Saving Hope

NaNoWriMo

Hi Readers,

I know it's been a while since I've updated a story regularly, but I have decided to participate in NaNoWriMo here on Wattpad. I'm taking a break from my outside projects and hope to update my new story daily. I know some of you are still waiting for me to finish The Senior Trip, but for NaNo I needed to start a new story.

I promise I will get back to The Senior Trip as soon as the month is over. Please enjoy Giving up our Ghosts (YA Romance)!

Thank you!

Sarah

https://www.wattpad.com/801738078-giving-up-our-ghosts-chapter-one?utm_source=web&utm_medium=email&utm_content=share_reading

Chapter One Preview:

Cade

My mother's expression was an ironic contradiction; her cheeks lifted with her perfect, strong smile while her eyes told an entirely different story. I watched as they slowly slid closed in a pause that stretched beyond what was automatic and lingered in the territory of drifting off into sleep before lifting open again so agonizingly unhurried my father nudged her with his elbow. She shifted in her seat. This was something I'd seen her do before, another trick to try to stay awake when she'd over done it again. I couldn't watch it today. It had been three years since the last time we'd been inside this place, and if it had been a hundred it wouldn't have been long enough.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Mrs. Copland?" Mr. Davies asked.

"That would be great. Thank you," my mother replied.

"Losing someone can be a very difficult time for families. I'm confident we'll plan a beautiful service and make the arrangements your father would be very happy with so you can get a good night's rest." Mr. Davies pushed back his chair behind the solid oak desk and made his way past my parents.

I rolled my eyes from my position on the small couch at the edge of the room. I was finished watching my parents fumble through another social interaction. I was tired of my mom's inability to be functional.

I turned my head and watched as Mr. Davies left the showroom and headed to the front room before starting up the large staircase that lead to the top floor. I couldn't imagine living above a mortuary. I hated the business of death and dying. At least he had updated the place when he'd bought it this summer. It was more modern now, but if you asked me, it was still creepy to sit in a space full of open caskets above a room meant to store dead bodies. I slouched down on the couch and pulled out my phone, tucking the ear-buds into my ears so I could drown out the sound of my parents arguing in a hushed whisper just beyond the caskets between us.

I didn't need to listen to them to know what was being said. The only thing that I didn't understand was how my dad was still surprised by it. I looked up at him quickly, the music blasting into my ears as I watched him shake his head and run a hand through his short, unruly hair. Did he think today would be different? Did he think that she'd make it through this door—of all doors—without it?

My mom cried, but I didn't know if it was because of their argument—the perpetual one they'd been having for years—or because the presence of grief in this place was unbearable. These walls seemed to cage you in with your bereavement and submerge you unceremoniously in the feeling of loss. It was like jumping into the deep end of a pool in winter with all of your clothes on and trying to keep your head above the surface, as your shoes become anchors and your arms couldn't move against the weight of your coat. And maybe if it hadn't been for the last three years I'd have understood why she'd had to do it, but those three years were between us in a space so wide I'd stopped trying to reach across it.