“Okay, I’ll call a realtor in the morning.”
“Hey, hold on. You don’t have to do it this minute.”
“I said tomorrow. That’s not this minute. Also, I’m going to Paris.”
“Jesus. Have you been drinking?”
“No. I just got back from the gym.”
“Look, I get back Tuesday. We can talk about it then.”
“I don’t want to wait until Tuesday.” Then I sigh. “Fine.”
“You can’t go to Paris before Tuesday.”
I laugh a little sharply. “Of course not. I have a job and a birthday party to plan. I have to be sensible.”
Silence. He thinks I’m drunk. Maybe Ishouldbe drunk. Or high. Why didn’t I think of that earlier?
“Okay,” I say. “Tuesday.”
“I’ll come to the house.”
“Sure. Sounds good. Thanks.”
We end the call. I drop my phone to the bed.
It’s a start.
* * *
Carson is coming after his practice, which is almost always at eleven o’clock, so I know he’ll be here around three.
When I woke up the morning after I talked to him, I felt calmer, but still resolved. The house is the last thing connecting us, so it has to go. Even though I love this house so much. But my life is different than when we bought it. At that time, it seemed like the embodiment of all my hopes and dreams: a family of my own with Carson.
Before he arrives, I wander from room to room, smiling wistfully at how we renovated and decorated the place. The acorn-brown hardwood floors gleam in the afternoon sunlight as I walk across them. The cozy den with the big cushy sectionaland stone fireplace has French doors leading to the deck out back overlooking the shady yard.
Upstairs, I pause at the door of Kane’s room. Grief slams me like an airbag in a car collision, taking out my knees, and I grab the doorframe to hold myself up.
If I leave this house, I’m leaving all I have of him.
A dark spiral of pain rips through me.
What if I forget him? My baby boy.
What if I forget what his baby laugh sounded like? What his smile looked like? Some days, it’s so vivid, but sometimes, I feel like I’m being pulled further and further away from the memories.
My heart was shattered the day he died, and it will never be whole again. That piece of me will always be missing. And it hurts so much.
The pain abates to a hollow ache in my chest. I swipe at wet cheeks as I straighten and turn away from the room. Kane isn’t here in this room. I’ll have the same photos and videos to watch and remember him wherever I am. Maybe it will be good for me to be away from here, where I torture myself by coming in here every day.
The doorbell rings and I jerk around. That’s Carson.
It was his house, but he’s always so careful to ring the bell and not just walk in, because now it’s my house.
I run fingers under my eyes again then jog down the stairs to the front door. He’s standing on the veranda. As soon as I open the door, his eyebrows jerks down. “What’s wrong?”
7
