BooksBarbecue
Back Early Departures
Chapters (122)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Facts
  5. 101
  6. 100
  7. 23 Months After the Funeral
  8. 99
  9. 98
  10. 97
  11. 96
  12. 95
  13. 94
  14. 93
  15. 92
  16. 91
  17. 90
  18. 89
  19. 88
  20. 87
  21. 86
  22. 85
  23. 84
  24. 83
  25. 82
  26. 81
  27. 80
  28. 79
  29. 78
  30. 77
  31. 76
  32. 75
  33. 74
  34. 73
  35. 72
  36. 71
  37. 70
  38. 69
  39. 68
  40. 67
  41. 66
  42. 65
  43. 64
  44. 63
  45. 62
  46. 61
  47. 60
  48. 59
  49. 58
  50. Postreanimation Day 1
  51. 57
  52. 56
  53. 55
  54. 54
  55. 53
  56. 52
  57. 51
  58. 50
  59. 49
  60. 48
  61. 47
  62. Day 2
  63. 46
  64. 45
  65. 44
  66. 43
  67. 42
  68. 41
  69. 40
  70. 39
  71. 38
  72. 37
  73. 36
  74. Day 3
  75. 35
  76. 34
  77. 33
  78. 32
  79. 31
  80. 30
  81. Day 4
  82. 29
  83. 28
  84. 27
  85. 26
  86. Quincy
  87. 25
  88. Jamal
  89. 24
  90. 23
  91. 22
  92. 21
  93. 20
  94. Day 4
  95. 19
  96. 18
  97. 17
  98. Day 5
  99. 16
  100. 15
  101. 14
  102. 13
  103. 12
  104. 11
  105. 10
  106. Day 6
  107. 9
  108. 8
  109. 7
  110. 6
  111. 5
  112. 4
  113. 14 Days Postreanimation
  114. 3
  115. 2
  116. 1
  117. 0
  118. Acknowledgments
  119. About the Author
  120. Books by Justin A. Reynolds
  121. Back Ad
  122. About the Publisher

She licks my bottom lip, and I kiss her. She bites my bottom lip, and pain never felt so good. I kiss her back, kiss her deeply, as if our kissing is preventing the world from nuclear destruction, and I open my eyes to see if her eyes are open and they weren’t, but then they open and she catches me and she smirks. “Damn, stare much?”

I nod. “When something’s worth staring.”

The corner of her mouth pulls back into a smirk, like a slingshot. “Do those lines ever work?”

I grin. “You tell me.”

She slips our embrace and walks out of the room.

“Hey,” I call after her. But she doesn’t answer. I hear the front door open and close. I walk into the front hall and she’s gone. I race to the door, yank it open, and step outside. I don’t see her. I move toward the driveway; her car’s there.

“Hey,” she calls out from behind me. “Who you looking for?”

I whirl around slowly, like I’ve taken ten paces and now I’m drawing my gun. I play it cool. Mad casual. “I was just getting the mail.”

“Oh, that’s disappointing.”

“You left me.”

“You asked me if that shit worked.”

“So you just leave?”

“It was funnier in my head,” she admits.

I smile. “Damn, I want that on my tomb.”

17

Ms. B calls to say we’ve been warned by Mr. O that this trip shouldn’t happen.

Whit puts her on speakerphone, so we can both hear. “What exactly did he say? And how’d he even know?”

Ms. B says she told him as a heads-up, asked if he had any advice on how to care for Q.

“He said that without knowing when Q will . . . this trip is too dangerous. That not only shouldn’t Q go at all, but I should reconsider the hard cap. That I needed to consider Q’s interests and not just my own. But I told him I didn’t care what he thought, or what the Center believed. That a mom knows what’s best for her son. That I want my son’s last moments on this planet to be some of the best he’s had.”

And I know I’m the last one to object, considering I’m kinda why we’re in this mess to begin with, but I have to ask. “What if . . . what if this trip is a bad idea? What if we’re wrong?”

“Death happens when it happens, and talking about it, or planning for it, changes not a single damn thing. If our families don’t know that, after all that’s happened to us, then who does?”

Day 5

<30 Q Hours Left

16