Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

gasps. “Oh my god! Oh my god! William, I am so sorry. What happened?”
    “There was an accident, and he went to the hospital and there were some complications.”
    “Oh god. I am so sorry.”
    “Thanks. The funeral will be on Tuesday.”
    She starts sniffing. “Goddamn, Will. I can't believe it.”
    “I know. Listen, we'll talk soon, alright?”
    “Alright. I'm so sorry again.”
    He doesn't answer. Suddenly, beeps begin to fill the air, then the familiar tone of a ringing phone. Ah, so there is no one really in the room with William. He's on speakerphone.
    A man answers, “This is Brad Parris.”
    “Brad, it's William King.”
    “Hey,” he says, the cool professionalism of his greeting falling to a kinder, friendlier tone. “It's been a while. You missed a great game at Oakmont. Don't forget Augusta in the spring.”
    “Yes, I won't. But I'm actually calling to let you know my father passed away last night. The funeral will be on Tuesday.”
    “Jesus Christ. I'm very sorry to hear that. Jesus. Is there anything I can do?”
    “No, thank you. It's all being handled. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. I'll talk to you soon.”
    “Your father was a great man. His loss will be felt.”
    Not wanting to hear another conversation, I turn to leave, but I'm too hasty and my hand hits a small table, knocking over several delicate antiques.
    “Shit,” I mutter, kneeling to pick up the mess. That's when William calls out. Feeling like a kindergartener being called to the principal's office, I stand and push open the door.
    “I'm sorry,” I say. “I didn't mean to—”
    “It's alright.” He motions for me to take a seat in the chair across from him. The phone is ringing; he’s still on speaker. As if in explanation, he says, “I only have a few more of these to make. I'll be done in a moment.”
    A woman's voice fills the room, “Hello?”
    “Nora, it's William King.”
    And so the conversations start again. I think about plugging my ears, but ultimately don't. The damage has been done. Brief though they may be, these conversations are excruciating to listen to. The surprised gasps, the apologies, the quivering voices. I focus on the pattern of the dark green rug, trying to tune William out, but let's face it: I'm less than ten feet away from the guy and I'm not deaf.
    My father passed away last night. The funeral will be on Tuesday.
    He hangs up and dials another number. The cycle repeats.
    My father passed away last night. The funeral will be on Tuesday.
    It's ridiculous. I don't even understand why, when William literally has a staff of hundreds, he is the one making these phone calls. Then again, I suppose I would want to personally inform friends and family of my dad's death rather than hand the task off. Or maybe...Christ, I don't know. I don't even want to think about it. Just hearing these words are painful; I can’t fathom how it must hurt to say them. Hell, I'd probably choke to death on the words before I could get them out. I look at William as he finishes up another call, and try to understand.
    My father passed away last night. The funeral will be on Tuesday.
    The words don't alter; neither do the inflections. It's like he's saying it by rote, lines that never change.
    My father passed away last night. The funeral will be on Tuesday.
    And that's when I get it. It's like a light bulb going off above my head.
    Maybe William needs to say those words—repeatedly say them—because he still just can't believe them.

 
     
    VICTORIA
     
    I go into the bathroom. I stare at the tub for a long time. It's empty now, but I imagine water up to the brim. How that would look, how that would feel. I think it would feel nice to lay down in it, to feel cocooned and warm. I don't think I'll ever feel warm again.
     
    There are my razors and a pair of scissors in the small basket hanging from the shower head.
    There are nighttime cough medicines in the cabinet behind me. I breathe deep. In. Out.
     
    A rose