Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Shit. Yeah. Let me call Whitney, too. She sleeps late. I don’t want to scare her when we get in tomorrow morning. She’s not expecting me until this time tomorrow night. But my phone is in my bag in the overhead.” I was in the window seat, so I slid in front of my dad, stepped into the aisle, and reached up to unzip my duffle.
“Sir,” the flight attendant said, “you’re going to need to take your seat. We’re going to start moving any minute.”
I felt around inside my bag and pulled out my cell before shoving my bag back in. But when I closed the overhead compartment, my phone slipped from my hand. It landed with a loud clank on the armrest of my father’s aisle seat and tumbled to the floor an aisle up.
The flight attendant wasn’t happy when I bent to get it. “Sorry.”
Back in my seat, I tried to turn my phone on. But when I flipped it over, I found a big crack through the middle of the screen. Usually that just meant a hundred bucks for new glass, but when I pressed the button, the only thing that illuminated was a fat yellow stripe down one side.
“Crap.”
“What happened? It broke?”
I turned the screen to show my dad. He had his wife’s name called up on his own cell, about to push the call button, but he held his phone out to me. “Here, use mine. I’m in the doghouse with Madison anyway.”
I smiled sadly. “Thanks. But I don’t know Whitney’s number. I don’t know anyone’s number anymore because of these things.”
Dad nodded. “Me neither.”
In the end, it didn’t matter. Neither of us got to call anyone, because the flight attendant came on the overhead speakers and said all cell phones had to be switched to airplane mode or turned off.
Dad shrugged. “Oh well.”
A half hour later, we hit cruising altitude. Dad conked out, but I was too wired to even shut my eyes. I tried putting the airline’s complimentary headphones on and listening to music to relax, but the inside of my head felt like a merry-go-round.
Brown horse up. What should I do about Lucas? I wasn’t sure his father could handle a six-year-old. Especially one who was whip-smart and already a bit of a troublemaker. Brown horse down.
White horse up. What about Mom’s business? She and my dad had split up the magazines and newspapers they owned when they divorced. She had a good staff, a lot of trustworthy people, but someone had to keep an eye on things. White horse down.
Gray horse up. Could I still play for England? The manager of the team I’d planned to join before Whitney got pregnant had reached out to give his condolences, and we’d had breakfast this morning. He’d pretty much told me I had an open invitation to train and play with the team. But would Whitney consider moving? Gray horse down.
Black horse up. Whitney … Should I propose? I’d been considering it before all hell broke loose with Mom. And now I even had a ring.
I pulled the letter my mom had left me, along with the ring box, from my pocket. Unfolding the note I’d already read a dozen times, my eyes dropped to the last lines at the bottom.
The day your father gave me this ring was the happiest day of my life. I know that might be hard to understand now, since we haven’t been together in so long. But your father was and still is the love of my life. It was your grandmother’s ring, and her mother’s ring before that, and now it should belong to the love of your life.
I tasted salt when I swallowed. It was difficult to see my mother’s handwriting. Black horse down.
So much to think about …
I closed my eyes and tried to sort through some of it. But hours later, the only thing I’d decided was that it wasn’t a good time to make decisions. Dad stirred while I was staring out the window into the dark night sky. I’d forgotten Mom’s ring was still in my hand.
“I wondered what happened to that,” he said.
I sighed. “She left it for me with a letter.”
Dad nodded. We hadn’t talked much about Whitney or the baby. Considering the first thing he’d said to me when I told him my girlfriend was pregnant was that I should get a paternity test, he wasn’t the sounding board I was looking for.
“You thinking about giving it to your girl?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Mom told me to give it to the love of my life. I’m not sure that’s Whitney. But the baby she’s carrying already is. So is that enough?”
“Well, I’m not the best person to give marriage advice with my track record. But I can tell you it’s hard enough to make a marriage work when she is the love of your life. It’s nearly impossible without that bond. Trust me—wife number two was a bad idea. And the jury is still out on number three.” Dad chuckled.