Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 53238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
At least, that’s one of the excuses I gave myself every time I declined an invite to fly to San Diego for holidays or just to visit and spend time hanging out with my nieces.
It’s too far to travel. I’m too busy with hockey. I have to stay focused on my training to remain on top.
And now it’s too late. My sister will never call me again and try to sweet-talk me into coming for Thanksgiving with promises of making Mom’s oyster stuffing and pecan pie cheesecake. I’d give anything to get a call from her right now.
“Who’s that?” I ask Hallie, who’s drawing something small and brown next to the figure of Rachel with angel wings.
“A dog. Mommy and Charlotte are allergic to dogs, so we couldn’t have one, but Suki said there are no allergies in heaven, so I think Mommy plays with dogs all the time.”
This is fucking brutal. All three girls are trying to process the loss of Rachel, and not only am I hurting along with them, but I never know what to say. Even the nannies are better at comforting them than I am.
“I bet she is.”
“I’m going to draw her twenty dogs. Do you think that’s enough?”
“Yeah, I think petting twenty dogs would be enough to keep anyone pretty busy.”
I look up when I hear someone walk into the room and see ten-year-old Charlotte. Her hair makes me do a double take. Earlier, her light-brown hair hung halfway down her back and now it’s...gone.
“What the hell did you do?” The words fly out of my mouth as I take in the hatchet job on her hair. It’s cut jagged and uneven at the nape of her neck and her bangs are short, half-inch-long spikes.
She gives me an unbothered look. “I cut my hair.”
“I see that.” I stand up and walk over to her. “Did it go the way you wanted?”
She shrugs, walks over to the fridge and takes out a bottle of apple juice. “I didn’t want bangs anymore.”
I’m supposed to have an argument for that. Rachel would. But it seems logical to me. She didn’t want bangs so she cut off her bangs. And now she’s going to get teased by asshole kids at school over it. Hell, the school might even think this is somehow my fault. That’s the last thing I need as I’m trying to expedite the adoption process.
“Have you looked in a mirror?” I demand.
“Charlotte, no!” I’ve never seen the oldest of the girls, twelve-year-old Olivia, react so forcefully to anything. “What did you do?”
Olivia’s eyes fill with tears as she walks into the kitchen and sees her sister’s hair.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Charlotte says with an edge.
“You look so bad!”
“Not as bad as you.” Charlotte wrinkles her face in a sneer.
“Mom said we should never cut our own hair. You ruined it!”
I put a hand up. “Okay, girls. Let’s not fight about it. It’s already done.”
“Give me the scissors,” Olivia says sharply. “You don’t get to have them anymore.”
Charlotte slams her juice down on the kitchen island, liquid sloshing out of the bottle. “Stop trying to act like Mom!”
Olivia narrows her eyes and gives me a look. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
“Like what? I can’t put her hair back.”
She pinches her brows together in an expression that reminds me so much of my sister I feel a tug in my chest. “You can’t just do nothing! Take away the scissors! Punish her!”
Charlotte’s hands are fisted at her sides. “It’s not your business, Olivia! You’re the one who should be punished for watching an R-rated movie!”
Olivia’s cheeks turn pink. I give her my best stern look. “You were watching an R-rated movie?”
“You’re such a brat!” she yells at Charlotte.
“Me? I w--”
“That’s it, girls!” I look between them. “Not another word out of either one of you.”
Charlotte locks eyes with me, glowering. Olivia’s gaze is fixed on the floor, her arms crossed. But they both stay quiet.
“Charlotte, you need to bring me every pair of scissors you have. From now on, you need to ask me before you use them.”
Her mouth forms an indignant O. “What? That’s not fair.”
“I’m the law in this house, so I decide what’s fair.”
That’s what my dad used to say when Rachel and I were kids. I hated it then, but it makes a lot of sense when you’re standing on this side of an argument with a child.
I look at Olivia. “And you aren’t allowed to watch anything on a screen without getting my permission first.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very serious.”
Charlotte starts to stomp off, but I say, “You need to clean up your mess.”
She gets some paper towels and wipes up the juice, scowling. Olivia walks over to the fridge and opens it.
“What’s for dinner?” she asks.
“I’ll order something.” I look at the clock and see that it’s almost 4:30 p.m. “Do you guys want me to order now?”