Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“Another fair point.” I sigh. “My relationship with your mother is between the two of us. Okay? I mean that with all due respect. All I can share with you is that . . . is that something happened with me, not her—she’s innocent in this—and I have to leave.”
He groans, clearly unhappy with this answer. And then he takes in a quick breath.
Even though I can’t see him and am a couple of hours away, I sense the change in him. I can feel the vibration of an upset little boy bleeding through the phone.
“You told me not to let my thoughts turn into worries,” he says, his voice on the verge of panic. “And I’m worrying because of you.”
“Ethan . . .”
“You won’t give me answers to my questions, but I’ll give you one to yours—how are things? They’re horrible, Cole. I’m on a walk outside right now because I’m tired of pretending like I don’t hear my mom crying.”
My vision of Cincinnati is blurred by the tears filling my eyes.
“She tries to hide it from me,” he says, his voice wavering. “She’s such a good mom. She doesn’t want me to worry, but I do worry because I’m the only person looking out for her.”
“That’s not true. I—”
“It is true. You left.” He spits the words out like they’re a death sentence. “You’re the only thing that makes her happy. You made our life so good because you were nice to us. You helped us. You were fun to be around, and you cared about us. We thought you did, anyway.”
A frog sits in my throat as I try to blink back my tears. I’ve never felt as low as I do right now—all at the hands of a preteen.
“I do care about you,” I say. “I care about both of you.”
“Then how do I fix her? How do I make her stop crying? How do I fix this and go back to before we knew you?”
Don’t. Please. Don’t do that.
Remember me, Ethan.
“Buddy, I’m sorry,” I say.
“We could go to California,” he says, starting to ramble. “Did you think about that? Or you could stay here. You could go do what you have to do and come back.”
“It’s not that easy—”
“Or we could go somewhere in the middle. Would that be better? What about Colorado? It’s in the middle. We’ll go anywhere.”
I smile sadly, wiping the tears off my chin. If only it were that easy.
“Where is your mom right now?” I ask him, needing to know she’s safe.
“She’s in the house talking to Kirk. Her boss. His wife is dying. It just makes Mom sadder and more stressed out.”
A jolt of pain tears across my brain, making me wince. I think back to the last time I saw Palmer and her anguish over her boss. And I made it worse.
“I don’t know which side would be worse—Charlotte’s, because it’s her life that’s ending, or Kirk’s? Because his life is ending too.”
Her words echo through my brain. “His life is ending too.”
Damn if I don’t understand that.
I can’t imagine having to watch the love of my life pass away. But on the other side of that coin, I know I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
If I were lucky enough to have Palmer like Kirk has Charlotte, I’d feel blessed and honored to be with her through the last days of her life. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I wouldn’t care that it ended up with a miserable last month or that I had to see her sick or that I had to take care of her. It would be the only way I’d have it. Which makes me remember my dad’s sage words . . . ones I didn’t believe at the time.
“I’ll tell you what, Cole. I couldn’t live without your mother. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she would rather walk through fire beside me than live on a beach without me. That’s love. And if you figure out that you love Palmer Clark, you’ll come home. You won’t have a choice.”
Something inside me stirs.
Holy shit.
I turn away from the window and walk to my computer. I close the lid.
My insides twist and turn, my mind racing through a series of unlikely events that just might be possible if I play my cards right.
“Ethan, can you do me a favor?” I ask him. “I know you don’t owe me any favors, but I’d really, really like you to do this one for me.”
“I guess. I’m still pissed at you, though.”
“Whoa. Language. But, you know, thank you. Just don’t let your mom hear you say that.”
“What do you want?” he asks point-blank.
I run a hand down my face. My skin is hot and damp to the touch.
“I need you to trust me,” I say.