Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
This pause is two moments long enough to trigger a sense of dread in my gut.
I force a swallow, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “Gray?”
“So I guess you didn’t get my text this morning, huh?”
I pull the phone away from my face and open my texts. There’s nothing since last night. What is he talking about? “The last text you sent me was at nine o’clock when you asked me if I made it home, and I said yes.”
He groans. “Fucking Wi-Fi.” His sigh is filled with frustration, and the sound of it tells me I’m going to be feeling similarly soon. “I didn’t want to panic you, but I had to leave town late last night. There’s an emergency.”
“Oh, my God. I’m sorry.” My eyes dart around the porch. “Is everything okay? What can I do to help?”
“It’ll be fine. I promise. I just need to be … here to make a couple of decisions, and then I’ll be home late tonight.”
My brain sorts through what could possibly be wrong. Is it Hartley? Brooks? Jasper? Did something happen to Cathy? I press a hand to my heart as if the pressure can keep it from beating out of my chest.
“Okay,” I say, my thoughts scrambled. “Um, is everyone okay? Hartley? Cathy?”
“Yeah, Astrid. Everyone’s okay.” He sighs again, and I can hear exhaustion in his tone. “My flight gets in late. I’ll come by and see you when I get home, all right?”
Flight? I stand a bit taller, adding that information to the mix. It’s not like I know his whole family, but I thought they were all in Sugar Creek. So, where the hell is he flying?
“I’ll explain everything tonight, sweetheart,” he says. “But I have to go now.”
“What about the groceries?”
“The code to the lock is four-seven-eight-six-two. I hate to ask you to take them in, but I didn’t realize you ordered me stuff.”
I frown. “Yeah, I just thought since we were going to hang out all day that I could restock you while I was there. But don’t worry. I’ll sort them. Four-seven-eight-six-two?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
“And Astrid?”
“Yeah?”
He takes a breath. “You’re the only thing that will get me through this day. Remember that. See you soon.”
And the line goes dead.
“What the fuck was that?” I pull the phone from my face and look at the screen. Call ended.
Oof.
I shove the device in my pocket and punch the code in the lock before I forget it. I’m operating in a haze, my brain preoccupied with making sense of Gray’s emergency.
The door clicks open, and I step inside the apartment, propping it ajar with a bag of rice. Nothing about what he just said makes sense. But, he did sound frazzled, and he doesn’t get frazzled often. So whatever is going on must’ve blindsided him.
Poor guy.
I cart the bags into the kitchen and then close the door securely. The apartment feels different without Gray here, but I still love it. Maybe it’s because I can see us all over the place. At the coffee table playing chess, having tacos on the kitchen bar … Gray carrying me down the hall to the shower after our fun got a little messy on the couch.
That was such a great night.
I turn to grab a carton of eggs when I notice a letter laying open on the counter. A strange calm washes over me as I peer at the letter like it’s going to leap across the room and bite me. Something tells me it can … and it will.
An envelope is on top of the sheet of crisp white paper. I flip it over in my hand and see a Denver return address. It’s made out to Gray specifically, but there’s no last name on the return address.
My hands shake as I toss the envelope on the bar and pick up the paper. It’s a single sheet with no letterhead or logo, and the words are handwritten in a woman’s penmanship.
I lean against the counter for support, knowing I shouldn’t read this, but I’m unable not to.
Dear Gray,
I’ve started this several times over the last couple of months but can’t seem to get it right. There’s a lot to say, but it’s all so complicated and laced with pain and grief, and the last thing I wish to do is to bring you any more suffering.
The paper trembles as I hold it, fighting the lump in my throat so I can continue to breathe. I don’t know what I expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. What is going on?
First, and most importantly, I want to thank you for paying for my rehabilitation services over the last two years. I know it was you. I just put it together over the last few months. I can’t fathom how you found the money, Gray, and the sacrifices you’ve had to make to do this for me. There aren't enough words to sufficiently thank you. You are an amazing man. But we knew that before this happened.