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Book: Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series) by Bethany Hensel
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Authors: Bethany Hensel
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right. Gratitude, plain and simple, bursts inside me.
“Alright, come on inside,” Mom says after a while, taking me by the elbow as Dad and I break apart. “God, you must be starving. I can’t imagine you ate during any of this.”
Dad and I both follow her in. We go to the living room, but Mom makes a beeline for the kitchen. Cupboards open and close, drawers slide out and in. The sounds are soothing. Dad and I sit on the couch. He’s about to say something when a familiar beep sounds from the TV, signaling breaking news. We both turn toward the screen. A serious-faced anchorman intones that a partial shoe print was just found outside of a first floor window of Issy Campbell's house.
Dad turns off the TV.
“Sorry. I’m sure you don’t want to see that.” He looks at me and sighs. “How’re you holding up?”
I chuckle. It’s a sickly sound. “I don’t know. I’m just...I’m tired, I guess.” Overwhelmed. “In fact,” I stand and run my hands through my hair, “I think I’m going to go upstairs. Try to get my head straight.”
Figure out what the hell my next step is.
Dad’s brows rise in surprise. “Oh, okay. Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head and turn to the steps. Before I reach them, Dad calls my name.
“By the way, your mailbox lit up earlier this morning. You may want to check it out.”
Nodding, I walk over to the TV. I tap the screen and various boxes come up. I hit the one that says D. Archer Mail. All my emails pop up—well, the last hundred of them at least. I read the subject lines of the three most current. One is from Pitt Medical, one is from Penn State. And one is from PMAA. I open that email, and as I read the words—kind, congratulatory words, words I’ve wanted to read for the last five years of my life—something inside me twists and clenches.
Dear Mr. Archer:
We received your test scores, teacher recommendation letters, and essays and it is with great excitement that we offer you a place in the PMAA family as a Pre-Surg I. Please click here for salary and benefits package. Orientation is November 13, 2054 at 9 AM, where world-renowned surgeon Alex Bartone will begin onsite training.
It’s strange. This letter is all I ever wanted, but now it suddenly doesn’t seem so important. It’s the key to my future, but it doesn’t seem all that bright anymore. It’s been the goal I strived for and now that I’ve achieved it, I’ve never felt more hollow.
I don’t know how long I stand there, my mind blank and riotous all at once. It’s only when I feel a hand on my shoulder that I snap out of my haze. I look over. Dad is beside me, his eyes on mine. He’d never read my mail but I can tell, from the look in his eyes, he knows what I just saw.
Dad asks, “Do you want me to write them? Explain what happened? Maybe they’ll give you an extension.”
I lower my gaze. My fingers brush against the small item that's still in my pocket. Recited words float through my head.
I love your laugh. I promise to work as hard as I can to hear that laugh as often as I can. Victoria…
“No,” I answer. “You don’t have to do that.”
My love for you was instant.
“Derek, you can still do this. You can still move out, take that job, and…” He trails off, an embarrassed look crossing his face as I meet his gaze, as he realizes what he was about to say, and what he couldn’t.
I nod. “You’re right. I could still do everything you said…”
My feelings won’t ever change.
“…but it wouldn’t mean anything.”
“It would mean something,” he says.
“No, Dad. Because she won’t be a part of it.”
Will you marry me?
VICTORIA
It's hot . My sweat soaks my clothes until I feel like they're disintegrating, tearing , like water weighing down a Kleenex. I curl myself in a ball and cry. I can't stop crying. And it's dirty. The ground beneath all this hay is nothing but dirt. And it smells like urine and body odor and that's when I
“Alright, come on inside,” Mom says after a while, taking me by the elbow as Dad and I break apart. “God, you must be starving. I can’t imagine you ate during any of this.”
Dad and I both follow her in. We go to the living room, but Mom makes a beeline for the kitchen. Cupboards open and close, drawers slide out and in. The sounds are soothing. Dad and I sit on the couch. He’s about to say something when a familiar beep sounds from the TV, signaling breaking news. We both turn toward the screen. A serious-faced anchorman intones that a partial shoe print was just found outside of a first floor window of Issy Campbell's house.
Dad turns off the TV.
“Sorry. I’m sure you don’t want to see that.” He looks at me and sighs. “How’re you holding up?”
I chuckle. It’s a sickly sound. “I don’t know. I’m just...I’m tired, I guess.” Overwhelmed. “In fact,” I stand and run my hands through my hair, “I think I’m going to go upstairs. Try to get my head straight.”
Figure out what the hell my next step is.
Dad’s brows rise in surprise. “Oh, okay. Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head and turn to the steps. Before I reach them, Dad calls my name.
“By the way, your mailbox lit up earlier this morning. You may want to check it out.”
Nodding, I walk over to the TV. I tap the screen and various boxes come up. I hit the one that says D. Archer Mail. All my emails pop up—well, the last hundred of them at least. I read the subject lines of the three most current. One is from Pitt Medical, one is from Penn State. And one is from PMAA. I open that email, and as I read the words—kind, congratulatory words, words I’ve wanted to read for the last five years of my life—something inside me twists and clenches.
Dear Mr. Archer:
We received your test scores, teacher recommendation letters, and essays and it is with great excitement that we offer you a place in the PMAA family as a Pre-Surg I. Please click here for salary and benefits package. Orientation is November 13, 2054 at 9 AM, where world-renowned surgeon Alex Bartone will begin onsite training.
It’s strange. This letter is all I ever wanted, but now it suddenly doesn’t seem so important. It’s the key to my future, but it doesn’t seem all that bright anymore. It’s been the goal I strived for and now that I’ve achieved it, I’ve never felt more hollow.
I don’t know how long I stand there, my mind blank and riotous all at once. It’s only when I feel a hand on my shoulder that I snap out of my haze. I look over. Dad is beside me, his eyes on mine. He’d never read my mail but I can tell, from the look in his eyes, he knows what I just saw.
Dad asks, “Do you want me to write them? Explain what happened? Maybe they’ll give you an extension.”
I lower my gaze. My fingers brush against the small item that's still in my pocket. Recited words float through my head.
I love your laugh. I promise to work as hard as I can to hear that laugh as often as I can. Victoria…
“No,” I answer. “You don’t have to do that.”
My love for you was instant.
“Derek, you can still do this. You can still move out, take that job, and…” He trails off, an embarrassed look crossing his face as I meet his gaze, as he realizes what he was about to say, and what he couldn’t.
I nod. “You’re right. I could still do everything you said…”
My feelings won’t ever change.
“…but it wouldn’t mean anything.”
“It would mean something,” he says.
“No, Dad. Because she won’t be a part of it.”
Will you marry me?
VICTORIA
It's hot . My sweat soaks my clothes until I feel like they're disintegrating, tearing , like water weighing down a Kleenex. I curl myself in a ball and cry. I can't stop crying. And it's dirty. The ground beneath all this hay is nothing but dirt. And it smells like urine and body odor and that's when I
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