Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I squint. “What am I looking at?”
“Your health insurance card. Let’s get you scheduled with your doctor. Get your medication straight. And get you on the road to a normal life again.”
“Driving. Get me driving again. My first hour’s pay each day goes straight to paying for an Uber driver.”
“Six months is six months … well, five now. A doctor can’t speed that up, but keeping you on track will hopefully prevent it from happening again. Wouldn’t you like that?” He winks at me with a smirk on his face before he turns and saunters toward the bedroom to change his clothes.
A few minutes later, Zach retrieves the leftover pizza and a beer and comes back into the living room. “Happy birthday.” He hands me a present wrapped in white paper and a pink ribbon.
I try to bite my lip to keep from grinning like a fool. Too late. “How did you know it’s my birthday?”
“Birth certificate at the courthouse.” He sits on the opposite end of the sofa. Just his nearness makes my day exponentially better. Just thinking that makes my guilt exponentially worse.
Carefully unwrapping the gift, I peel open the lid.
“For all your traveling,” he says, a prideful smile stealing his lips.
It’s a carry-on bag with lots of compartments for more camera parts than I own—yet. “It’s perfect. I love it. But you shouldn’t have. You’ve already done way too much.” Before I realize what I’m doing, my body stretches across the sofa, giving him a hug while he holds out his plate of pizza in one hand and his beer in his other hand.
“Oof … you’re welcome.”
Settling back into my spot, I wake up my computer and angle the screen. “I used to show these to Suzie, and she’d roll her eyes and tell me to delete them.”
Zach sits up straighter, easing his head forward a fraction while squinting at the collage of photos, a half dozen candid shots of Suzie.
Her in the recliner, gazing out the window with a dreamy expression on her face.
One of her in the garden, perched on her garden cart, sniffing a handful of basil while the tails of her head scarf blow in the wind.
A crooked-angled one of her hands braiding my hair—she called me obsessed when I lifted my camera over my head to shoot it.
“That one.” He points to the one of her … and him. “Can you make it bigger?”
I forgot it was in this collage until after I angled my screen to show him. With a quick double click, it enlarges to take up the whole screen. In the photo, he’s carrying her to the bedroom, the lights are dim, so it’s almost a silhouette. I snapped it two days before he called hospice.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “In hindsight, it feels like I shouldn’t have taken it. Like the moment was private and not mine to record.”
Zach's head inches side to side. “It’s … fine.”
“The way you loved her … well, it made me believe in love.”
He leans back into the sofa, and I close my computer.
For the next several minutes he finishes his pizza, then he stands. “How do you feel about ice cream?”
“Uh …” I laugh. “I think it sounds cold.”
“But necessary? After all, it’s your birthday.” He eyes me like I didn’t just shove painful memories into his face.
My laugh breaks free into a nervous chuckle. “Sure …”
“Then let’s go.” He returns his dishes to the kitchen.
Ice cream?
I don’t say another word. Zach's sudden change in subject and desire to celebrate my birthday has piqued my curiosity.
Fifteen minutes later, we climb out of his car and approach the ice cream shop. It opened a few weeks before Suzie died.
“I was going to bring her here, but …”
I nod. There’s no need to elaborate.
He orders chocolate mint, and I get salted caramel. With our waffle cones in hand, we stroll down the sidewalk lined with stores, most of them closed for the night.
“Cute handbag,” I say to a lady as she passes us with her tiny dog.
Her face lights up and her steps falter a bit. It’s a black purse. Nothing fancy. Nothing special. “Thank you,” she says.
“It wasn’t cute,” Zach murmurs after she passes us.
“Doesn’t matter.” I shrug. “It’s all about the bounce.”
“The bounce?”
“Suzie always complimented my clothes, my hair, handbags, even my smile. And I don’t think all of it was worthy of recognition. But after she’d compliment me in some way, I’d have an extra bounce in my step. It’s so easy to give someone a little bounce. So why the heck don’t we do it more often? It took two seconds and virtually no energy to compliment that lady’s handbag, but she’ll have that extra bounce in her step for … well, potentially the rest of the night.”
Zach licks his ice cream, and we continue our walk. I wonder how he feels about me talking about Suzie or showing him photos? Am I overstepping a boundary? Am I making it harder for him to move on?