Page 16 of Love Hazard
The fact that he’d made perfect sense made it evenharder.
They were going to have a honeymoon before the funeral.Depressing, inspiring, call it whatever you wanted.
And I couldn’t be angry that he selfishly wanted thattime with his wife. Given the choice, I would do the same.
“Fine.” Hazel jolted me out of my thoughts and buckled herseat belt, snapping it into its spot with finality. “Let’s just go. Let’s camp, explore wildlife. Maybe we can befriend a fox and thencome back and tell everyone how magical it was.” She pushed her hands together.“We could burst out in song. I mean, a small one, nothing too crazy, and thenboom, we go our separate ways, everyone’s happy, and the dads don’t take awayall the things we need to survive. Done.”
“I’m already surviving,” I pointed out as we pulled out ofthe driveway. I mentally made a checklist of all the supplies we had and whatwe still needed to pick up. Hazel thought this was some sortof lying down of arms, when really, I knew whatit actually was.
An excuse for my dad to have one last moment with my mom.
I’d let Hazel believe it was because of her weird costumeand pranks, but I knew my dad had seen an opening, an opportunity, the minutehe came home. Assuming my dad was as close to hers as he claimed, Travis likelyfelt the same way.
Sending your kids away so you could have special momentswith your soulmate before everyone came back and prepared for the worst.
I shook the dark thoughts from my head. “You’re milking.”
“A cow?” she shrieked.
“No, life,” I deadpanned.
“I’m not. I went to college, I graduated, I’m going to startworking and—“
“Did you pay for it? College? Did you even think for onesecond how hard it is for others to even go to college, let alone sitthere all smug like—“
“She died!” Hazel yelled, making me suddenly swerve intooncoming traffic as I tried to pull onto the highway. “My great-grandmadied while I was trying to pass my last business class to graduate, so don’tpreach to me about how hard things are. Yes, it’s hard financially for a lot ofpeople, but don’t for one second forget how hard it is for those who go throughemotional trauma while trying to survive. Now, drive.”
“Finally.” I hit the accelerator, ignoring how her words hitso deeply that I felt as if she’d bruised my chest. She knew my mom was sick.She had no clue how bad things were or that we’d been given such a short timebefore she passed unless a miracle happened.
One thing I could appreciate about our doctor was that hewas always brutally honest. I’d rather be given the truth than a lie that wouldleave me unaware. And unprepared.
I cleared my throat. I was uncomfortable and suddenlyemotional. I almost wished the stupid costume was back. “That’s something wecan agree on. The emotional trauma is worse. It’s always worse.”
“Like anxiety,” she agreed.
“Like knowing you can do nothing but have to keep trying.”
“Because if you stop…” She sniffed. “It means they died invain.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” She looked out the window. “Keep driving. I’m goingto close my eyes. Try to go in straight lines, August.”
“I color outside of them.”
Her eyes were closed, but she smiled and hugged her chestwith her arms. “Yeah, this is my shocked face.”
“It’s a pretty face.”
“Was that a compliment from my high school nemesis?”
“Never.” I grinned and hit the accelerator. “I’ll wake youup when we stop at the store before the campsite I normally go to. I hope youpacked warm.”
“Blankets and jackets.” She yawned. “Oh, and a light stick.I grabbed one of those.”
“To throw at the bear when it attacks you or what?”
She didn’t answer. Within seconds, she was already asleep,her head lolling to the side. Smiling, I reached over and gently pushed hertoward the door so she could rest against something, then jerked my hand away.