Chapters (47)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- 2 Months Later
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Kasie West
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
When she let me go, I pulled the squirt gun out of the cardboard box and pointed it at her. “What do you say? You want to go dance on a grave?” I squirted her.
She held up her hands with a squeal. “Yes. Let’s.”
I started to get out.
She touched my shoulder, stopping me. “Let’s take this truck.”
This truck. Had she ever referred to it as “this” anything in her life? It had always been Eric’s truck. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be mine. I kind of wanted something that didn’t make me a little bit sad every time I looked at it. But it was nice that it was possibly an option now.
I nodded and took a deep breath. Just as we were about to back out of the driveway, my dad pulled up.
“Is he going to kill me?” I asked, nearly forgetting I had another parent to talk through this.
She threw the door open, slid the box to the floor, and shifted to the seat next to me. “Daniel, we’re going for a dance.”
My dad approached the truck, wary. He took in the collapsed platform and the bumper I’d thrown into the back. His normal smile was far from present. “What’s going on?” he asked in a heavy voice. One which showed that when he offered to sell this truck, he might not have been quite emotionally ready.
Mom patted the seat next to her. “Hop in. I’ll explain on the way.”
She would explain on the way. I didn’t have to. This brought me a lot of relief. He sat down next to her, still in his work suit, his tie loosened. She started with, “Your daughter won a swim award a couple weeks ago that usually only seniors win.”
My dad chuckled a bit as he shut the door. “I’m not surprised.” He reached behind my mom and squeezed my shoulder. I winced but gritted through the pain.
“Congratulations,” he said.
“Thanks.”
Then my mom told him everything we’d talked about and finished by playing him the tape. He smiled through tears. Then we went and played Eric’s music loudly while we visited his grave in the dark.
As we walked back to the truck, my dad ahead of us, I looked at my mom and said, “You know I don’t expect you to just stop doing all your charity work, right? I know that makes you happy.”
“I know. But I need to find a balance. A healthy balance. I’ll work on it. I promise.”