I am happy my freaking mother is glad I am here and that I have been, scratch that, was doing design work which I hadn’t done in years but I don’t know how she thinks hanging fucking Christmas lights on the outside of the house is design work.

My dad’s back is not bad. I know that for a fact considering he went golfing three times in the past week. I think she just doesn’t want to ask him to do it because I know it is one of his least favorite activities.

It is just convenient that I am home that I can be the one to do it. Fuck me running. I wish I could come down with the flu. Except it’s seventy degrees outside. No way I can fake it.

And it doesn’t even feel like Christmas. How do people in Florida even acknowledge this holiday when they spend it on the beach. I almost want to hire someone to create fake snow for the front lawn so I can have some semblance of peace here.

Two weeks.

I have been here for two weeks and I am already ready to move somewhere else. I miss my life in Tennessee, but I can’t deal with Easton. He has called numerous times, like every hour, every day, but I can’t face the excuses. I try to push the thoughts of Tennessee out of my head. I talked to Ivy yesterday, but I know she was giving me the runaround. She had to know something about Easton. I could tell she was lying. But she kept everything behind closed doors. It is probably for the better. I told her I wanted to know nothing about him and she quietly agreed.

I can’t get him out of my head though. Everywhere I look I see him. At the coffee shop, the grocery store, the bank. Hell, I was running yesterday, and I swore I saw him at the country club. Everyone here is fifty-five plus so I knew I was losing it.

And I can’t believe I was stupid enough to leave with his truck. I’m sure he wants it back. But every time I get into the damn thing I swear I can still smell him. His scent of sandalwood and oil. He left a cowboy hat in the passenger seat. And I don’t know how many times I’ve crawled over there and breathed it in.

I curse myself for thinking of him yet again. I move the ladder toward the next part of the roof and pick up a new rope of lights. One that I spent hours untangling earlier. I put the staple gun into the tool belt I slung around my waist and climb the ladder. I hear a distant rumble of thunder and swear under my breath. I have one strand left to hang then I am done with this miserable job and can go inside and open a new bottle of wine.

Or whiskey.

I haven’t decided my medicine yet.

I connect the new strand to the one I just finished hanging and start stapling the lights to the edge of the roof. A few droplets of water hit my forehead.

For the love of god can this day get any worse?

I hate Florida and its stupid daily thunderstorms.

I look up to the sky and see the storm rolling in. I have five minutes tops before it gets bad. And I have fifteen feet of lights to hang.

I scramble down the ladder and move it over so I can finish up before the storm. I run up and down the ladder stapling like a mad woman. I finally make it to the end of the roof. I put the last staple in just as the sky opens up to a complete downpour. Despite being soaked through right now, I have to say I was successful.

I make my way down the ladder until my foot slips from the slick rain. I grip tighter to keep from falling but as I try to find my footing my grips slips and I crash to the ground.

I lay on my back looking up to the roof, rain streaming down my face. As I look up to the lights, my vision starts to fade in and out, and I swear I can see the lights turn on, brilliant and shining.

I try to sit up but wince as a jolt of pain travels down my spine all the way to my toes. I decide flipping over is a better idea. I make it halfway before my vision blacks out again.

I lie on my side, face firmly planted in the grass that is now getting muddy. I see my phone a few feet away and try to grab it to call for help.

But darkness prevails.

A veil of black falls over my eyes as I lay sprawled in the rain.