Page 3 of Nothing But It All
“Love you. Goodbye.”
The call ends.
The kitchen is dark, lit only by the occasional bolt of lightning and the dim bulb over the stove. The stillness settles over me like an old friend.
A pile of dishes sits in the sink from dinner. The floor is sticky from Maddie’s lemonade spill earlier. Loads of laundry are stacked in the mudroom off the door on the left, waiting on me to give them attention.
But why bother? It’ll all be here for me tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.
Nothing will change.
I take a long, steadying breath.
Unless I change it.
A swell of sadness and anger rises from my soul.
“I’m giving you what you asked for ...”
“But you’re not, Jack. I didn’t ask forthis.”
I know what must be done, but I hate it all the same. The thought of moving forward without Jack somehow feels even lonelier than staying right where I am. But if I don’t try to do something—if I don’t try to fix the only thing I can, which is me—then this is exactly what my life will look like twenty years from now. That makes me sick. Defeated.I have to try. I have to start somewhere.
After all, my husband has decided what he’s doing with his life.
It’s time for me to make a few choices too.
CHAPTER ONE
LAUREN
Two and a half years later ...
I’m not funny, Billie. I’m mean and people think I’m joking.”
My best friend throws her head back and laughs. I want to point out that she’s making my point for me—she thinks I’m joking and I’m not. Instead, I stand in the middle of my home office with my hands on my hips and residue from a powdered doughnut on my lips.
“You are not mean,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Stop it.”
“No, trust me—I was mean. I-meant-it mean. He didn’t even have the wherewithal to ask me for my driver’s license.” My nose wrinkles in disgust. “Who doesn’t card a woman buying wine? Isn’t that a law? I don’t care if I’m clearly over forty or not. It’s just rude.”
She grins. “You must’ve not been too mean. He asked for your number.”
I swipe an armful of bubble roll off my desk. “He wasn’t serious.”
“Um, I think he was. Younger men and older women area thingright now. And, let’s face it, you’re hot. All that gym time is showing.”
“Calling him a ‘man’ is way too generous. He was barely old enough to sell me the alcohol. Hell, I could’ve been his mother.”
“So?”
“So, what would I do with that?” I ask, the thought of dealing with a twentysomething’s bullshit exhausting me. “If Iwasin the market for a boy toy,which I am most definitely not, I wouldn’t choose someone without basic manners. Besides, there’s not a teeny-tiny part of my soul that has any interest whatsoever in raising another man.”
If Billie notices the extra energy that I use to stuff the Bubble Wrap into the appropriate bin, she doesn’t mention it. And that’s the thing I love most about Billie Wickerson. She knows when to let things go. Unlike me. I hold on to topics—ideas, kindergarten finger paint projects,people—for way too long.
Containers and packing material litter the floor. A stack of cardboard sits neatly by the door, since Billie took extra effort and broke down our empty boxes. She said something about recycling and it being good for the environment. I replied with something about being low on time and wanting to get it out of my sight. I appreciate her environmental activism, but as a mother and new small-business owner, I have priorities. That list includes keeping my two teenagers alive and healthy, corralling my business that exploded overnight, and keeping our house clean enough so that if child protective services comes knocking, they won’t gasp in horror.
I have to worry about the teens. Someone else is going to have to worry about the trees.
