Read Online The Best Week of My Life by Suzanne D. Williams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Suzanne D. Williams
Ads: Link
“Mine’s chocolate cake.”
He thought for a minute. “Roast and gravy, I guess.”
“Your mom’s a good cook because the lasagna was great.” It really was. And she’d had garlic bread and Italian beans to go with it. And my mom had actually convinced her to play cribbage, though his mom hadn’t any idea how to play.
“She likes to cook,” he said. “Used to cook a lot for my dad.” He clammed up quick at mention of his dad, which made me want to know. It was, after all, the one thing he didn’t talk about.
“Carter?” I ventured his name.
“Hmm.”
“Can … can I ask about your dad?” I swallowed hard. “I mean you don’t have to say, but it seems like it bothers you.”
He stopped walking and pulled me to him. I laid my head on his chest.
“There isn’t much to say. They fought a lot. Mom said she couldn’t live like that anymore, so they divorced. Nothing happened, at least, nothing they told me. It was more they simply didn’t love each other anymore.” He spoke slow and deep, the pain evident in his voice.
And it came to me maybe what he was afraid of – of being like them, of falling in love and it not being real or lasting. I didn’t know if we were in love or not. It’d only been a few days. Yet it seemed like there was so much happening between us, so much possibility. And possibility was a positive thing.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice muffled by his shirt. Sorry seemed lame and worthless, but necessary to say.
“Not your fault,” he replied. “Not anyone’s fault, I guess.”
I pulled my head back, looking upward, and saw he was looking at me. Right directly at me. He lowered his face, and his breath blew hot on my lips, and moist and fervent. I sensed the trembling of his chin, the slight flutter of his heartbeat, and shaking of his hands. Something passed between us, electricity, fire, whatever you’d call it. I was awake and alive.
Then he jerked backwards, and almost stumbled in the motion. “I … can’t,” he said. “I like you, Daph, so very, very much. But … but I … I gotta think. I’m sorry. Can we go?”
However, it wasn’t if we could go anymore; it was him walking away and me keeping up. I willed the tears to stay inside. I hadn’t asked him to kiss me right then, so the fact he hadn’t shouldn’t matter. I hadn’t led him on either.
Yet maybe we’d said too much to each other these few days, made too many statements and shared too much. Maybe like he’d said, he wasn’t ready for a girlfriend.
And worse yet, maybe, just maybe, though he’d said different, maybe he wasn’t ready for me .
CHAPTER 7
It rained all night: thunder and lightning, tempestuous winds, in essence, a torrential downpour. The kind that blocks out anything else in your hearing. And I was grateful at first because what was going on in my head was awful and heartsick and sad. If I could describe it in one word, I’d say I was miserable. Misery of my own making.
Yet after a while, I simply wanted the rain to stop; it seemed like until it did, my mood wouldn’t change. Nevertheless, just like my mood, the squall had set in for good.
My dad turned on the TV to prove it, and so we watched the weather over and over.
I don’t know why people do that. After all, you can see it’s raining, can see it’s not stopping, and yet you feel obligated to torment yourself with the evidence of it on the radar.
Then my dad announced it, and that made it final. “Gonna rain all day,” he said.
I sighed and my depression swirled around me. I’d seen no sign of Carter, though I’d glanced out the front window several times, knowing all along he’d get drenched coming up here. I wasn’t even sure he’d want to come at this point. We’d parted on such weird terms.
That was the only way I could describe it. Weird. He’d said goodnight at the door and disappeared, his head ducked low between his shoulders, and I’d gotten this image of an anchor sitting
He thought for a minute. “Roast and gravy, I guess.”
“Your mom’s a good cook because the lasagna was great.” It really was. And she’d had garlic bread and Italian beans to go with it. And my mom had actually convinced her to play cribbage, though his mom hadn’t any idea how to play.
“She likes to cook,” he said. “Used to cook a lot for my dad.” He clammed up quick at mention of his dad, which made me want to know. It was, after all, the one thing he didn’t talk about.
“Carter?” I ventured his name.
“Hmm.”
“Can … can I ask about your dad?” I swallowed hard. “I mean you don’t have to say, but it seems like it bothers you.”
He stopped walking and pulled me to him. I laid my head on his chest.
“There isn’t much to say. They fought a lot. Mom said she couldn’t live like that anymore, so they divorced. Nothing happened, at least, nothing they told me. It was more they simply didn’t love each other anymore.” He spoke slow and deep, the pain evident in his voice.
And it came to me maybe what he was afraid of – of being like them, of falling in love and it not being real or lasting. I didn’t know if we were in love or not. It’d only been a few days. Yet it seemed like there was so much happening between us, so much possibility. And possibility was a positive thing.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice muffled by his shirt. Sorry seemed lame and worthless, but necessary to say.
“Not your fault,” he replied. “Not anyone’s fault, I guess.”
I pulled my head back, looking upward, and saw he was looking at me. Right directly at me. He lowered his face, and his breath blew hot on my lips, and moist and fervent. I sensed the trembling of his chin, the slight flutter of his heartbeat, and shaking of his hands. Something passed between us, electricity, fire, whatever you’d call it. I was awake and alive.
Then he jerked backwards, and almost stumbled in the motion. “I … can’t,” he said. “I like you, Daph, so very, very much. But … but I … I gotta think. I’m sorry. Can we go?”
However, it wasn’t if we could go anymore; it was him walking away and me keeping up. I willed the tears to stay inside. I hadn’t asked him to kiss me right then, so the fact he hadn’t shouldn’t matter. I hadn’t led him on either.
Yet maybe we’d said too much to each other these few days, made too many statements and shared too much. Maybe like he’d said, he wasn’t ready for a girlfriend.
And worse yet, maybe, just maybe, though he’d said different, maybe he wasn’t ready for me .
CHAPTER 7
It rained all night: thunder and lightning, tempestuous winds, in essence, a torrential downpour. The kind that blocks out anything else in your hearing. And I was grateful at first because what was going on in my head was awful and heartsick and sad. If I could describe it in one word, I’d say I was miserable. Misery of my own making.
Yet after a while, I simply wanted the rain to stop; it seemed like until it did, my mood wouldn’t change. Nevertheless, just like my mood, the squall had set in for good.
My dad turned on the TV to prove it, and so we watched the weather over and over.
I don’t know why people do that. After all, you can see it’s raining, can see it’s not stopping, and yet you feel obligated to torment yourself with the evidence of it on the radar.
Then my dad announced it, and that made it final. “Gonna rain all day,” he said.
I sighed and my depression swirled around me. I’d seen no sign of Carter, though I’d glanced out the front window several times, knowing all along he’d get drenched coming up here. I wasn’t even sure he’d want to come at this point. We’d parted on such weird terms.
That was the only way I could describe it. Weird. He’d said goodnight at the door and disappeared, his head ducked low between his shoulders, and I’d gotten this image of an anchor sitting
Similar Books
