Page 130 of Sunday Morning
“What do you mean? He broke up with you or left town?”
I set some old clothes on the bed along with the new ones from Isaac. “He bought me a new guitar. It’s beautiful. And he left a note with cash.” I wrinkled my nose. “A lot of cash. But that’s it. No one knows where he went. It felt like a goodbye. A ‘good luck,’ but goodbye.”
“Do you think he left you money because he knew Dad would kick you out?”
I shook my head. “That makes little sense. Nobody predicted that.”
“Well, he has to show back up. Right?”
“I don’t know.” I tucked the folded clothes into my bag.
“What are you going to do? How long can you live in a motel?”
“I don’t—” I choked, biting my lips together as tears burned my eyes.
“Sarah, he’ll come back.” Eve stood and hugged me.
I fell apart, fat tears falling down my face as my heart bled in her arms. “W-why did h-he leave m-me?” I cried.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But he has to come back. He loves you. He carried you out of a funeral. That’s the ending to all the great love stories.”
I laughed through my tears while releasing her andwiping my eyes. “I don’t know about that,” I sniffled. “But he’s a dream. And maybe that’s all he is.”
“Come on. Let’s eat. Gabby and I made an apple pie.”
“I like cherry,” I said, following her.
“Apple is the only real pie. It’s the American pie.”
Eve made me smile, and I needed to feel something akin to joy again.
We sat down to dinner, and Mom said a prayer as we held hands. She asked God to heal the relationship between me and my father. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or God.
“This looks amazing. Thanks, Mom,” I scooped up a generous serving of casserole.
“I’m sure you’re tired of McDonald's.” She eyed me with a hint of disapproval as if I had much of a choice.
“Have you heard from any of my grandparents?” I asked, making small talk.
“Your dad’s parents are planning a visit next month. And my mom has eye surgery next week, so your sisters and I are driving to Tulsa for a few days to help my dad take care of things.”
“Tulsa’s on the list,” Gabby said.
“What list?” Mom asked after serving herself and setting the spoon on the edge of the casserole dish.
“The list I found on Sarah’s floor when you made me vacuum her room.”
Everyone looked at me, but I did not know what she was talking about.
Gabby sighed. “I set it on your desk.” She pushed back in her chair. “I’ll go get it.”
“I think you should come to church this weekend,” Mom mumbled, wiping her mouth.
“Because Dad can’t yell at me in front of the congregation?”
“So he can see you’re making an effort,” she mumbled.
“What about him? Doesn’t he have to make an effort?”