Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
My eyes grow wide.
Sam.
What the hell?
He smiles at me like I’ve been expecting him and couldn’t wait for his arrival. But the corners of his lips quickly wilt when he notices the man next to me has his fingers laced with mine. Sam’s face turns stern. He clears his throat and leans over to speak quietly. “Do you want to move down, or should I sit on the other side of your friend?”
I tug my hand from Noah’s and catch his eye. He scooches over without being asked. Sam unbuttons his jacket and takes a seat at the end of the pew. Jesus Christ, I wanted a distraction, but not this hot mess waiting to explode. Sam stares ahead at the altar, the muscle in his jaw flexing like he’s trying to send silent Morse code. I wait until the priest starts talking to lean over and whisper, “What are you doing here?”
Sam’s eyes bounce between Noah and me. “You texted me your mother died. I thought you might need some support, someone to lean on.”
“When have I ever given you the idea that I wanted to lean on someone?”
He pins me with a fiery glare. “Not now, Elizabeth. Have some respect.”
My blood feels like it’s boiling in my veins. Have some respect? For whom? Him? A man who shows up uninvited and unannounced? This organized cult that pretends it’s a church? Or for my mother—a woman who believed it was okay to leave me alone at seven years old to go off with men because she went to confession after?
I suppose the one good thing about these two showing up is that I’m too preoccupied to be upset that this is the last hour I’ll ever have with my mother. Not that she’s here anymore, but her body—the wake, the funeral—still tethers me to her. This morning, I woke with a hollow feeling in my chest, knowing that would end today. But there’s no hollow space now; I’m filled with anger.
The service goes by in a blur—all three of us staring straight ahead like strangers. Father Preston says his closing remarks, then steps from the altar and stops by my pew to give me his condolences one last time.
I force a smile. “Thank you. The service was lovely.”
I don’t bother to say anything to Noah, nor do I wait for the man to my right to step out of the pew. Rather, I climb over Sam’s legs and start up the aisle alone behind the casket. At the door, the funeral director catches me.
“We’ll drive over to the crematory now, if you’d like to follow.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
He looks horrified. But I need this to be over. “Thank you for everything.”
I march down the marble church steps and head across the parking lot. Sam catches up to me as I reach my rental car. He goes around to the passenger side.
I look at him, but say nothing.
He frowns. “I Ubered here. My flight was delayed, and I didn’t want to be late for the service.”
I climb into the car, unlock the passenger door, and pull out of the parking lot so fast that Sam barely had time to get in. I would’ve left tire marks in front of the church if this rental had any treads left. I drive for a while in silence, but I’m not even sure where I’m going. Sam’s face is red with anger as he stares straight ahead. A few miles down the road, I pull into the parking lot of a boarded-up Burger King. Not even a fast-food giant could make it in this town.
I shift in my seat to face Sam. “Say whatever you want to say, because I’m at a loss for words right now.”
His jaw is rigid. “Fine. Are you fucking that guy?”
I throw my hands up in the air. “That’s none of your business. We’ve never had an exclusive relationship.”
Sam shakes his head. “I was trying to do the right thing.”
My eyes close, and I soften. This is all my fault. I should’ve cut things off with him when he admitted he wanted more. But instead, I used him.
I sigh. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Sorry you’re fucking someone else or sorry that it upsets me?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry that it’s going to end this way. On a bad note. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, but we don’t want the same things.”
“What is it that you want?”
That’s a good question. I look down for a long time, trying to come up with the answer. When I do, he couldn’t possibly have any idea how much one word means to me right now. “Freedom. I want my freedom, Sam.”
He looks into my eyes, searching. Finding whatever he’s looking for, his eyes close briefly. When they reopen, the anger in his face is replaced by disappointment. “Will you drop me off somewhere? A bar or a place I can wait for an Uber back to the airport.”