very good chance they’ll find a donor when the time comes. You have O-negative blood type and you’re young and healthy.”
“Stop. Just listen to me, please.” He heaves a long sigh and nods for me to continue. “The point is that I need to make the most of this opportunity. I need to meet them before it’s too late. Will you please take me?”
The muscle in his jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth, then he nods slowly. “You know you don’t have to ask. I’ve been wanting you to do this for ages.”
I smile and reach forward to place my hand on his cheek. “You’re amazing. You know that?”
He shrugs and grabs my wrist so he can lay a soft kiss on my palm. “You don’t have to butter me up, sunshine. You know I’ll give you anything you want.” He places my hand back in my lap, then he grabs the stack of photos and sticks them in the glove compartment. “Let’s go make some 3D memories.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
F AITH IS A double-edged sword. A little faith is healthy, even essential to get us through difficult times. Too much faith and you’ll appear delusional. And you risk falling. The loftier your beliefs, the harder you’ll fall when reality knocks you off your cloud.
I’ve always been a pragmatist. My mother never took me to church as a child. And I sure as hell never found Jesus while on tour for the past two decades. But there’s only one secret I’ve ever kept from Claire, and it’s this: For the past eighteen years, I’ve been going to church and praying for Abigail to come back to me.
No one knows my secret. Not even my best buddy, Tristan, knows. It may seem like an insignificant thing to keep hidden. And I’m sure Claire would understand why her agnostic husband has been paying regular visits to a small church in West Raleigh for eighteen years. But I haven’t kept it a secret because I’m afraid Claire won’t understand my need to have a little faith. I’ve kept it a secret because I’m afraid of how it will affect Claire to know I’ve been keeping a secret from her for so many years.
I drain the last drops of orange juice from my glass then stick it in the dishwasher. Standing at the kitchen sink, I gaze out the window at the curved driveway in the front of our house in Cary. The sun is shining bright, imbuing everything with a warm glow; the grass, the plants, even Jimi’s black Mercedes, they all sparkle in the Carolina sunshine. Today would be a perfect day to go to the beach and get the summer started, if it weren’t for that foolish thread of hope tying us to our house in Cary.
For two months, we’ve been sitting on the edge of our seats, waiting. Every phone call and every knock on the door is met with feverish anticipation. We promised Jimi, Junior, and Ryder we’d leave for the beach house last weekend, but Claire and I both decided we’d wait one more week. It’s Saturday. If Abby doesn’t show up by tomorrow night, we’ll head out.
I might make a trip to the safe-deposit box tonight. It will be my third visit since Abby’s eighteenth birthday two months ago. I keep thinking there will be something in there, a note, a picture, or something telling me she knows about Claire and me but she’s not ready. Maybe there’ll be a video of her birthday or her high school graduation.
I just want to know that she’s okay. It would be even better to know that she doesn’t hate us.
We should just gather the kids and head to the beach house tonight. It’s been two months. If Abby hasn’t come by now, she’s not coming at all. I need to accept that I got my hopes up for no reason. Faith is a dangerous thing.
Junior walks into the kitchen with his wireless headphones in his ears.
He nods at me. “’Sup, Dad?”
He heads straight for the door leading to the walk-in pantry and disappears inside. He comes out with a box of cereal. I lean back against the counter and cross my arms over my chest as I watch him. He sets the cereal down on the kitchen
“Stop. Just listen to me, please.” He heaves a long sigh and nods for me to continue. “The point is that I need to make the most of this opportunity. I need to meet them before it’s too late. Will you please take me?”
The muscle in his jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth, then he nods slowly. “You know you don’t have to ask. I’ve been wanting you to do this for ages.”
I smile and reach forward to place my hand on his cheek. “You’re amazing. You know that?”
He shrugs and grabs my wrist so he can lay a soft kiss on my palm. “You don’t have to butter me up, sunshine. You know I’ll give you anything you want.” He places my hand back in my lap, then he grabs the stack of photos and sticks them in the glove compartment. “Let’s go make some 3D memories.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
F AITH IS A double-edged sword. A little faith is healthy, even essential to get us through difficult times. Too much faith and you’ll appear delusional. And you risk falling. The loftier your beliefs, the harder you’ll fall when reality knocks you off your cloud.
I’ve always been a pragmatist. My mother never took me to church as a child. And I sure as hell never found Jesus while on tour for the past two decades. But there’s only one secret I’ve ever kept from Claire, and it’s this: For the past eighteen years, I’ve been going to church and praying for Abigail to come back to me.
No one knows my secret. Not even my best buddy, Tristan, knows. It may seem like an insignificant thing to keep hidden. And I’m sure Claire would understand why her agnostic husband has been paying regular visits to a small church in West Raleigh for eighteen years. But I haven’t kept it a secret because I’m afraid Claire won’t understand my need to have a little faith. I’ve kept it a secret because I’m afraid of how it will affect Claire to know I’ve been keeping a secret from her for so many years.
I drain the last drops of orange juice from my glass then stick it in the dishwasher. Standing at the kitchen sink, I gaze out the window at the curved driveway in the front of our house in Cary. The sun is shining bright, imbuing everything with a warm glow; the grass, the plants, even Jimi’s black Mercedes, they all sparkle in the Carolina sunshine. Today would be a perfect day to go to the beach and get the summer started, if it weren’t for that foolish thread of hope tying us to our house in Cary.
For two months, we’ve been sitting on the edge of our seats, waiting. Every phone call and every knock on the door is met with feverish anticipation. We promised Jimi, Junior, and Ryder we’d leave for the beach house last weekend, but Claire and I both decided we’d wait one more week. It’s Saturday. If Abby doesn’t show up by tomorrow night, we’ll head out.
I might make a trip to the safe-deposit box tonight. It will be my third visit since Abby’s eighteenth birthday two months ago. I keep thinking there will be something in there, a note, a picture, or something telling me she knows about Claire and me but she’s not ready. Maybe there’ll be a video of her birthday or her high school graduation.
I just want to know that she’s okay. It would be even better to know that she doesn’t hate us.
We should just gather the kids and head to the beach house tonight. It’s been two months. If Abby hasn’t come by now, she’s not coming at all. I need to accept that I got my hopes up for no reason. Faith is a dangerous thing.
Junior walks into the kitchen with his wireless headphones in his ears.
He nods at me. “’Sup, Dad?”
He heads straight for the door leading to the walk-in pantry and disappears inside. He comes out with a box of cereal. I lean back against the counter and cross my arms over my chest as I watch him. He sets the cereal down on the kitchen
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