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“Neither has yours.” I couldn’t stop spewing combative words. They just came out like I had some sort of tick. “How long have they been talking?”
“They aren’t,” he insisted.
But how did I know for sure?
“He should’ve mentioned it.” I sprayed cleaner in the exact spot I’d just done. “Looks like I’m not the only one with a communication problem.”
“You’re hard to talk to.”
I put a hand on my hip. “When have you tried?”
“All you do is say mean shit.”
It was mostly true. My brutal honesty had turned into something ugly. I should be able to handle Holt speaking the truth . . . but it still hurt.
“Then what are we trying to fix here?” I leveled him with a stare.
His mouth flattened. “I don’t know.”
“I see.” I finished the section of glass I was on and threw down the rag. They all wanted me to change completely. Couldn’t love my bitter and destroyed self. If it weren’t for my son, they wouldn’t have anything to do with me at all. “You all want Blake but not the bitch of a mother who comes with him. Text me when you want to see him and we’ll figure something out.”
All I did lately wasstorm out of uncomfortable situations. It was a nasty habit, but one I couldn’t seem to stop. And I hated it. Hated the anger. Hated feeling like the bad guy all the time. Hated feeling like I didn’t belong anymore.
There was a time when I could’ve called my dad or Andrew to talk things out. They were calm and rational, sensible to my erratic emotions. But they didn’t understand me anymore.
The only person I could think of now was Patrick. When I’d gone that route the other night, it hadn’t turned out well. I liked being at his place a little more than I wanted to admit. Besides, we’d end up arguing because I didn’t know how to do anything else. I just wanted some peace.
We hadn’t left things on a good footing anyway. I’d tried to do something nice, even if it was a little selfish. I’d been worried about him after those drunk texts and our conversation and needed to see for myself he was okay. That plan had backfired.
“Guess we have to go home, buddy.”
Blake ignored me, chewing on his stuffed elephant.
I stopped at the market a few blocks away from the house. We didn’t need anything, other than to kill time.
As I climbed up the front steps to the house, the same image besieged me that always did: the Casualty Notification Officer. I felt his anxiety before he delivered the news.
And every time I opened the front door, I saw myself on my knees, beating anything my fist came into contact with.
The grief counselor who’d stopped by a few times shortly after Jack’s—I swallowed hard. She assured me it would get easier with time. She didn’t know what she was talking about.
I missed my husband more with every passing day. He’d been everything to me. Kind, patient with my everyday sarcasm, and we’d laughed. We’d laughed a lot, and I didn’t think I had heard myself do that simple thing since the last time we spoke.
“Posey hadmoon dust all over him. Hell, we all did. But he came screaming out of the shower like bloody murder,” Jack choked out between laughs.
I smiled though I didn’t know what was so funny.
“He-he didn’t-have-on-his glasses.” I could barely understand him he was laughing so hard. “He thought it was a black widow. It was a ladybug.”
That deep rumbly sound hit me in the chest. Contagious. I found myself doubled over.
“He didn’t?”
I couldn’t stop laughing. Tears rolled down my cheeks. And while the image was funny, it was just having a good time with my husband as if we were in the same room that made me happy. Jack had a way of doing that.
And now Ihad lived 654 days without him. Without the man who loved me unconditionally. He gave me the gift of our son, who was my reason to breathe.
I was so resentful about what we’d lost. My son would never know his father. My husband would never meet his child. It was so wrong. So, so wrong. I hated this house and all the memories it held. Even the good ones were painful. But we’d bought this place together. It represented the dream we’d had. All the others had shattered, but this one was still intact. I couldn’t let it go. I couldn't . . .shouldn’tleave here. For Jack. For Blake.
