Counting Stars (A Donnelley Brother's Novel) (2 page)

“
You’re doing so good, though.” She whispered the words
almost desperately. “We go out every Wednesday night and you’ve
even started talking to people. You’ve started talking to
men.
”

My heart ached just hearing those words. I still missed
him. I still missed my husband. He was the only man I wanted—the
only man I ached for. “I talk to those men because I know you need
me to, Kat. I don’t like going out. Even when I had Derek, I
never
went out.” I clutched my hand over my chest. “I’ve just
never been that girl. I don’t like crowds and I’ve never been one
for alcohol and late nights.” I watched as she blinked moist eyes
at me. “I need to do this, because if I stay here, I’ll never
heal.”

A single tear fell from
where it hung on her lower lashes. “Okay.”

If I stayed out here, I
was going to cry. I cried so much lately that I didn’t want to do
it again. The sun was shining and I should be happy—but I wasn’t. I
haven’t been happy for the last three hundred and sixty-five days.
I was trying to change that. I’d made the first move toward a new
happiness by placing that sign in my front yard today. I’d hoped to
feel relief, but I didn’t. I didn’t really feel anything at
all.

Stealing a breath, I
spoke. “I’m going to go inside now, alright?”

Kat pursed her lips and
I knew she wanted to fight my need to be alone, but she didn’t.
Instead, she nodded. “Come over if you need me. For anything,
Reese.”

“Thanks, Kat.” I gave
her arm a pat before I walked forward, into the house.

. . . I didn’t see this house as mine anymore. It was
ours. But you’re not here and I just can’t see this house, these
walls, as what they’ve always been. I can’t see this place as a
home—definitely not mine.
Because you’re not here.
This was our home. It was our happy place, where love was made
and memories were crafted.

I miss you. I miss you
walking through the door, calling out to me that you were home. I
miss your voice—the scent of your skin—the feel of your arms. And
your lips.

I miss your lips . .
.

Peeling myself from the
inside of the door is the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time.
When I wanted to crumble on the floor into a mess of limbs and a
pool of tears, I couldn’t. Because I was afraid that if I did, I
wouldn’t get back up.

I had come so far.

Stepping forward, I
moved into the kitchen where my open laptop sat against the cool
granite of the island countertop. Pressing my finger against the
mouse-pad, the screen lit up and the ad I had been reading and
rereading for almost two weeks came to life.

I scrolled, my eyes
appraising the words of the ad, like I had almost every day since
I’d first come across it. I had been searching the Internet for
something—anything. I needed help and although I knew I had friends
and family who would be more than willing to help me, I also knew
they were tiring of my constant state of grievance. My husband has
been gone for a year now. I should be relatively healed. I should
be ready to move on. Even his mother told me I needed to let go.
But how? God, how was I supposed to just let him go? We’d been
planning our whole lives together.

Need
To Find Yourself?

Has
the world and it’s constant state of stimulation become too much?
Do you need just a moment to rest your mind and your body? Are you
looking for reprieve from big city life?

We
have the perfect solution!

I know what you’re
thinking. A spa? Seriously?

No, this isn’t a spa.
I’ve tried the weekend spa retreat. That was one of the many
tactics Kat had employed to subjugate my grievance. It didn’t work.
If anything, the whole spa sanctuary only made my guilt surface.
Derek was dead and I was being pampered—paid for by his life
insurance money.

I continued reading.

We’re
a family run business. And no, we’re not here for your money! This
isn’t a scam. We do what we do because we have to. We’re guides.
Yes, guides. We can’t promise you spiritual awareness or a
supernatural connection to the earth, but we can offer you our
guidance through the nature where you might very well find what
you’re looking for.

If
you’re interested, keep reading. I’ll tell you what we’re all
about.

We’re
the Donnelley’s. Myself, my husband, John, and our four boys, Kyle,
Collin, Luke and Logan run our wild-land tours. We offer lengthy
expeditions where all technology is cut from your life for the
allotted time you choose to be with us. We offer hiking, white
water rafting, rock climbing, and classes to teach you everything
you need to know about surviving in the wild. Every tour is
different because every person who contacts us needs something
different.

If
you’re looking for a group tour where you will meet people who are
like-minded, we have that. If you’re looking for something quiet
and intimate where friendships for life flower, we have that, too.
If you’re looking to experience something new and fresh, something
the city can’t offer, we’re capable of showing you another side of
living. If you’re looking for something deeper, something I haven’t
mentioned, feel free to email me at the link provided below. My
name is Gracie, and I’ll be happy to hear from you!

[email protected]

Yours
truly,

The
Donnelley’s

I stared at the email,
my heart pounding hard in my chest. It was always like this when I
read through the ad on the Donnelley’s website. I felt a mixture of
panic and relief and I couldn’t quite figure out why. The first
time I’d come across this website, I had a feeling in the back of
my mind that this was just what I needed—time away from society.
There was just too much pressure here. I needed a place where no
one knew about Derek’s death. I needed a place where I could go to
heal alone—on my own time. If I stayed here, I would continue to
feel pressured to let go of Derek’s memory. And I just wasn’t ready
to do that yet.

The Donnelley’s tour was
looking better and better by the minute. But did they offer the
kind of tour I needed?

The only way to find out
would be to email Gracie.

To:
[email protected]

Subject: Tours?

From:
Reese James

Hello
Mrs. Donnelley,

My
name is Reese, and I’ve come across your website recently. I am
interested in your tour! However, I have a few questions. What I’m
looking for might not be your normal request, but I’m really hoping
you will be able to accommodate me.

I am
seeking silence. I know that sounds odd, and vague, but that’s
really the only way I can describe what I’m looking for. I’m not
interested in joining a group tour and I’m not seeking to make a
friend for life. (I apologize if that sounds rude. That’s not my
intention.) I’m looking to find myself again, I suppose. I’d like
to spend a good amount of time touring the wilderness, camping,
hiking, and learning the land, with one tour guide. I am hoping
that will be you, as I would be more comfortable in a females
presence.

I
sincerely hope to hear back from you,

Reese
James

Standing up from the
island stool, I wrung my now moist palms. My nerves were shooting
around inside of me like firecrackers as I waited for her reply. I
couldn’t find it within myself to close out of my email, even after
I had cleaned the entire house from top to bottom. I wanted to be
notified as soon as I received an email from Mrs. Donnelley. The
more I thought about it, the more I felt I needed to go on this
tour. Something that was almost mystical was pushing me toward
taking this journey.

After nearly three hours
had passed, I heard the chime of a new email arriving in my inbox.
I nearly jumped right out of my skin. Terror and joy surged through
my body as I froze where I was sitting, curled up on my living room
couch, with my Kindle. I’d been reading a lot in the last year.
Mostly self-help books—they didn’t help me.

Pulling my legs from
where I’d tucked them beneath me, I stood. I walked slowly,
cautiously, to the computer sitting on the counter. My heart was
pounding in my chest so hard and loud, I could hear my blood
rushing behind my ears.

To:
[email protected]

Subject: Tour??

From:
Gracie Donnelley

Hi
Reese,

Please, call me Gracie from now on! Mrs. Donnelley makes me
feel old and weathered. I am neither! (In my mind,
anyway).

You’ve
proposed a tour I haven’t yet been asked to give! Believe me, I
would be delighted to accommodate you on this journey to find
yourself. I have never given a solitary tour, as most people
requesting a tour ask directly for one of my sons—I get it—the boys
are lookers! So, to say the least, you’ve definitely surprised
me.

I can
tell from the tone of your email that you’re looking for something
specific. I can also tell that you’re a very private, and probably
somewhat guarded person, so I will not put you in the position to
answer a question that may make you turn away from this
tour.

However, I do need to know what you’re imagining this tour to
be. Are you looking to learn the river? Do you want to know the
land? Are you looking to learn survival tactics? Apart from silence
and a woman as your guide, I don’t really know what you’re looking
for.

If you
could let me know, I would greatly appreciate it!

I hope
to talk to you soon, Reese.

Sincerely,

Gracie

My heart was still
pounding by the end of the email. But the woman had made me grin a
few separate times throughout the email. That was a serious feat,
because this last year, I haven’t grinned much at all.

I pressed reply.

To:
[email protected]

Subject:
Tours??

From:
Reese James

Hi
Gracie,

May I
have a few days to chew over this? I don’t want to mislead you on
what I’m looking for—but I’m not entirely sure right now. I promise
to get back to you in three days time!

Sincerely,

Reese

My email chimed almost
instantly.

To:
[email protected]

Subject:
Tours??

From:
Gracie Donnelley

Reese,

Absolutely! Take all the time you need! I will be waiting for
your reply eagerly.

Gracie

I closed out of my
email, feeling lighter than I had in a long time. Almost as though
I was walking on clouds.

. . . I’ve done so much
today, Derek. I know you would be so proud of me—I just know it.
Deep in my heart, I know you wouldn’t want me to mourn you this
way. You would tell me that I’m so young—too young to live this
way. You would tell me to take my time and heal, but to heal. I’ve
been trying, Derek. I have been trying to heal my shattered heart
since I learned of your death. But there are still so many pieces I
haven’t found.

For the first time since
losing you, though, I feel hope. And I don’t feel guilty, either.
That makes me feel so relieved. Contacting Gracie Donnelley was a
good thing for me to do—I’m sure of it. She seems to be a
good-hearted woman, down to earth, and stable. I’m hoping that I
can find a way to heal while I take this journey with her. I’m
hoping I can find a way to smile again.

I think I would like to
spend a month with her . . .

Three days had
passed, and I knew I had to contact Gracie again. I was both
excited and nervous. I hoped she went for what I was about to
propose.

Padding across my
kitchen, I picked up the fresh pot of coffee and poured the bitter
smelling liquid into my mug. I didn’t drink coffee with cream
anymore. The sweet aroma reminded me too much of Derek and our last
morning together. Instead, I sipped it black. Over the last year, I
found I preferred it that way.

Plopping down onto the
stool, I opened my email.

To:
[email protected]

Subject:
Proposal