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Chapter 64
Grace
Wedon’treturntothe penthouse. I’m not ready to go back to the street where Cash’s father blew up my mother.
How is that even a sentence that I have to think, let alone a reality?
I’ve been cleared to leave the hospital but because of my concussion—the likely cause of my temporary amnesia—Cash is now watching my every move.
And it’s exhausting.
It’s exhausting not crying. It’s exhausting crying.
Everythingis exhausting.
Add being seven months pregnant into the mix and I am at my wits’ end.
“You need to stop staring at me,” I remind him. It’s likely the seventh time I’ve said it in the last hour.
Cash looks away sheepishly and goes back to staring at his computer. But I know him well enough to know that he’s just going to turn his head back in my direction in three, two…yup, there he goes again. “Cash, seriously, you need to go to Bristol.”
He sits up and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I’m not leaving you.”
I sigh. “You’re right. I’m kicking you out.”
“Grace,” he growls. I study the dark circles under his eyes and the stubble which is spotty on his face. The man needs a break from watching me. And I need a break from being watched.
I press my fingers into his thigh and squeeze. He winces and moves away from me. “That hurt; what are you doing?”
“Exactly! I’m alive, Cash. My hands work. You have things you have to do. Tessa will stay here with me. Go and do what you need to do.”
Cash’s body sags against the couch, the fight just about gone. He runs his hands through his hair and then looks at me again, his gaze tired and remorseful. That’s the part I hate the most. His guilt. Every time he looks at me with those eyes, I feel guilty. And he feels guilty. We are living in a freaking cauldron of boiling guilt, and it’s burning me alive.
“Please, Cash, I love you. I love you so damn much, but you are smothering me. And we both know you have things you have to take care of. And I need to fall apart for a little bit.”
We haven’t even buried my mother. Or his father.
I’m not sure the proper protocol for a funeral for the man who tried to murder you. But as far as my mother goes, she deserves something. Softly I say, “I want to do something for my mother with Marion. Please, just let me do this. Let me say goodbye.”
Cash looks up at me and his eyes soften. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
We bury my mother on a Saturday in April. It’s a warm spring day, and we lay lilies on top of her gravesite. Cash honored my wish of allowing it to be just me, Marion, and Tessa, and at the end of the day, I lay my palm against her casket and say thank you. She may not have been perfect, and she disappointed me more than I’d like to admit, but in the end she tried.
I walk away from the day feeling closure and ready to move forward.
“He still doesn’t know my plan,” I say to Marion as I cradle my bump.
Marion smiles as she pulls me close, and Tessa wraps her arm around my other side. I lean my head on top of my friend, and the three of us walk down the street toward dinner.
“Is it all finished?” Marion asks.
I nod. “Caris sent me a picture yesterday. But she’s kept it covered so Cash can’t see.”
“What are you waiting for?” she asks.
We stop in front of the restaurant. I asked to go to the pizza place I went with my mother. I have no idea why. It’s probably not appropriate for after a funeral, but there was something about the way my mother smiled when I told her I was pregnant, or when we ate pizza together, that I want to remember.
It may seem naïve to believe that my mother cared, but I truly believe she had her moments. And one of the good ones was in this restaurant.
