The old man glances around the room, his eyes narrowed as they sweep over his family. “I wish you damn people would stop singing!” he declares. He points a finger at Walker. “Especially you.”
We all go up in laughter. Cake slices get handed around the room. Jessa wanders over to speak with Penny and Iris. Somehow, I end up standing next to Walker and Jude. But even from across the room, my girlfriend and I can’t stop grinning at each other.
“So you and Jessa are getting serious, huh?” My little brother looks to me for an answer.
“What’s it to you?” One corner of my mouth hooks into a grin. I’m acting all mysterious and aloof.
My brothers start giving me shit. Apparently I’m blushing and they think it’s hilarious. I take it all in stride. I don’t give a fuck what they say. I’m gainfully-employed, well-rested and sexually-satisfied. Plus, I’m winning at parenthood. So, let them talk shit.
Our conversation is interrupted when Gramps taps Jude on the thigh to get his attention. The old man squints. “Aren’t there supposed to be four of you? W-where’s that other one?” He brings up his shaky hand to gesture to his head. “The one with the girly hair?”
My brothers and I snort back laughter.
“You mean Cannon?” Jude asks with a grin.
Gramps shrugs and blinks, looking a bit confused. “I guess…”
With a nod, Jude pulls out his phone. “Let me send him a message to find out where he is.”
This is huge. This is huge.
I know that Alzheimer’s can’t be reversed. The scientific community hasn’t found a cure. But I can’t help it—these occasional glimpses of our grandfather, especially on an important day like today, makes me unreasonably optimistic.
I can’t stop smiling. Yup—it’s a good day. And these good days are starting to become a regular occurrence in my life.
51 Eli
Looks like Walker finally got his wish. The rain has been relentless since last night. Normally, I don’t mind it. It’s good for the family farm and it makes river boating a bit more adventurous.
But today, it’s wreaking havoc on the house. This time, the damage is far worse than the last time it rained. And it’s making me late for work.
I already called Cannon and explained the situation. He said he’d cut me a little slack today, and thank god, because with a kid in the house, I’m not about to let a little water turn into a big, moldy fucking problem next week.
The girls are outside playing in the downpour, and decked out in raincoats and brightly colored boots, jumping in mud puddles. They’re pretty damn cute, if you ask me.
Yeah, I said it—cute. I’m not scared of the word anymore.
Anyway, I’m scouring every inch of the house, trying to assess the damage. What started as a small but important project the minute I rolled out of bed has turned into an exhausting mess. I have an old sump pump running in the basement, sucking out the two inches of water that seeped through the egress windows. Now I’m in the kitchen, mopping up the rain behind the stove.
This is crap.
I can’t say I’m surprised, though. And after a couple of perfect days with Callie, and some hot as fuck nights in Jessa’s bed, I guess I’m due for a disaster or two. I can’t have it all, now can I?
Still, it’s stressful. I have a finance project I’m working on at the office, and I’m under pressure to get it out on time. I hold myself to the same high standards as I do everyone else, so when I say I’m going to have something done, I get that shit done. I see some late work nights in my near future, making up for the lost time today.
And that just means less quality time with my daughter and my girlfriend. So yeah, I’m in a funk right now.
I spend another hour on the main floor of the house, shoving furniture around, mopping up any sitting water, and making note of potential long-term damage. Rinse and repeat.
I get through Callie’s room, grateful that everything looks clean and dry. Ensuring that my baby’s room is safe is crucial, so that’s a relief. That good feeling plummets when I see a small leak coming from the main bathroom. Fixing cracks in the foundation is one thing, but if this place needs a whole new roof, that’s going to put a big dent in my cash flow.
To my dismay, I find that the bathroom leak continues into Jessa’s room, staining the ceiling and already leaving a wet, dark trail down the wall. Letting out an audible groan, I slide the heavy nightstand to the side to get a better view of the damage.
When I do, a stack of papers slide out the back of the bottom drawer and land on the floor.
“Dammit.” I bend down to collect them.
The crooked slopes of the slanted handwriting catch my eye. The writing…it’s...familiar.
I pick up the slip of paper, blinking in confusion. It’s familiar because it’s my own.
I set it aside, assuming that it’s just some of my old shit that I inadvertently left behind when I gave Jessa the room. But when I move the nightstand again, even more sheets of paper fall out. My eyes trail over the frigging portfolio spread across the floor.
It’s all me.
Statements. Court documents. Banking information. Data from the family company. Everything a person could want to know about me, my life, and my company from the past few years.
But what nearly makes me fall flat on my ass? The letters. Each one handwritten by me to the woman I was communicating with while I was in prison. The woman I decided to cast aside when I started to fall for Jessa.
Monica...
I skim through
