Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
“Amen,” Ace lovingly states at the same time he pulls his wife in closer.
After kissing my daughters goodbye, making them promise to be good for all the grandparents in charge, and reminding them that Santa has his operatives – word choice delivered by their father and Blu who insist elves are not stealthy enough to be assigned such a task – are still watching, I join Gabs and Tom in their SUV for the half an hour drive to House of The Holy, the less traditional space where Ma now prefers to go to service.
Her outlook on religion and beliefs has always been a little unorthodox in comparison to the hardcore way she was raised; however, over the years, I’ve come to understand not only the reasons for the changes but the power in doing what serves your soul best.
The way she lit candles during Slater’s disappearance.
The way she committed to raising him as one large family there to provide him with endless love despite how easy it would’ve been to keep him torn in two, to blame the other parent, to feel threatened by another woman wanting to care for her son.
The way she didn’t hold on too tight when he left for the military and then stayed active for so many years.
Her decision to live and believe and be led by what’s best for her world…her adventure…while understanding everyone else’s choice to do it too…is why her son does the same.
Why he’s always done the same.
It’s the reason he doesn’t ask, he just does.
It’s the reason he doesn’t argue, he just decides.
And it’s the reason he strives to provide my life with things that make actively living with my condition easier versus giving a shit about what others might think.
Like always flying us private to avoid the anxiety inducing area known as the airport.
Wearing sparkly themed unicorn t-shirts with the girls to match my headphones when we go bowling together.
My silent disco themed birthday party last year, where it was safe to simply close my eyes and get lost to the music.
His mother taught him to respect as much as follow his beliefs, which in turn has helped me in that area.
And it’s definitely one of the reasons why our parents get along so well.
Mine very much so have similar focus on what’s right and best for you principles and policies.
During the drive, holiday music plays, yet rather than indulge in the rainbow of colors dancing in front of my eyes, I shut them tight, anxious to have a moment of peace.
Clarity.
I know my Cowboy.
I may not know where he is or what he’s been up to or why it was worth leaving us alone for the entire day, but I know him.
And he’ll be there.
Just like he’s always been.
Just like he’ll always be.
Our arrival at House of the Holy is a little later than we originally anticipated. Rather than parking in the back and making us all walk, Tom pulls up directly in front of the building to let us out. He insists his special lady wait inside where it’s warm and has her swear she’ll do exactly that so nothing can happen to her.
The exchange itself is equally endearing and heart aching.
It makes me miss my Cowboy just when I didn’t think I possibly could miss him any more.
As angry as I was earlier about him missing the moments with the girls and missing the limited time we have together before he has to leave again, it’s turned into this sinking Santa’s Bag filled size of dread.
What if he got hurt while on his mystery mission?
What if I get a call from Dalvegan Memorial Hospital?
Or…worse?
Dalvegan Police Department reporting that he’s been…
That he’s been…
No.
That can’t be possible.
Not today of all days.
I’d know.
I’d feel it in my heart.
Soul.
All of sudden, the lobby door opens behind us, collecting our gazes to where not one husband is entering but two. Tom playfully jerks his thumb Slater’s direction, “Look at what the angels had me drag in.”
Reprieve gracefully dances around the pit of my stomach like the prima ballerina in The Nutcracker forcing me to release the oversized breath I had been holding since the brief phone call with Kolby.
I knew he’d make it.
It was just so unnecessary to wait until literally the very last minute to show up!
“Mijo,” Ma acknowledges, light green lettering floating peacefully through the air, “we’ll save you seats.” She places a hand on his cheek and sweetly yet scoldingly states, “Do not take too long.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her gentle pat to his face is followed by delivering one to my arm upon her departure.
The instant we’re alone in the lobby, he bashfully grins in such a way I can’t stop from cooing his name, “Cowboy…”
“Angel Cake.”
Swaying my body a step closer is attached to our predictable flirting, “Was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”