Page 245 of Time Stops With You

“He told me to hurry over and gave me the passcode.”

A cold shiver runs down my spine and I tremble like a hurricane.

Mom’s expression shifts at the sight of me. “Nardi, honey. I think you need to sit down.”

Her voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere beyond me. I barely hear it.

“When?” I say hoarsely.

“Nardi…” Mom’s hands close around my shoulders.

“When did he call you? Fifteen minutes ago? An hour?”

“I-I’m not sure,” mom stammers.

I wrench the front door open and fly outside. My bare feet patter against the stairs as I desperately scramble to the front lawn. The sun burns my eyes and the wind blows through the trees, sending up a mocking applause.

Every step feels heavy. The sheet is dragging against the dew on the grass, getting muddy, collecting small twigs and burs.

I don’t care. I keep going.

“Nardi, stop.Stop!” Mom scrambles in front of me, breathing hard. Her wrinkled hands flatten against my shoulders. “You’re scaring me, sweetie.”

“I have to find him.”

“Nardi.”

“I have to see him, mom. One last time. I at least need to see him one last time…” The last of my words ends on a sob.

Mom wraps me in her arms, hugging me tightly. “I’m sorry, Nardi.”

“He can’t just leave like this. He can’t.” Hot tears spill down my cheeks. “He has to come back. Please.”

Mom sniffs and her tears splash against my shoulder.

I pull away from her, my gaze wild. “Call him back.”

“Nardi.”

“I’m not asking for much. One hour will do. No, five minutes. I just want five more minutes.”

“He won’t answer.”

“You don’t know that!”

“He’s gone, Nardi.”

My bottom lip trembles. I reject her words, shaking my head.

“I know you, Nardi. I’m your mother. So I asked him. I asked him on your behalf to stay. Even if it meant watching him wither away.”

“No.” I stalk away from her.

She follows me. “Do you know what he said to me, Nardi?”

I storm into the house, into the bedroom where he held me all night, and I reach for my phone. Next to the device, I see a note.

I’ll do everything I can not to haunt you. Live well, Nardi. Live on. I love you.

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