Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bellamy
Lauren: I still have a puker. Bree wants Coy to know that she’s been watching videos on throwing curveballs.
I force a swallow.
Me: I’ll tell him. I hope she gets better.
Lauren: Me too. There’s a reason I’m not a nurse.
I blow out a breath and look up at the sky. The sun is warm on my face despite the chill in the air. I read online that getting enough vitamin D and sunshine were supposed to help chase the blues away.
Let’s pray that works.
I straighten my sweatshirt and fill my lungs with the crisp air.
You will get through this day. And then tomorrow. And then the next day. Look at all the days you’ve made it through when you thought you couldn’t.
I got up and took a shower. I made my bed. I fried an egg and toasted bread, and then I poured myself a cup of coffee.
I took out the trash and wiped the kitchen counters. Then I made sure Dad’s nurse came, and he had his medicines. Then I came home, sat at the table, and had the one cry I’m allowing myself today.
Routine helps. The one foot in front of the other mantra is solid.
My personal care routine when facing adversity is just to keep going. Eventually, you can look back and see how far you came.
This time, when I look back, I’ll see Coy.
“Nope,” I tell myself. “We are going forward.”
I walk across the yard and into my dad’s house. Game shows play in the living room. I grab a pear out of the basket on the table on my way through the kitchen. I’m not hungry, but I can fiddle with it.
“Hey,” I say as I round the corner. “How are you today?”
Dad looks rested. His skin is warmer, and his eyes less gaunt.
“Not bad,” he says. “My nurse was here and helped me get a bath. She ran to the store for me.” He takes me in. “How are you?”
“Eh.”
I sit on the loveseat and sigh.
“Why does this show look like it was taped in the seventies?” I ask.
“Because it was.”
“Oh.” I watch the host that is obviously wearing a toupee bop around the screen with a fake smile. “Do you think these things are rigged?”
“Probably. Isn’t everything? If you’re going to turn it on, you just have to suspend belief.”
“That’s what you have to do in life, too,” I mumble before I can catch myself.
Dad grabs the remote and mutes the television.
“What’s going on, Bellamy?”
I toss the pear from one hand to the other. “Nothing. Coy went to Nashville this morning.”
“When is he coming back?”
I shrug. “If we were on a game show, that would be a great million-dollar question.”
Dad doesn’t laugh.
“Hey, that was funny,” I say, even though I’m not laughing either.
Even though it’s not funny at all.
He waits to see if I explain what’s going on—because something clearly is going on. I shrug instead and look at him blankly.
I won’t cry in front of him. I won’t.
“Want me to see if I can bake these pears?” I ask him, tossing the one in my hand up in the air again. “You can put brown sugar or honey or something on them—and cinnamon, I think. Saw it on a cooking show.”
“Bellamy, please. Stop it.”
“Stop what?” I take in his raised brow. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
He rocks back and forth in his chair, trying to get every last discernible morsel of information out of me without having to poke.
Finally, he speaks.
“He will come back,” he says simply.
“Probably for the next holiday.”
Dad keeps rocking. “Probably for you.”
I squeeze the pear. “Only if he’s stupid.”
“Bellamy!”
“What?”
Dad huffs. “I didn’t raise you to be like this.”
“Like what? Realistic?”
“No. Pessimistic.” He shakes his head. “Do you not have any faith in Coy?”
I blow out a breath. “Are you siding with the enemy again?”
He rolls his eyes.
“I was kidding.” Kind of. “Look, I told him to go focus on his work. He has some contract and agent issues.” I mentally throw fireballs at Meadow. “He needs to take care of that.”
That’s all true. None of that is a lie.
“And I told him that once it’s taken care of and he knows he can come home or if he’s touring or … whatever,” I say, searching for words, “that we could maybe try again.”
And that’s also true. Mostly.
I see a shadow cross Dad’s face, and I worry he thinks I sent Coy away because of the appointment yesterday. Because of him.
“There was a picture leaked of the three of us—Coy, you, and me—from the hospital yesterday,” I say as nonchalantly as possible. “I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of life.”
True. Totally.
Mostly.
Kind of.
“What would that do to Bree?” I ask, strengthening my argument. “Could I watch her if there was a chance of someone taking her picture and putting it in the Expose or some other rag magazine?”
“Well, I didn’t think of that,” Dad says.
I sigh, relieved.
“Me either. There are things I didn’t think of that could have a profound impact on our lives. I shouldn’t jump into things, right? Didn’t you teach me that?”
Dad looks at me like he’s not sold on my argument entirely.
“If this is the case,” he says, “then fine. You should wait to jump head-first when you’re sure. Because you should never commit to someone’s heart unless you’re ready to take care of it in every way.”
I nod.
“But if you’re lying to me,” he says, pointing a finger my way, “then when that boy comes for you, you better take him back.”
“If he comes at all, it’ll be a long time from now.”
Probably never.
Dad chuckles. “Bellamy, listen to me. He’s going to come back. And you better be ready.”
“How do you know that?”
He grins. “You told me.”
“I did not,” I scoff. “You’re losing your mind. Do I need to have your head examined?”
“No. You don’t. You told me that he’ll come back when you gave him your heart.” He smiles sweetly. “You wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t deserve it.”
Tears well up in my eyes as I try to stay calm. To not cry. To stay strong and hard and unbendable.
Like I used to be.
But it’s harder now. Something has changed. And I think it might have to do with what Dad just said.
I gave my heart to Coy. No amount of staying stoic or going forward or playing hardball will get it back.
So I guess I have to live with it.
“I’m going to bake those pears,” I say, sniffling. “Brown sugar or white?”
Dad laughs. “Brown.”
“Okay.”
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand.
“Bellamy?” Dad calls.
I stop at the doorway and turn to face him. “Yeah, Daddy?”
“A life without tears is a life unlived.”
I nod, tears flowing down my cheeks freely, as I turn and walk away.
Seems like I’m living life all right. Way too many tears, though.