The Resurrection of Wildflowers (Wildflower #2)(24)

When my name is called, I grab my iced coffee and head back onto the street, circling back to the house.

It’s been a few days since Thayer asked me on a date and I haven’t heard from him at all, despite the fact I gave him my new number. It makes me nervous that he’s changed his mind, not to mention I’m still trying to figure out the best way to drop the kid bomb on him. I’m not sure there is a best way, and I don’t know that he’ll understand my reasoning for not telling him or if he’ll believe me that I tried.

Letting myself in the side door, I walk in to find my sister crying.

“Georgia?” I set down my coffee, going to her side where she paces by the counter. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” She fans her face, emotional and trying to contain it. “She’s sleeping,” she adds in a whisper. “I just…” Her hands go to her round belly. “I got to thinking about how she might not live long enough to meet the baby and how this baby won’t know her and I just … it’s not fair and I’m angry.”

I pull my older sister into my arms, letting her cry and get this off her chest. I can’t imagine dealing with the emotions of this on top of being pregnant.

“Cry as long as you need.” I hold her even tighter.

“How are you keeping it together so well?”

“Trust me, I’m not. I have my moments too.”

“Life’s so unfair and she’s been failed so many times.” She pulls away from me, grabbing a paper towel to dab at her eyes. “Ugh,” she groans, motioning to her smeared mascara. “I’m a mess.” Sniffling, she leans against the counter for support. “I just don’t know how to live life without her. She’s our mom. What am I going to do when I can’t pick up the phone and call her? Ask her for advice or what ingredient I’m forgetting in the cupcakes I’m making?”

I hold her arms gently in my hands, making sure to look her in the eyes. “You’ll feel sad. You might cry a little bit. And then you’ll call me, and we can cry together. And I’ll always tell you what ingredient you’re missing.”

She says no more, just yanks me back into a hug, the swell of her belly in our way. “Please, move back here. I don’t want you to leave again.”

Rubbing my hand against her back, I bite my lip. “I’m thinking about it.”

“What?” She jerks back in surprise. “Are you serious?”

I nod. “Now that I’ve been back here … I feel different about staying. But nothing is decided,” I warn her, not wanting to get her hopes up.

“Well,” she smiles despite the tears still lingering in her eyes, “you have to do whatever feels right, but I hope you stay.”





CHAPTER 18





THAYER





Parking my truck, I grab my thermos of hot chocolate, my lunch cooler, and head into the cemetery. It’s too hot out to enjoy the hot chocolate, but it’s sort of become my tradition when I come here.

I navigate my way through the gravestones. I’m pretty sure I could get to my son’s grave blindfolded by this point. I come by once a week, sometimes more if I find myself really needing to talk to him.

I used to think that people who came to cemeteries to speak with their loved ones were crazy. It’s all just a bunch of grass and stone—it’s a place where Forrest was never alive—but I still like coming here. It’s peaceful and I feel closer to him.

My eyes narrow when I approach his marker. There’s a single purple flower laid above his name. Cocking my head to the side, I look around in search for whoever left it. Not that it’s much mystery. Krista doesn’t find the same comfort here that I do, so she doesn’t visit. Which means Salem most likely left this. Recently too since the wind hasn’t blown it away.

I don’t know what makes me do it, but I pluck the flower off and put it in my lunch box. The urge to keep it is stupid, but I can’t help it. It’s tangible proof of her heart, of how even after all this time she still cares about my son, and maybe me too.

She wouldn’t have kissed you back like that if she didn’t still have feelings for you.

Getting comfortable on the grass, I unwrap my sloppily made peanut butter and jelly.

“How are you doing, kid?” I chomp into my sandwich. “I wish I could hear your voice—that you could tell me what it’s like wherever you are. I want to know you’re okay and taken care of. That’s one of the hardest parts, you know?” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “When you’re a parent you just want to know your kid is being treated right and safe, but I have no way of knowing that now with you.” Grabbing my thermos, I pour a little into the lid. “Here you go, kid. Enjoy.” I tip the canteen back and take my own sip.

“I’ve played that day over and over in my head so many times, trying to figure out every little thing I could’ve changed that would’ve resulted in a different outcome, but I still don’t know if it would’ve made any difference. Even if you weren’t mad at me, you might still have ended up in that pool.” Sighing, I take a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s worse—thinking I could’ve changed something and you’d still be alive, or thinking this was some cruel twist of fate and I couldn’t do anything about it anyway.”