Friday, September 5, 2014

After "I don't love you" what do you do?

I decided to go on a Writer's Retreat. It seemed like the best thing to do to get Daren out of my head and mend my crushed and broken heart. A castle in Scotland, all inclusive, an open bar, and several hot guys in kilts? What could possibly go wrong? 


“Now you sure you have everything?” my dad asked me as he checked my ticket for the nineteenth time. Standing in the ticket terminal at O’Hare airport, Dad seemed nervous.
“Yes, dad,” I answered. “Honestly, it’s just a couple months. Think of it like I’m moving away to college.”
“You never did,” he sighed. “And call me worried or whatever. I need to make sure my baby girl is protected.”
“I’m supposed to land in Heathrow at noon tomorrow and make my connecting flight up to Edinburgh landing at four. Honestly dad, I’m twenty-four, I know how to take care of myself,” I said.
He chuckled at that and honestly even I quirked a grin. We both knew this “vacation/writer’s retreat” was merely an excuse not to see Daren for his sister’s wedding. After being with him for that length of time his two sisters, all of whom were in their twenties, and I were besties. I knew it would break Jess’s heart that I backed out of being a bridesmaid but I just couldn’t walk down the aisle of the church I had loved ever since I was a little girl on Daren’s arm and smile.
“Okay just promise me that you’ll take care?” Dad asked.
I smiled at him and nodded feeling the threatening tears behind my eyes. Clearing my throat I nodded again.
“I promise, dad, and I’ll call when I can, okay?” I said throwing my arms around his neck.
“I love you, Nikki,” dad whispered in my ear.
“I love you too, daddy,” I replied. Slipping his hands up my arms he broke my hold around his neck.
“Be careful, sweetheart, promise,” he said.
“Scout’s honor,” I answered.
Gathering my carry on that held my iPad and laptop, I tried to smile as I walked towards security, but to be perfectly blunt, I could’ve cried like a baby given half a chance. 

Silent Whispers (c) M. Katherine Clark 

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