Read Online My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) by J.D. Hollyfield - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J.D. Hollyfield
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of time.
The room is now silent except for Pippa screaming and crying, kicking and wailing for Ian to let her go. I’m frozen in place as I watch him carry her away from her dead parents and through the doors. The sounds of her pained cries fade once the doors shut.
I struggle to get a solid breath of air past the gigantic lump in my throat. How are we going to get her through the funeral tomorrow?
We.
I use that word so freely, like Ian and I haven’t skipped a beat, still functioning as a team. Back in the day it was Ian and Chrissy against the world. Amy was so protective of me as a child. She always kept me close and guarded me from the outside world. It was Ian who allowed her to release her protective hold on me, knowing he would watch over me just as she had.
And here I am back in that moment, where all I want is Ian.
The service portion is about to start so I hesitantly make my way up to the front. I smile numbly at faces I do not recognize. I spot Henry, and who I assume is his wife, Patti, and gently wave. I arrive at the first pew and take a seat.
For someone who praises herself on becoming such an independent woman, I just want Ian to come back inside. I listen blankly to the priest begin his sermon about the deceased couple. I’m scared out of my mind to make eye contact with the caskets. I will admit that I’ve seen way too many movies, because my biggest fear is having Amy pop up and start yelling at me for being a horrible sister. With the guilt overpowering me, I begin to cry and ramble to myself how sorry I am. An old lady next to me kindly offers her hankie, and I accept it, thanking her as I wipe down my wet face and clear my nose of snot.
Toward the end, Ian sits his warm body next to me, placing his large hand on my thigh.
“Where’s Pippa?” I try to ask quietly, looking around for an absent Pippa.
“Patti took her. I don’t think having her in here is a good idea right now.”
I look at him, unsure of his meaning. He nods toward the caskets. “She doesn’t understand. And I think it’s best if we wait until people have left to bring her up here again.”
I nod in return and we both face forward. With my shoulders slumped, I take my hand and lay it on top of Ian’s.
There’s that ‘we’ word again.
B EING BACK HERE IS not good for the teenage soul, or the adult soul. I read one of those books once, and it pretty much told me I was doing life all wrong—to take it one day at a time. I remember attempting the one about finding your inner strength, and the only thing it did was get me kicked out of a bar, drunker than one of those skunks I almost took out, after screaming obscenities about the lack of appreciation for expressionism in historical art. This of course was shortly after I got my first job at the art gallery and was in full study mode to learn everything I could about art to get my foot in the door. Hence, the loony drunk art-history lesson.
I wish those damn books came in handy during the remainder of this visit. Having to say goodbye to Amy, when all I wanted to do was say hello, was the hardest thing I had ever done. My inner strength failed me when I broke down in front of Pippa and once again Patti had to assist in carrying a crying Pippa out of the viewing room. She was beautiful. My sister. Even in death she glowed with such beauty that it hurt to know she wouldn’t be able to continue her life, shining as the person I learned she was through the stories that were spoken.
Ian, my savior, picked me up and carried me away. He even went as far as sitting me in his lap and cradling me while I cried. He whispered soft words into my ear that everything was going to be okay and that he was here for me.
Eventually, when the tears subsided and my sensory factor kicked in, I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands wrapped strongly around my waist. His fingers brushing my hip bone, and his warm breath that kept hitting the crook of my neck every time he
The room is now silent except for Pippa screaming and crying, kicking and wailing for Ian to let her go. I’m frozen in place as I watch him carry her away from her dead parents and through the doors. The sounds of her pained cries fade once the doors shut.
I struggle to get a solid breath of air past the gigantic lump in my throat. How are we going to get her through the funeral tomorrow?
We.
I use that word so freely, like Ian and I haven’t skipped a beat, still functioning as a team. Back in the day it was Ian and Chrissy against the world. Amy was so protective of me as a child. She always kept me close and guarded me from the outside world. It was Ian who allowed her to release her protective hold on me, knowing he would watch over me just as she had.
And here I am back in that moment, where all I want is Ian.
The service portion is about to start so I hesitantly make my way up to the front. I smile numbly at faces I do not recognize. I spot Henry, and who I assume is his wife, Patti, and gently wave. I arrive at the first pew and take a seat.
For someone who praises herself on becoming such an independent woman, I just want Ian to come back inside. I listen blankly to the priest begin his sermon about the deceased couple. I’m scared out of my mind to make eye contact with the caskets. I will admit that I’ve seen way too many movies, because my biggest fear is having Amy pop up and start yelling at me for being a horrible sister. With the guilt overpowering me, I begin to cry and ramble to myself how sorry I am. An old lady next to me kindly offers her hankie, and I accept it, thanking her as I wipe down my wet face and clear my nose of snot.
Toward the end, Ian sits his warm body next to me, placing his large hand on my thigh.
“Where’s Pippa?” I try to ask quietly, looking around for an absent Pippa.
“Patti took her. I don’t think having her in here is a good idea right now.”
I look at him, unsure of his meaning. He nods toward the caskets. “She doesn’t understand. And I think it’s best if we wait until people have left to bring her up here again.”
I nod in return and we both face forward. With my shoulders slumped, I take my hand and lay it on top of Ian’s.
There’s that ‘we’ word again.
B EING BACK HERE IS not good for the teenage soul, or the adult soul. I read one of those books once, and it pretty much told me I was doing life all wrong—to take it one day at a time. I remember attempting the one about finding your inner strength, and the only thing it did was get me kicked out of a bar, drunker than one of those skunks I almost took out, after screaming obscenities about the lack of appreciation for expressionism in historical art. This of course was shortly after I got my first job at the art gallery and was in full study mode to learn everything I could about art to get my foot in the door. Hence, the loony drunk art-history lesson.
I wish those damn books came in handy during the remainder of this visit. Having to say goodbye to Amy, when all I wanted to do was say hello, was the hardest thing I had ever done. My inner strength failed me when I broke down in front of Pippa and once again Patti had to assist in carrying a crying Pippa out of the viewing room. She was beautiful. My sister. Even in death she glowed with such beauty that it hurt to know she wouldn’t be able to continue her life, shining as the person I learned she was through the stories that were spoken.
Ian, my savior, picked me up and carried me away. He even went as far as sitting me in his lap and cradling me while I cried. He whispered soft words into my ear that everything was going to be okay and that he was here for me.
Eventually, when the tears subsided and my sensory factor kicked in, I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands wrapped strongly around my waist. His fingers brushing my hip bone, and his warm breath that kept hitting the crook of my neck every time he
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