Counting Stars (A Donnelley Brother's Novel) Read Online Free Page A

roll. You used to tease me about
that.
    I miss hearing the play
in your voice when you scolded me for leaving the house without a
proper bra.
    You knew that when I was
sick or sad, I sat in the shower. No chicken noodle soup for this
girl! Warm water and the flickering light of a candle is the most
soothing thing of all. I miss the way you would massage the pads of
your fingers into my shoulders as I stressed over work. As soon as
I stopped talking fast (I knew you never understood me) you would
take my hand in yours and you would lead me up the stairs. In the
bathroom, you would strip me down to nothing before setting the
water just right. Then, you would hold the curtain back as I
climbed inside. Once I was settled, you would light me a single
candle. (Always vanilla scented). Then you would turn out the
light. Sometimes, depending on the severity of my frazzled nerves,
you would sit in the bathroom with me. There were times when you
talked to me and there were times when you remained quiet, your
presence a simple comfort.
    I miss the way you
sacrificed your comfort every winter for my warmth. You loathed
those fleece sheets I loved. You always were a furnace. But most of
all, I miss the way you knew I loved to be kissed.
    Knowing that there is someone out in the world, who
wants to know me, frightens me. It’s not that I don’t want to be
known—but I don’t want anyone to know me the way you did. You knew
me unlike anyone else. You were a part of me. And now you’re gone
and I don’t know how to move on from you. I’m trying. Believe me
when I say I’m trying to move on with my life—but how do I do that
when you were my life. We’d been together since I was
sixteen and you were seventeen. You were all I had ever known. You
were my first and you were supposed to be my last. The idea that at
some point, I might let another in is terrifyingly painful for me.
It’s almost too much to bear.
    I know if you could, you
would encourage me to go on this trip with Gracie. And I know you
would approve of the month of August. The month you proposed to
me—the month we married—the month I would hopefully heal. I need to
accept your death, because if I don’t, I’ll never live. And I know
that would disappoint you.
    I can’t disappoint you .
. .
    To: [email protected]
    Subject: Getting to know you . . . getting to know me . .
.
    From: Reese James
    Gracie
. . . marriage . . . this is a hard subject for me. But I suppose
you’ll figure it out one day. And maybe this might help me . . . to
email about it . . . because I’m so terribly bad at talking about
it.
    I was
with Derek for almost six years. We were married in August and he
passed away the following May. We were married for only nine months
before I lost him. I lost everything. Even myself.
    It’s
been exactly a year. The day I contacted you was also the day I put
my house up for sale . . . that day marks the anniversary of his
death. The day I became a widow.
    So no,
I don’t view this house as mine. It was ours. This place is a place
of memories that are too painful for me to continue living in. They
are all I see anymore. Although parting with these walls, where so
much of Derek remains will be hard, I know he wouldn’t want me to
continue living the way that I am. It’s been a year. I’ve mourned.
And now I have to try, at least, to live.
    Now
that I’ve gotten that painful bit off my chest . . .
whew!
    You
have four boys! My my! I can’t imagine the trouble it must have
been to raise them! You and your husband surely deserve an award.
Do you come from a large family yourself? I can’t imagine having so
many children. The thought is just exhausting! (I can’t imagine the
real thing).
    So,
Wild Land Tours . . . what made you and your husband start
something like that? I’ve always been relatively active, but I’ve
never really done anything outside in the wild. I’ve rock climbed .
. . in a controlled environment, but never in the real