The Crush Ward Penelope (best novels to read for beginners .txt) 📖

nerves spiked. “Speaking of Farrah…I think Mom might have been playing some games up in heaven today.”

“Yeah?”

“I took Kaia out to lunch at that Japanese restaurant on Seminole Highway. Farrah works there now, apparently. She was assigned to our table and bolted when she saw me.”

“You’re shitting me. She works at the Japanese restaurant?”

“Evidently…yeah. I ran after her and spoke to her briefly. I told her about Mom. The whole thing was unbelievable.”

“Well, that explains the flowers from her that came today.”

That jolted me. “Are you serious?”

“Was just about to tell you.” He pointed. “Right over there on the table.”

I walked over to a bouquet of white roses mixed with other flowers and lifted the note.

Dear Mr. Muldoon,

I ran into Jace today, who told me about Faye. I’m so very sorry for your loss. Her warm smile and kindness will always be something I’ll remember. Please accept our deepest condolences and know that you are in our prayers.

Fondly,

Farrah and Nathan Spade

Continuing to stare down at the card, I said, “She must have ordered these the second she ran away from me.”

“Well, it was a very nice gesture.”

I had to agree. It touched me that Farrah had done this, despite how I’d treated her. It spoke volumes about the type of person she was.

I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her all day, despite the drama of my girlfriend dumping me…or forcing a break—whichever it was. It was a relief that Kaia wasn’t here, though, to continue analyzing my every expression and reaction to the mention of Farrah’s name.

Farrah’s running away haunted me. I kept replaying the scene in my head—not only the way she ran, but how fast all the feelings I’d harbored for her came flooding back the moment I looked in her eyes. It was unnerving, but not surprising, considering I’d only ever buried my emotions instead of dealing with them. That was my MO.

I finally put the small card back in the envelope and placed it on the table. “Have you eaten, Dad?”

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t, then?”

He hesitated. “No.”

My poor father was like a fish out of water. I wasn’t sure if he hadn’t eaten because he wasn’t hungry, or because my mother was no longer here to cook for him.

I opened the cabinet. “Want some pancakes?”

“Only if you’re making them for yourself.”

“I’m actually getting kind of hungry again, yeah,” I lied.

Dad moved over to the table and sat with his head in his hands. I grabbed the nonstick pan and turned on the heat. It broke my heart to see him so sad and helpless. I found a bowl and started mixing the ingredients. As I poured the batter into the pan and watched it sizzle, tears formed in my eyes. For the first time since coming home, I let them fall. It was the only time I’d cried since the moment I pulled onto I-95 heading north three years ago.

This simple thing—making pancakes—was something I’d watched my mother do hundreds of times. I’d been going through the motions all week, and in this ordinary moment, staring into a pancake pan, it finally hit me that she was gone.

• • •

Over the next week, I spent each day helping my father go through Mom’s things, deciding which items to keep and which to donate. Sifting through a dead loved one’s belongings, which still smelled like her, was the purest kind of torture. Dad broke down multiple times in the process.

One afternoon, I needed respite from that routine, so I decided to go to the grocery store and run some errands. I hadn’t been planning to drive by Farrah’s house, but somehow I ended up passing the road I needed to take to get home. Before I knew it, I was approaching her and Nathan’s neighborhood and decided to turn down their street.

My heart raced at the sight of a small child playing out in front of their house. The little girl was in one of those red-and-yellow plastic cars. A rush of adrenaline hit. Whose kid is that? Nathan’s? Farrah’s? I’d specifically asked my mother not to seek out information on them, and to the best of my knowledge, she’d never run into them in the three years I’d been gone; she would have told me if she had. I had no idea what had transpired with them because I’d made a conscious effort to stay out of their lives.

Totally freaked, I got out of my truck and approached the driveway.

Jesus Christ.

The more I looked at the little girl, the more worried I became. She couldn’t have been more than a few years old, maybe younger. I did the math in my head, and a terrifying thought occurred to me. Could she have been my kid? Her hair was almost black like mine. Maybe that thought was crazy, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Before my nerves had a chance to explode into full-fledged panic, a woman rushed out and took the child into the house through the garage. She turned around once and flashed me an alarmed look. Apparently, I’d gotten a little too close and had been mistaken for a perpetrator.

Who is that woman?

The mother? A sitter?

A friend of Farrah’s, maybe?

I went from possibly having an illegitimate child one second to just dazed and confused the next.

As I continued to stand in front of the house staring at it blankly, a voice to my left said, “Hey, I know you.”

I turned to find a teenage girl who looked vaguely familiar. Then it hit me. Nora. The eleven-year-old who lived next door was now a teenager.

Well, I’ll be damned. I felt so old. “Hey.” I moved toward her. “Nora, right?”

“Yeah. You’re Jace. I remember you. You used to live there.” She tilted her head. “Were you looking for Farrah?”

“Um…no. Not really. I was just driving by and…stopped.”

“They don’t live here anymore.”

My eyes widened. “They don’t?”

“No. They moved about two years ago.”

My stomach sank. “Where do they