Page 33 of Letters of Faith
I unlock the door and step inside.
The first thing I notice is that the house is clean, which means it’s at least not as bad as the last time. The second thing I notice is the sob coming from the bedroom.
Not waiting any longer, I flip the hallway light on and walk to the back room. My heart isn’t ready for what I see.
The hallway light shines into the room, casting a sallow glow across Georgia. She’s lying in bed, her hair a mess, and last night’s makeup still on her face. Black streaks coat her cheeks from the remnants of her tears.
She leans up for a second to glance at me and then lies back down as if the effort to hold her head up is too much. That one motion splits my chest in two.
What happened between last night and today? She hasn’t had a day like this in months.
My tennis shoes thud against the hardwood as I walk towards her—each step in time with the beat in my chest. She doesn’t bother looking at me as I approach. Carefully, I sit on the edge of the bed and swipe my hand over her matted curls.
“Peach,” I say, my voice broken. I hate seeing her like this. It breaks a piece of me every time I do.
She doesn’t look—just lies there with her eyes turned toward the ceiling.
“Come on, Peach. It’s me. Let me help.” At this point, I’m practically begging. I want her to hand over her pain and let me share the burden, but still, she doesn’t move.
Not bothering to kick off my shoes, I sling my legs onto the queen-sized bed, lie beside her, and pull her into my arms.
Her chest moves up and down against my arm—the only sign that she’s alive.
“Georgia,” I plead. I will not plead with anyone else for anything, but this—for her—I will.
It’s her name on my lips that finally breaks her from her trance. Big, gulping sobs pour from her mouth. Her whole body shakes, and I pull her closer, wrapping my body around her. My legs tangle with hers. My arms hold her. In another lifetime, this would be everything for me, but in this lifetime, she’s a broken woman, and I’m the defective glue trying to hold her together.
“What, Peach? What happened between the time I left you last night and now?”
She shrugs, the sobs still leaving her body, but that answer isn’t good enough for me—not after I’ve seen how far she can fall.
“Tell me,” I demand. It’s not harsh, but it catches her attention. I won’t let her go back there.
“I knew yesterday would be hard,” she hiccups, “but then I got there, and I had fun. It was fun. I was happy when I got home last night. Then I walked inside, sat on the couchalone, and it hit me out of nowhere.”
“What did?” I ask, my voice smoother than before.
“That I was happy.”
My brows pull together. “I don’t understand why that led you here, Peach.”
“Because I was happy, Grayson,” she says, pounding her fists against my back. I let her. I’ll be her punching bag if that’s what she needs. “I was happy, and Nate’s not here. I was happy without Nate.”
Her fight fizzles out as understanding dawns on me.
“Georgia, baby, look at me.”
She lifts her chin, turning her face away from me. The woman isas stubborn as a mule. Untangling one of my arms, I pinch her chin between my thumb and forefinger, turning her head until she’s facing me. Still, she lets her eyes wander to everything in the room but me.
“Georgia,” I growl.
A small shiver runs over her body. If she weren’t so close to me, I wouldn’t have noticed, but she is, and I did. I store that information away for later when there’s a more appropriate time to analyze what that small reaction means.
She stares behind my head, then slowly pulls her eyes towards mine. I swear sloths move faster than how quickly the woman meets my gaze.
When I have her full attention, I take advantage of it.
“Nate wants you to be happy. It’s the whole point of the letters. But I also know that guilt—and grief—can’t be explained or willed away. So today, you’re going to take the time to grieve the happiness that you didn’t get with Nate, and tomorrow,weare going to get up and put one step in front of the other because that’s all life is, Georgia—putting one foot in front of the other.”
