AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Okay, honey.” He pats me on the knee before I stand up. I’ve been to this church once before, on Christmas Eve, so I know where the bathroom is. I didn’t notice it the time before, but a portrait of the pastor and his family is hung in the lobby.
I didn’t stop last time but I stop now.
The pastor is considerably younger, with a groomed mustache, and his hair is thicker. Marla has not aged at all; the only telling sign is a poofy perm. There’s a boy and girl in the picture.
My heart catches in my throat when I recognize her.
Amy Louise Finch.
She’s probably sixteen in the photo, the cancer spreading without anyone’s knowledge. Her hair is dark and straight, bangs covering her forehead. She has expressive hazel eyes and a warm smile.
I stand there for too long. She was just a girl, but she was Jackson’s entire world. To have Jackson’s attention like that, it makes an ordinary girl extraordinary in my eyes.
If he can’t see these lovely people, is he ready to move on with someone else? Would I be that someone else that he would want to move on with? Would Amy approve? How do I honor her?
Our night together could’ve been our breaking point, but it might’ve been just that. Sexual tension that exploded. I’m in love with him, but I’m not sure he is with me.
I’m not sure if he’s capable.
I stand at the sink for ages, my hands clipped on the porcelain.
When I go back to my seat, my thoughts are lost the entire service. I don’t hear a word the pastor says.
30
Jackson
My apartment grows darker as I pace in my living room. I switch on a lamp, and look through the blinds again, searching for that head of curly blond hair, walking up my steps.
Her vanilla scent lingers in my apartment. I found three strands of her hair on my floor. I’m counting the minutes until she’s back again.
When I hear a knock on my door at six sharp, I open it to find her and my mouth bursts into a huge grin. She doesn’t reciprocate. Her gaze focuses on the ground before she lifts her chin to look at me.
I pull her into a hug, kissing the top of her head, swaying her back and forth. When she pulls away, she rubs her face with her cardigan sleeve, a chunky gray knit that reaches her knees.
“How was your day?” I pull her by the hand to the couch.
Shiloh is stiff in my arms. I press my cheek to hers. “What’s wrong?”
“I went to church.”
“Are there burns anywhere? You didn’t burst into flames?” I lift her arm, searching her skin for scorch marks, and she laughs. I go for her side, a spot I discovered was ticklish last night, and she giggles so loud, I laugh too, and I can’t stop. Her laughter ceases, and she cranes her neck to look at me. The angle looks awkward, so I take her off my lap and tuck her into my side.
She slaps my knee. “I came out unscathed. I did meet two nice people, though.”
“Oh?” I ask.
“Pastor and Marla Williams.”
My mouth goes dry. My former in-laws were lovely people; they accepted me with open arms, even though they thought it was crazy to get married so young and delicately questioned if our decision wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction to Amy’s illness. In the end, they approved. Her dad walked her down the aisle and performed the ceremony, reading from his own Bible and gifting us his late mother’s wedding set.
I saw them once after the funeral. That dinner was torture; my head throbbed and emotion wrecked my body like the cancer wrecked hers. After that dinner, I knew it might be my last time seeing them.
It hurt too much.
“How are they?” I ask casually, trying to hide my dread.
“They seem fine. They asked me about you.”
