Page 5 of A Lifetime in 30 Days
“My baby! My baby!” Gail screamed again.
But she didn’t look up at Vanna. Hadn’t accused her of doing something to Caleb again either. So Vanna left her there.
She walked away, stepped outside, and closed the door behind her. Just as she’d done five years ago when she put Caleb out of her house.
It was later that night, while Vanna was soaking in a tub filled with lavender-scented bubbles—which she prayed would promote sleep once she was finished—that the breakdown she’d been pushing aside all day broke free.
Caleb was dead.
Her trifling, lying-ass ex-husband—well, not officiallyex, a fact that honestly had been haunting her in the last couple of months—was dead.
She leaned her head back against the ergonomic bath pillow and closed her eyes. So many memories, so many plans. More disappointments, more anger, more heartache. Had she failed? Was she destinedto be alone? Abandoned by those she’d desperately wanted to love her back?
One deep inhale, a shaky-ass exhale. Repeat. Refocus. Breathe. Emotions volleyed for first place, slapping against her psyche like a hurricane rolling in from the sea. Confusion, relief, annoyance, and, yes, sorrow—she tried hard not to tremble. Tried not to travel further down the path she knew all too well.
Her chest heaved, and her fingers fluttered on the lips of the tub where her arms rested. Beneath the bubbles, her legs twitched, water sloshing with the motion. Her breaths came quicker, the scent of lavender wafting up until her nostrils stung. She knew exactly what this was, and hated that he’d brought her to this place once again.
Forcing her legs to still took an extreme bout of concentration. Then came the breathing, different from the pants that had her clenching her teeth just moments ago. Deeper inhales; slow, concentrated exhales. Good thoughts, positive words. This would pass; she just needed to help it along. Anxiety was a sneaky bitch.
It was also a liar and a thief, but she was going to be okay.
Several moments—and several deeper, slower breaths later—she let those last words continue to play in her mind until they grew louder than the thoughts, the memories, the questions. She was going to be okay.
When she finally opened her eyes again, her lids felt heavy, and tears that had accumulated beneath them streamed down. She swallowed and stared up at the ceiling. Caleb was gone.
He was a huge part of her past—the biggest part of her adult life so far. He was a mistake. Every second since that first night they’d kissed when they were sophomores in college had been a mistake. One she continued to make for fifteen years, until she’d found the nerve to stop the madness. At one point, she thought maybe they just weren’t compatible; that had been the stage right afterWhat the Hell Am I Doing Wrong?, about three years into their marriage. During the course of their relationship, she’d believed that prayer and hard work would help putthe pieces that so blatantly didn’t fit into the puzzle of her life together. She’d forgiven, excused, faked, and ignored every warning sign that had flashed like neon lights in her face before finally admitting the truth: Caleb had never been good enough for her.
And in the five years she’d been single—in every sense of the word except for legally—she’d been certain of that fact. She deserved more from a man—any man, whether he be simply a lover or if she ever took the plunge and got married again. She deserved and would demand more. Or she would be alone.
Like she was now.
Chapter 3
August 2
“I’m not gonna make it tonight,” Jamaica said.
“What?” Vanna screeched, then caught herself and rubbed her free hand over her forehead. “What do you mean you can’t make it?” she asked. “It’s the first night of the first FFSF weekend.”
She stood then and walked around her desk so she could close the door to her office.
“I’m mad that you even gave it that silly-ass name,” Jamaica said with a chuckle. “You know you can just call it yourbirthday celebration, part one, or something like that.”
“I can also call it FFSF, because it’smybirthday celebration,” Vanna replied, and made her way back to her chair. “Just like when you plannedyourfortieth-birthday trip and called it Jamaica Turns Forty in Jamaica.”
“That’s because that was cute and you know it.” Jamaica laughed again. “And we had a ball!”
“Yes, we did,” Vanna said, releasing the deep breath she’d taken. She didn’t want to go off on Jamaica, especially while she was in the office. “And I didn’t say a word about what you named your celebration. I just went along with every single thing you had planned. Even that part where all of us had to buy the same purple bathing suit to wear on the yacht that we had to help you pay for.”
“Well, y’all were gonna be on there, drinking and eating too, so it made sense that everybody pitch in.”
Vanna propped her elbows on her desk and frowned. “Whatever, girl. That was last year. This is my fortieth celebration, and you know I’ve taken my time to plan out each weekend this month so we can get in the maximum amount of party time.”
“I still think one weeklong trip would’ve been a better idea,” Jamaica added.
“That’s because you work for the government and have a bunch of paid vacation time, plus sick time and all those other holidays y’all get.”
“Now, you know we don’t get holidays at the jail. We’re open seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. As a matter of fact, I’m supposed to be working right now, but I took a break to come outside and call you when I could’ve just sent a text.”
