Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
As I lift my head and exit her room, I scratch my forehead to hide my face. Then I shut off her lights and pull the door 90 percent shut.
Mow the yard.
Grease the squeaky back door.
Trim the low-hanging branch on the maple tree.
The problem is I can’t make mental lists and keep going forever. After I close my bedroom door behind me and take two steps, my legs give out, and I fall to my knees, fisting my hair while shaking with silent sobs.
But they don’t stay silent for long; the pain is too great. So I reach for my comforter, pull it off the bed, and wad part of it into a ball to bury my face and muffle my cries.
Angry, hate-filled, soul-snatching cries.
“Nooo . . . God . . . p-please . . . n-nooo . . .”
It’s been two years since I’ve felt my insides ripping to pieces.
Two years since I’ve hated God, the world, and life in general this much.
Two years since I had to pretend that I wasn’t slowly dying, all in the name of a brave face for everyone around me.
When I’ve let out enough emotion to put the lid back on my feelings, I drop the comforter and stare at the window through dead eyes. I can still see her climbing into my bedroom.
Her giggles.
That unstoppable smile.
And a light in her eyes so bright that I felt it in my chest.
Maren was my second chance.
My last chance.
I’ll never let myself feel this way again. Everything is for Lola. Perhaps Tia wasn’t trying to punish me. Maybe she was trying to protect Lola and me from this. Why risk everything again if we were lucky enough to survive it once?
But that’s what I did. And I don’t regret it.
Still, I’m done.
I can’t find my phone; maybe I left it upstairs. When I turn the corner into the kitchen, Tia’s sorting her pills into their respective slots for the week.
I reach for my phone on the counter next to her. Before I can slide it off the edge, Tia rests her hand on mine and squeezes it.
“You don’t deserve this,” she whispers. “No one deserves this.” She turns her head to look at me, but I can’t move my gaze from our hands.
Not her.
I can’t cry in front of the woman who has been the bane of my existence for years. In fact, I hate that she’s being kind. It feels rather cruel after everything she’s put me through. I’d find it easier to deal with her lecturing me on my poor choices, bad parenting, and a litany of other grievances about me.
“I hope they find her and she’s okay.” Tia lifts her hand and moves it to my shoulder.
I curl my fingers around the phone and turn, escaping her touch and her pity.
When I return to my room, I sit on the end of the bed and text Taylor.
Ozzy: Have you heard anything about Maren?
Taylor: Not yet. I can check again
Ozzy: Please do
Taylor: Is there something going on between you two?
I stare at his text.
Ozzy: Yes
I wait five minutes, pacing my room.
Ten minutes.
Just as I start to type another text, my phone pings.
Taylor: They’ve found her location. Crews are en route
Ozzy: Any word on her condition?
I swallow hard while my eyes burn with more emotions.
Taylor: No. But you need to prepare yourself
I ever so slowly type two words—five letters and a space.
Ozzy: I know
Aircraft accidents are unforgiving. Life is unforgiving.
Chapter Thirty-Five
After five hours of staring at shadows on my ceiling, I get a text. It’s just after three in the morning.
Taylor: Maren’s alive
He starts with the good part, and I take my first full breath since Ira called me last night.
Taylor: She’s been transported to the nearest level 1 trauma center
Taylor: She’s in surgery. I’ll update you as soon as I can
I call him.
“Hey, it’s all I know for now,” he says.
“Did I work on that plane?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t—”
“Jesus. I worked on that plane. I worked. On. That. Fucking. Plane.”
“Oz—”
“Don’t say it. You don’t know yet. What if I missed something? What if she—” I choke on my words as emotion burns my eyes.
“One day at a time. Okay? It could be weeks or months before we know anything for sure. Today she’s alive. You are a damn good mechanic. Meticulous and thorough. Don’t take the blame for this. It’s way too soon. Okay?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“Get some sleep.”
I slide my phone onto my nightstand and curl into a ball on my side. She’s alive. Hundreds of miles from Missoula, but alive.
Eventually, I steal an hour of sleep before jumping into the shower. When I get upstairs, dressed for work and tired as fuck, Tia and Amos greet me from the kitchen table with matching melancholic expressions. I’m sure I look just as sad to them.