Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Kissing him was mindless, beautiful madness.
But what we did to that wall?
We owed that wall an entire fruit basket. The fancy kind. Cheese and chocolate included.
Singing a song that my mind made up in love, I dropped more lace underwear into my carry-on and paused. Lord. Why had I taken scissors to all my lingerie? The sexiest silky items in my arsenal were hair scarves.
Hmm.
Oh, maybe we could fall back on our didn’t-see-it, didn’t-do-it loophole. How would that work? Both of us blindfolded? Then he wouldn’t see me in a Vicky’s Secret T-shirt bra and mismatched panties?
With a moan, I free-fell back into bed. “Girl, this is why you switched to the art track. You’ve done more contemplating now than you did in poli-sci classes.”
Yet? I needed to dig deeper, and not about sex.
I closed my eyes and imagined not bursting into tears while walking into the home we shared. That place had become a physical presence. Living, breathing. Ours. So many memories of us … and Elijah. Could I venture to the second floor?
My blood pressure hit the sky. Anxious perspiration found every surface of my flesh, and my breath ran shallow. I choked up.
How would I pass Eli’s bedroom to get to the double doors leading into our suite? What if Washington’s version of coping included leaving our son’s bedroom door open? Planes graced the wall. And in his room sat a plane-shaped bed, a gift from Dad.
“How did he crash the plane, Madison? How could he not check—”
“Dad, he checked. The management crew at the hangar storing our plane checked! Washington did nothing wrong.”
“Aside from killing your son. My grandson!”
I ran the heel of my palm against my throat.
“You can do this, Madison.” I struggled through the words, pushing away the old thoughts. Thoughts that I could no longer envision myself as happy in that house.
I wasn’t about to allow lies to slither like a den of snakes in my mind. Deep down, I never blamed Washington. The engine malfunctioned. The plane had crashed, and our son had died after two painful years. Washington coped by working and moving on with life. I had restructured how I was living my best life until all I had left was that little farting-ass Daewoo and my sister’s stony guest room mattress.
I took a deep breath. I’d call Washington. Tell him I’d spend the night with him at our home before the long drive to Shreveport when a text appeared.
WASH: Why did y’all make Sasquatch cry?
I’d forgotten his private name for his cousin, Genèse. But that wasn’t the reason I smirked. I detected the familiar scent of deception.
ME: Excuse me? You mean those manipulative tears last week? And who are you to lecture me, Mr. Clean … from the neck up.
WASH: From the neck up?
ME: Referring to hair, strictly. You’re worried about Genèse crying all of a sudden? I have the feeling that before she ugly cried in her car last Thursday she texted you about us ganging up on her.
WASH: Wrong. My cousin started an ENTIRE group chat with my brothers.
My phone vibrated.
“Why,” I groaned, answering my ex-husband, “do we text twenty-one paragraphs and then call each other?”
“Because I was thinking,” he began.
I lay back in bed, glowy and grinning. Baby, I was happy, but I let my voice become humdrum just because. “Oh, Lord. Here comes the logic.”
“Chère, listen, we should discuss Genèse’s feelings in a more therapeutic setting tonight.”
Smelling a scheme, I played along. “Boy, please, you don’t wanna know Shonda’s prices for an emergency session.”
“I meant inside our shower. It spans half a room. Very clinical. Good acoustics. So, if we can’t agree on why y’all made Genèse cry, you stand beneath your rainspout. I’ll stand beneath mine, no touching. How does that sound?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Washington, you’re using your cousin’s fake-ass meltdown as a cover. You big freak!”
“I’m multitasking. Also, Shreveport isn’t the next city over. Tomorrow, I’ve gotta wake up at the crack of dawn and drive thirty minutes out of my way to get you.”
“Sir, stop.” I laughed. “Okay. Yes. I’ll spend the night.”
The word slipped out most accidentally, but the silence that followed? It snapped my entire world into focus.
Washington didn’t respond. And neither did I. My mind boggled at what I’d agreed to do.
Not the shower. Or the ridiculous number of rain-shower heads. Nor the ridiculous therapy setting he tried to sell, half in jest. I’d said yes to returning home. Back to the house I hadn’t stepped foot in since the crash.
A slow breath expanded my chest, tight with memories that didn’t choke me anymore, but still burrowed beneath my skin.
“Our house … used to echo with the sound of laughter, an occasional prayer, and love. We can do that again, Washington.”
“Madison? You sure, bébé?”
“Yep, I’ll be … home in an hour.”