Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
I think that was always the hardest part. Every day, I wished like hell things could be different. Maybe if I was a better man. Maybe if I’d chosen a different profession. A different city. A different, well, any-fucking-thing and maybe I would be hugging her goodbye before school rather than saying it to a damn screen.
I silently chastised myself. Coulda, shoulda, woulda never actually changed anything. Yet night after night, I went to sleep hoping it would.
My smile was skillfully locked in place as my daughter looked back at the camera and said, “I gotta go, Daddy. I love you lots and lots.” Using both hands, she blew kisses.
I caught every single one before replying, “I love you too, sweetheart. More than you’ll ever know.”
“Byyyyyyeeeee.” She waved, and then she was gone all over again.
I didn’t move for several minutes. The day was all downhill from there and I was nowhere near ready to tackle any of it. For a while, I seriously debated crawling back into bed. Then I decided against it when I realized that it would only give me time to think—the most dangerous pastime of all.
Besides, I couldn’t risk my thoughts inevitably drifting to Gwen.
Gwen.
Fucking Gwen of all people.
I’d been so rattled after seeing her I couldn’t focus. Even after she’d left, my mind had been a hurricane of empty thoughts. What the hell had she been doing at The Grille in the first place? I’d spent an exorbitant amount of time and money there over the years and had never once run into her. Something I was profoundly and overwhelmingly grateful for.
But there she was.
Time changed people. A fact I knew better than most. It was still surprising how different she looked. Sure, she was beautiful. I was crazy, not blind. But I couldn’t fathom why she’d cut her hair and added those bits of blond. They suited her nicely, but back in the day, we couldn’t go anywhere without women stopping her to gush over her long chestnut waves. And that nose ring? What the hell was that about? The woman I’d met in high school wasn’t edgy in any shape or fashion. I could still feel the sting of the tongue lashing she’d given me when I’d gotten my first tattoo.
I hadn’t recognized the women she was with at the restaurant or how many of the three kids were hers, but there was no denying that little boy with the dark hair. He looked so much like her it had rendered me speechless.
Not that I had anything to say.
When it came to Gwen, the chasms of the past were far wider than the English language could ever bridge. Hell, even trying would have been downright disrespectful.
Suddenly, work and all the distractions that came with it sounded more enticing than ever.
Without another thought, I got busy.
Phone calls.
Virtual meetings.
Pretending I cared when a colleague called to bitch about our boss.
There was a turkey sandwich and a midday cup of coffee in there somewhere, but for the most part, it was a pretty standard day.
And then it was six o’clock.
My therapist had once told me that the hardest part about leaving my house was putting on my shoes, but that was a Mount Everest–sized load of bullshit.
The hardest part was spending every single second of the week dreading it.
And then coming home, knowing I had to do it all over again.
I was Sisyphus, and going to that diner every Wednesday was my rock to push up the hill.
Until suddenly my hill disappeared.
I could barely breathe as I stood under the tattered awning in front of The Grille and read the note taped to the door.
Dear Valued Customers,
Our family has been honored to serve you over the last three decades, but it is with a heavy heart that we must close our doors. Life has taken us in a different direction, but we will never forget the memories made at The Grille. Thank you for being a part of our story.
All our best,
The Branning Family
“No,” I whispered, panic hitting me like a tidal wave.
My throat closed and my mind spiraled as I tried to make sense of what was clearly written out in black and white directly in front of me.
There must have been a mistake. I peered through the window and saw all the tables pushed into the corners with the chairs stacked on top. The lights were on. That had to mean something.
I pounded my fist against the glass door.
The Grille couldn’t close.
The Grille could not fucking close.
Frantic, I tugged on the handle.
It was Wednesday at six o’clock. And the door was locked.
Lightheaded, I desperately shook the door, trying and failing to force it open. “No, no, no, no, no,” I chanted. “You can’t be closed. Come on, come on, come on.”
Every muscle in my body strained as I considered ripping the whole damn door off the hinges.