Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
That’s sad. It’s sad she married an asshole. I suppose had she not, I wouldn’t be here which means Reagan wouldn’t exist. So I back up the mental train and let myself be a little grateful that my mom did marry that asshole.
I find a blank sheet and scribble a few things before tearing it from the spiral bound book and handing it to her.
She reads it, tears instantly filling her eyes.
Dear Mom,
Thank you for loving me more than any other human has ever loved me.
Your favorite son,
Colten
While she wipes a few tears she laughs. “I won’t show Chad.”
I shrug. “He’s a big boy. He can take the truth.”
She shakes her head. “I do. I love you so far beyond words, it’s … unimaginable.” Her hand rests on my foot. “I feel your grief. I feel the hollowness of your heart. I feel your fractured soul. I feel you. God, I wish I could take it all away. I wish I could bring her back and make her better. A mother wants many things for her children, but I wanted you to experience love. The kind I never had. And I knew it was Josie. I knew it from the time you were young kids, and I’ve known it every day since.”
Pulling in a long breath, she releases it slowly. “You will be okay. You will go on to do great things like you did when you let her go the first time.”
Let her go.
Is that what I’m doing?
I’m not sure I ever really let her go the first time. For seventeen years, I held on to hope. And she came back into my life. It was a goddamn miracle.
Mom folds the note I gave her in half. “I know you weren’t writing me a love letter. What are you writing? If I can ask?”
I toss her the notebook. “I’m writing down all of my memories of her.” I shrug as Mom glances through the pages. “I think some people are afraid of moving on because they don’t want to forget. I’ll admit, I don’t want to move on without her, but I have a job, a daughter, a mother, and a brother. I have a life even if it’s a life with a Josephine Watts-sized hole in it. And whether I want it to or not, life is moving forward. Some days I feel tied to a treadmill. I don’t want to move on, but I don’t have a choice.” I take the notebook back when she hands it to me. “In forty … fifty years, I might need some of these memories. I don’t want them to fade to the point that I don’t recall them.”
Mom moves to the side of the bed and bends down to hug me. “You’re everything your father wasn’t. You are a good man and just … a good human.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
March.
April.
May.
“You came.” Savannah smiles and hugs me.
“Of course.” I peer at the crowd seated in the botanical garden for Josie’s celebration of life while Savannah whispers, “We’re not giving up on a miracle.” She releases me and squeezes my hand. “Friends and family need this. We’ll have a different kind of celebration when she’s home again.”
I hide my reaction behind a neutral expression. It’s been two months since I’ve seen Savannah and Isaac. The last time, they visited to go through some things at Josie’s house. I was under the impression that they had accepted what I’ve said all along … Josie’s dead.
“Okay.” That’s it. That’s my best response. “Um … I didn’t expect to see so many people here.” I narrow my eyes and survey the crowd. There are people from school that I haven’t seen since senior year. People who were not friends of Josie’s. It’s … weird.
“They’re here for you too. A lot of people wanted to pay their respects to you after your father died. Now they can do it for both your father and Josie.”
Yep. So weird.
“Would you like to speak? I put your name on the program, but if you can’t do it, we’ll just skip over you.”
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. I clear my throat. “Sure.” I’m not doing it for Josie. This would drive her crazy. She hated being the center of attention, except with me. She wanted to be my center of attention. And she was … just my everything. I’m doing this for her parents, to help give them closure I’m not sure they’re really looking for yet.
I take a seat in the front row. A collage of photos resides on wood stands lining both sides of the podium. Josie’s parents were married in this very spot. Two years later, Savannah was raped on their anniversary. There’s too much to wrap my head around in this surreal moment.
Josie’s dad speaks first. I tune him out. Then her mom speaks, causing everyone to reach for tissues. Except me. I’m too busy thinking about my life with Josie. Thinking about what I’m going to say.