The Things We Leave Unfinished Yarros, Rebecca (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖

Scarlett ripped her hands away. “No, I don’t.”

“I’ve seen your visa. I know how close you are to the Americans’ quota, and I’ve seen the expiration date. If you don’t take this chance, it might not come again.”

Scarlett shook her head. “He’ll need me.”

Constance’s expression softened, filling with compassion.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Scarlett whispered, retreating a step. “He could still be out there. He still is out there.”

Constance’s gaze flickered toward William, who chewed on the edge of the blanket Jameson’s mother had made. “He wanted you to go. He arranged all of this so you and William could be safe.”

Scarlett’s chest tightened. “That was before.”

“Can you honestly tell me he wouldn’t want you to go?”

Scarlett looked anywhere but at her sister, trying and failing to pin down one emotion, one certainty. Of course Jameson would want her to go, but that didn’t mean it was the right thing to do.

“Don’t take it away,” Scarlett whispered, her throat aching with all the words she wouldn’t let herself say.

“What?”

“My hope.” Her voice broke as her vision blurred. “It’s all I have left. If I pack those bags, if I get on the plane, I’m abandoning him. You can’t ask me to do that. I won’t.” It was one thing to take William to the States, knowing that Jameson would join them when the war ended. But the thought of not being here when they found him, of leaving him to heal on his own, no matter what condition he was in, was more than she could take. And if she so much as gave in for the tiniest second to the possibility that he wouldn’t come home, she would shatter.

“You can wait for Jameson in the States just as easily as you can wait here. Where you are doesn’t change wherever he is,” Constance argued.

“If there was a chance Edward had survived, would you have left?” Scarlett challenged.

“That’s not fair.” Constance flinched, and the first tear broke free, sliding down Scarlett’s face.

“Would you?”

“If I had William to worry about, then yes, I would have left.” Constance looked away, her throat working as she swallowed. “Jameson knows you love him. What would he want you to do?”

Another tear fell, then another, as though the dam had broken, as her heart screamed in silent agony at the truth it was forced to acknowledge.

Scarlett scooped her son into her arms and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of his cheek. For William. “He made me promise that if anything happened to him, I’d take William to Colorado.” The tears came in a steady stream now, and William tucked his head in to her neck, like he understood what was happening. God, would he even remember Jameson?

“Then you have to take him.” Constance stepped forward and ran the backs of her fingers down William’s cheek. “I don’t know what happens to your visa if Jameson is dead.”

Scarlett’s shoulders curved inward as she battled against the rising sob in her throat. “I don’t either.” All it would take was a trip to the consulate to answer that question, but what if it canceled her visa? What if William could go but she couldn’t?

“If you stay…” Constance had to clear her throat, then try again. “If you stay, our father can have you declared hysterical. You know he would do it if it meant getting his hands on William.”

Scarlett’s tears stopped. “He wouldn’t—”

The girls shared a look, because they both knew he would. Scarlett held William a little tighter, swinging softly as he began to fuss.

“Jameson would want you to go,” Constance repeated. “Wherever he is right now, he wants you to go. Staying here won’t keep him alive.” Constance’s words faded into a whisper.

If he even was alive.

“You can’t help Jameson. But you can save your son—his son.” Constance gripped her sister’s forearm gently. “It doesn’t mean you’re giving up hope.”

Scarlett closed her eyes. If she tried hard enough, she could feel Jameson’s arms around her. She had to believe that she would feel them again. It was the only way she could keep breathing, keep moving. “If…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. “All I would have in this world would be William, and you. How am I supposed to leave you?”

“Easily.” Constance gave her forearm a squeeze. “You let me finish packing you. You let me take care of you for once. And tomorrow, if there is no news, you let me help you leave. You take my godson somewhere he can sleep without fear of the world caving in around him. You can’t save him from whatever is coming his way—your way—when it comes to Jameson. But you can save him from this war.”

Scarlett’s heart lurched at the plea in her sister’s eyes. Constance’s face was pale, and the skin under her eyes was dark from obvious exhaustion. There was no newlywed glow about her, and though no bruises were obvious, Scarlett hadn’t missed the way her sister winced and shifted her weight often. “Come with me,” she whispered.

Constance scoffed. “Even if I could, well, I can’t. I’m married now, for better”—her gaze dropped—“or for worse.” She mustered a blatantly fake smile. “Besides, what would you do? Stow me away?”

“You would fit in the trunk,” Scarlett tried to tease, but it fell flat. There was nothing left in her to tease with. She was empty, but empty was better than feeling it. She knew as soon as she let it in, there would be no return to whatever this state was.

“Ha.” Constance arched an eyebrow. “Once I finish packing you, there won’t be much room. Are you sure this is all you can take?”

Scarlett nodded. “Jameson’s uncle said one trunk and two cases.” She’d filled Constance in on the plan the day before her wedding.

“Well then.” Constance managed a reassuring smile. “We’d better get you packed.”

William tugged on a strand of her hair, and Scarlett traded him her hair for a toy. The boy was worse than