There is no doubt I’ll miss each one of them, but it is time to move on, away from the city. I like to tell myself it’s so I can be closer to my sister, my parents even, but thetruthis what wakes me up every night. The truth is the thing that nightmares are made of. It claws at me, all those cruel reminders of my inadequacy.
If anyone needs a fresh start, it’s me, and maybe I won’t mess up this time.
Chapter 2
Shelby
“Shit!” I yell, as my feet press painfully into what I know is a Lego block even before looking down from far too much experience. There are slippers available now for these monstrosities, but I never did get around to buying them. I curse myself for not thinking they were a necessity.
“That’s a point down, Mom. At this rate, you’re going to be broke.” Brody giggles.
“Brody!” I glare at my eight-year-old. “I have told you to pick up your toys a hundred times.” I place my hands on my hip. The boy dares to remind me of our little demerit system at a time like this when my poor feet ache like hell. Rude or cuss words mean you lose a point, and you gotta pay a dollar for it.
I limp over to the table and sit down opposite him.
His smile falls at my limp. “Sorry you got hurt, Mommy. I’ll clean it up, I promise.”
“And if you don’t, you’re not going to Uncle Grady’s playhouse this weekend.” That ought to get him. If there is one thing my son can’t do without, it’s his Uncle Grady. Grady Malone has been like a second father to Brody. He even built him a playhouse so they could hang out together. Brody and Grady are close, and I know Drew would want that. For a long time after Drew died, I couldn’t face Grady; my late husband's absence seemed more acute when he was around.
“That sucks.” He pouts, his spoon falling from his hands and clinking into his cereal bowl. I arch a brow. The older he gets and the more time Brody spends withthe guys, also known as The Sunnyville Firefighters, he thinks he’s a big man. Still, those men are all amazing, and I love them for the way they love Brody. More than I dare to admit to their faces.
“Watch that mouth, boy, or I will make it a month. And we’re even now!”
“Mommy,” he whines. He looks so much like his father, I can’t be mad at him for long. He finishes his cereal then walks over to the living room, gathering a few of the toys off the floor.
A honk outside has him standing upright and rushing for his backpack and lunch box. He runs up to me, wrapping his hands around my waist. “Gotta go, Mommy.”
I kiss the top of his head, smelling that baby shampoo I refuse to stop buying. “I love you, Sunshine.”
“Love you too,” he yells as we walk toward the door. He pauses. “I think you’re my favorite mother.”
I laugh out loud at that as he rushes down the pathway and climbs onto the school bus. The driver waves to me, and I wave back in greeting. I watch the bus drive down the street and send a small prayer to the universe to keep my baby safe.
I walk back inside and do the dishes. According to our menu, it’s pasta night, which means I need to go to the store. Just the thought of it is exhausting, but routine is something Brody and I are used to; it’s comforting.
I wipe the bowls and walk to the cupboard, but I don’t open them. Instead, I place the crockery down and hold onto the counter. Some days are easier than others. I walk past that fridge and see all those pictures, and it’s all right, but today I feel that stabbing ache again; unshed tears sting my eyes.
He’s gone, Shelb. He’s gone.Still gone.
* * *
I scourthe store's aisles for the exact pasta sauce Brody likes, not too tangy, not too sweet, but it seems they’re out. I’m bent at the waist feeling around at the back of the shelf.
“Anything I can help with?” The familiar voice startles me into bumping my head on the top row.
“God, Leon.” I gasp. The store owner leans against the shelf opposite me, and I feel my cheeks heat as I realize he’s likely been standing there for God knows how long checking out my ass.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He flashes me that white tooth grin all the girls, myself included, used to swoon over in high school. He was a senior. Jock. You know the type. The man has not lost his charm or good looks. He’s also been married twice, and the reason for that may have something to do with the way he’s undressing me with his eyes right now.
“Oh, no, it’s fine.” I shake my head.
“Looking for this?” Leon holds up a jar of pasta sauce.
“Am I that predictable?” I place my hands on my hips.
“I might have spotted it in your shopping cart a couple of times.” I wonder if the fact that he looks in my cart should bother me. His azure gaze holds mine as he stalks over, leans against the shelf, placing the sauce in my basket. His eyes roam over me as he straightens up.
“Uhm, thanks. Brody will be very pleased.” I clear my throat.
