Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Opening the door, I peered out at him.
“Where are your kids?” he asked me softly.
“At my brother’s,” I answered, stepping aside so he could come in if he wanted.
He shook his head. “I’m going to be out here, but we’re going to block off the driveway, and we’re going to stand at the gate. I’m going to put a couple of CPD officers in your backyard as well. We’re going to be here as long as it takes.”
I nodded.
He was going to leave, I could tell from the way he turned, but then his brows furrowed and he was facing me again. “I don’t know anyone stronger or more stubborn than your husband, so I truly believe that any conjecture about his demise is categorically unfounded.”
I could only stare at him.
“If he’s at all able, he’ll live so he can continue to glare at us in that way that makes us all feel like total and complete idiots.”
I nodded quickly.
“He has it down to a science.”
“I know. I get the same look on occasion.”
He gave me a quick smile and then he was off my porch, walking back out to the curb where news trucks were now parked.
Inside, I leaned back against the front door and slid down it to the floor, sitting there trying to make sense of all the thoughts rushing through my head.
I didn’t move, I didn’t hear anything, finally folding my arms on my knees and pressing my face there as I cried.
It was stupid, but I tried to picture who I would be without Sam Kage. What would I look like? Sound like? Could I laugh? Could I even get up off the floor? What kind of parent would I be, alone? But my kids were basically grown. Sam had imparted all his lessons; he was just grinding them in at this point. We were there for support, to answer questions, to give advice, to catch them if they fell. The people they were, at this point, would stick. He’d done his job, so that part was good. If they had to lose him, now was better than when they were toddlers or in elementary school.
But…I had a vision of Sam walking Hannah down the aisle. Not me, never me. That was for Sam to do, tell whoever it was that yes, he was giving him his daughter’s hand, but he would take it back, take all of her back, if anything went wrong.
I had a vision of Sam when Kola became a doctor, standing beside him, Kola in his white coat, the name Kola Kage, MD embroidered there.
I had still never been out of the country, and I wanted to go. My plan was to go to Italy first, and I wanted Sam there, across a table from me, smiling as we gazed out at the Mediterranean.
Mostly, I wanted him home, in bed, next to me, and if I’d known this morning when he left that I might never see him squint at me or say my name or kiss me again, I would have held him tight and never let go.
What had I said when he left? Did I yell out that I loved him? I had kissed and hugged him, because I always did, but had I said the words?
When my phone rang, I saw it was Hannah, and I let it ring a couple times before I picked up.
“Did you get the flowers?” I asked her.
“Who cares?” she whimpered.
“Your father will care,” I assured her. “He always helps you with the candles if he’s home, and he likes to go over the list of ingredients.”
“That’s true,” she murmured, sucking in a breath. “And yeah, I got them. We’re gonna eat with Uncle Dane and Aunt Aja and Rob and Gen.”
“Good.”
“I’ll bring home some for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Pa,” Kola said, at which point I knew I was on speaker. “When can we come home?”
“I’ll call Uncle Dane, and he’ll let you know.”
“Our house is on the news.”
“Oh, that’s not good. Your father was going to mow tomorrow. He’ll be annoyed that he didn’t do it today.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“He’ll appreciate that.”
He made a noise, like a strangled whine almost.
“Pa.” Hannah spoke gently. “You know Beltane is a fire festival, and it officially starts summer. Dad told me he had a project he wanted to get done, and I told him he should for sure plan it on Beltane. I think he liked that idea.”
“Then you’ll need to remind him.”
“I will.”
“Okay, honey, I’ll talk to you later.”
“I love you.” Her voice was watery, and she sniffled.
“I love you back. Tell your brother too.”
“He knows,” she told me. “So does Dad.”
And I had needed to hear that. How she knew, I didn’t know, but it helped.
Hanging up, I sat there, my dog climbing into my lap, my cat sitting close, eyeing me, unsure as to my motives for sitting at the door.