart will go on.”
I don’t want to grin, but dammit, this woman isn’t just smart, she’s witty. “Are you giving me crap about Titanic again?”
“I would never.”
“Do you make Celine Dion references with your patients?”
She tucks her gloves into her back pocket. “Of course not. Most of my patients are children. They don’t know who Celine Dion is. But I knew an old man like you would get it.”
My smile falls short of believable, and I see it reflected in her eyes and downturned lips. I’m so happy to see her, but it doesn’t change what’s waiting for me in Somers.
“I’ve read a lot of books,” she says, hands folded in front.
I nod. She’s probably read more in the past month than I have in my whole life.
“A lot of theories about life. Its purpose. Where we come from. Where we’re going. But I think we know nothing. I think the deeper you go down the rabbit hole of science, the closer you’ll get to the conclusion that we’ve not even skimmed the surface of understanding life. I think we’re just here to love.”
“Love?”
Everleigh nods.
“That’s it. You think it’s that simple?”
She laughs. “You haven’t been listening. There is nothing simple about love. If it were, I would be out of a job; police wouldn’t be needed. There would be no crime. No poverty. No war. But love is complicated. So”—she shrugs—“here we are.”
“Well”—I turn away from her and pinch the bridge of my nose—“my father can’t love his way out of this. I will never get his voice out of my head, the way it breaks when he calls me in a confused state. His last shred of lucidity tells him something awful is happening. He says, ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s awful.’”
I blink past the burning in my eyes. Dammit. I don’t want to cry in front of her. “So”—I look at the ceiling—“what am I supposed to say to that?”
“What do you say?” Everleigh asks in a soft voice.
Again I laugh, but it’s more of a grunt. Gritting my teeth, I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I say, ‘Yeah’”—my voice cracks like his—‘“it is awful. And there is nothing you can do about it. And it’s not okay, but it’s life.’” I wipe the heels of my hands along the corners of my eyes. “When he’s dead, it will be okay. But he’s not dead. He’s . . .”
“Dying,” she says.
I nod several times. Nope. I’m not crying in front of her. Life sucks too much to let her see me like this. “I gotta go.” I head toward the door. “We’ll leave around one, if you want to go hiking.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Everleigh
“Oh, hey, Everleigh,” Jamie says, opening the door. Her expression doesn’t convey expectancy. “What’s up?”
“Will invited me hiking. Is that okay?”
Jamie glances over her shoulder at the crew gathered in the living room. Maren and Ozzy. Fitz. And Will, who looks almost as surprised to see me as Jamie does.
“Uh”—he shakes his head as if his thoughts need to be rattled to life—“yeah. I stopped by her property this morning to check out the barn. And I mentioned the hike and offered to let her tag along.”
I’m not sure he can handle his dad’s impending death and his friends thinking he has feelings for me. So I help him out.
“I sort of invited myself. He didn’t have much of a choice.” I shrug, stepping onto the burnt orange entry rug so Jamie can close the door.
Will studies me through slightly squinted eyes, back against the linen gray wall beside the white stone-framed fireplace. A fall garland that matches the door’s wreath lines the mantel.
I can’t stop myself from imagining what our place would look like during the holidays. Would we decorate it like Jamie has done, or would we spend too much time gaming to care about decorations?
“I’m proud of you, Will.” Maren pats his back. “You’ve made amends with your past, and things don’t have to be so awkward. I’m glad you invited Everleigh.”
Jamie eyes me with distrust.
“Those are cute socks,” I say, nodding to her pink-and-purple wool socks.
“Oh, thanks,” she says, falling for the distraction. “Fitz got them for me this morning.”
“Fitz is a good man.”
“He really is.” She holds out her hand as if he’ll let her pull him from the sofa.
Instead, he hooks his arm around her waist and hugs her. My heart somersaults when he kisses her tiny baby bump.
I want that. A man who adores me and buys me cute wool socks. Instead, I’ve fallen for a tortured firefighter who keeps me at arm’s length.
“Everleigh!” Lola calls, barreling into the living room. “Thanks for the ice cream. You’re the coolest.”
“I’m glad you got it. I think your dad was eyeing it pretty hard.” I smile at Ozzy.