Read Online The Rise of Emery James by Shae Scott - Free Book Online
Authors: Shae Scott
Tags: Romance
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crawl out of. I spend most of the day drinking coffee and sitting at my kitchen table trying to write a list of things I need to do to get out of this hole I am in.
Dad makes lists. He always has a check list for whatever project he’s working on. Hell, he even had one to bury my husband. Surely I can come up with one for how to find myself again. Maybe if I have a list I can start to make some kind of progress. I’ll have something to focus on.
By the time the sun starts to set I have one thing written on it.
1. Get over it!!!
I roll my eyes, crumble up the paper and throw it away. I shuffle through the cabinets looking for something for dinner and decide on cereal. I wonder if Cole is having Cereal tonight. Probably not. He’s out of town with Dad until tomorrow, meeting about a potential build, so I'm on my own. It's just as well. I'm not much company.
Cole is right. Cereal is lonely.
Outside the wind picks up, so I turn the tiny, kitchen TV on and find the news. According to the rainbow colored radar filling the screen, it looks like a big storm is headed this way.
I used to love storms as a kid. The wind and thunder never scared me. Instead my parents had to drag me inside out of the downpour so I wouldn't get hit by lightning. It fascinated me. Sometimes I would make up stories about why God or Mother Nature was angry. In my mind, a violent storm was their way of venting out their frustrations.
Once I finish my cereal, I wander outside to smell the coming rain on the air. It's one of my favorite things, the way the air feels just before the storm hits. Now, when it feels like I've been fighting against my own storm for so long, it takes on a different feel. Almost like I have become a part of it. Like we know each other’s secrets.
It doesn't take long before the sky opens up, large drops pounding against the deck. I step back and watch them from the safety of the covered porch, the wind whipping against my t-shirt. I should go in, but there's no one here to make me. So I stay.
The storm is really roaring. It's almost a little scary, the way the wind whips through the trees, bending the branches back and forth, testing their limits. I stand still, watching, completely mesmerized, waiting to see how much it takes for them to snap. To completely buckle under the pressure. The strain. Those limbs weren't built to withstand this kind of battery. Surely they won't make it through this violent storm, not out there fending for themselves, with nowhere to escape to.
These limbs may as well be my own.
It’s as if their fate is mine and this storm is a test of my will. If the branches break, then what hope do I have?
I watch.
I wait.
Secretly willing them to hang on, because if they make it through, then maybe I will too.
I can feel the spray of the rain as it blows onto the covered patio, but something keeps my feet planted on the creaky, old boards beneath me. Something holds me still as the storm rages on.
The past two months have felt like a storm. Each day brings another wall of wind and rain to push through. It’s hard. Coming home. Starting over. Facing a past I ran away from. Every day is hard. It tests my strength and some days, I just feel weary. I'm afraid that I'll never get a grip on everything. I'm afraid I'll never be able to put everything in order or start to sort it all out. It feels like I'm going through the motions, lost and broken, stumbling through, just hoping to find my way out. Riding out the storm. Waiting for better weather.
It's the night that gets me the most. The darkness. The quiet. It opens up the door to doubt and memory. It welcomes in every question, every regret and I want to shut down. I want to hide from it, but it never goes away. It just sits, waiting for me to deal with it. Waiting for me to decide to take control.
What if I can't?
What if I'm not built to withstand it?
Just like that branch.
It's still holding on.
So far so am I.
But I'm not sure how long
Dad makes lists. He always has a check list for whatever project he’s working on. Hell, he even had one to bury my husband. Surely I can come up with one for how to find myself again. Maybe if I have a list I can start to make some kind of progress. I’ll have something to focus on.
By the time the sun starts to set I have one thing written on it.
1. Get over it!!!
I roll my eyes, crumble up the paper and throw it away. I shuffle through the cabinets looking for something for dinner and decide on cereal. I wonder if Cole is having Cereal tonight. Probably not. He’s out of town with Dad until tomorrow, meeting about a potential build, so I'm on my own. It's just as well. I'm not much company.
Cole is right. Cereal is lonely.
Outside the wind picks up, so I turn the tiny, kitchen TV on and find the news. According to the rainbow colored radar filling the screen, it looks like a big storm is headed this way.
I used to love storms as a kid. The wind and thunder never scared me. Instead my parents had to drag me inside out of the downpour so I wouldn't get hit by lightning. It fascinated me. Sometimes I would make up stories about why God or Mother Nature was angry. In my mind, a violent storm was their way of venting out their frustrations.
Once I finish my cereal, I wander outside to smell the coming rain on the air. It's one of my favorite things, the way the air feels just before the storm hits. Now, when it feels like I've been fighting against my own storm for so long, it takes on a different feel. Almost like I have become a part of it. Like we know each other’s secrets.
It doesn't take long before the sky opens up, large drops pounding against the deck. I step back and watch them from the safety of the covered porch, the wind whipping against my t-shirt. I should go in, but there's no one here to make me. So I stay.
The storm is really roaring. It's almost a little scary, the way the wind whips through the trees, bending the branches back and forth, testing their limits. I stand still, watching, completely mesmerized, waiting to see how much it takes for them to snap. To completely buckle under the pressure. The strain. Those limbs weren't built to withstand this kind of battery. Surely they won't make it through this violent storm, not out there fending for themselves, with nowhere to escape to.
These limbs may as well be my own.
It’s as if their fate is mine and this storm is a test of my will. If the branches break, then what hope do I have?
I watch.
I wait.
Secretly willing them to hang on, because if they make it through, then maybe I will too.
I can feel the spray of the rain as it blows onto the covered patio, but something keeps my feet planted on the creaky, old boards beneath me. Something holds me still as the storm rages on.
The past two months have felt like a storm. Each day brings another wall of wind and rain to push through. It’s hard. Coming home. Starting over. Facing a past I ran away from. Every day is hard. It tests my strength and some days, I just feel weary. I'm afraid that I'll never get a grip on everything. I'm afraid I'll never be able to put everything in order or start to sort it all out. It feels like I'm going through the motions, lost and broken, stumbling through, just hoping to find my way out. Riding out the storm. Waiting for better weather.
It's the night that gets me the most. The darkness. The quiet. It opens up the door to doubt and memory. It welcomes in every question, every regret and I want to shut down. I want to hide from it, but it never goes away. It just sits, waiting for me to deal with it. Waiting for me to decide to take control.
What if I can't?
What if I'm not built to withstand it?
Just like that branch.
It's still holding on.
So far so am I.
But I'm not sure how long
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