Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
I sit up a little taller. “You don’t think so? Because I sure do. We were more friends than anything. He knew… I told Allen in the beginning that I loved him but was not in love with him. He knew that I was with him because I couldn’t be with the man I really loved. I can’t blame him for doing what he did.”
She points at me. “You just said it, Isabel. You told him how you felt, but he thought it would change. He thought he could change you.”
“I know, but—”
Caroline shakes her head. “No, don’t do this. Don’t give him an out. You were up front with him, and he wanted to marry you. You were a good wife to him, and you didn’t deserve to be cheated on, humiliated. Hell, if you don’t want to think about yourself, think about your son. Brock didn’t deserve what Allen did to your family either.”
I think about the effect Allen cheating on me has had on our son, and it’s been pretty hard. It’s a small town, and everyone knew what happened. Of course, most people try to help, but there were some kids that thought it was okay to make jokes about it. And even though Brock is fifteen, he’s still trying to process things, and he went through a rough period.
“I know,” I tell her.
She tilts her head to the side and looks at me. “Well, then all I’m asking is be open to whatever Ryker has to say. You should at least hear him out.” She pauses and softly says, “You owe him that, Isabel.”
I nod, and then the doctor comes out of a room. We get back to work, and not until later, when I’m pulling away from the doctor’s office do I think about what Caroline said. I know she’s right. I do owe Ryker. I didn’t handle things the right way when he was drafted.
I look at the clock on my dash and see that I have a little bit of time before I have to pick up Brock from practice. Before I can second-guess myself, I start driving toward Maple Lane. I tell myself I want to see the swing and that’s it.
But as I get closer and pull down Maple Lane, my heart starts to race. I turn the music down and then laugh to myself. As if turning down the music is going to stop Ryker from seeing me drive past his house.
I go slowly. I’m going to see the swing and drive right on by.
I slow down, and the first thing I see are the many people outside working. It looks as if they’ve been painting the house and are cleaning up for the day.
I slow down even more, and that’s when I see it. The swing looks just like the one that Ryker swung me on back in the day.
I slow down, barely crawling by, and my car starts to stutter. Oh no. Please, God, no.
The engine stops, and I put my head on the steering wheel.
No, no, no this can't be happening.
I look up at the house, and no one has noticed me yet. Thankfully, this road isn’t very busy. I push on the brake, put the gear into park, and turn the key to the off position. I say a quick prayer and then try the ignition again. It makes a few clicks, but it never turns on.
I bang my hands on the steering wheel and try to come up with a quick plan. Okay, I took an automotive course back in high school. I can check a few things.
As I move around the van, I get out and open the hood. There’s a little bit of steam. That’s not good, I think.
I look up at the house, and a few of the men are looking my way. Of course, they’re going to see me.
I look down at the engine. I try to think back on what I should do. Check the oil? Oooh, maybe I should check the battery terminal.
I’m trying to figure it out just as Ryker comes jogging down the driveway.
“Izzy, are you okay?”
I clench my eyes shut and then open them. Of course this would happen to me. I stutter. “Uh, yeah, I wanted to see the swing.”
He is standing next to me now. “Honey, you can come here anytime you want…” He smiles at me. “To see the swing, to see me.”
All I can do is stare at him. I can’t believe he’s here. We silently stare at each other.
He gestures to my van. “Can I take a look?”
He doesn't wait for answer. He leans over the open hood. “Did it just stop?”
“Uh, yeah. Sputtered and then turned off. It won’t restart.”
He nods as he fiddles with a few things. I should probably pay attention to what he’s doing, but my gaze is focused on his face. He stands up and slams the hood closed and announces, “Fuel pump.”