Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 30148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
“Exactly how you were born.” Coughing ended the argument as she turned on her side and went back to sleep.
For the rest of the night, I stared up at the ceiling.
What would have happened if I’d grabbed Hazel by the waist back then and told her how pretty I thought she was despite my anger that she didn’t realize it?
The way she stared at me was all venom.
Ironic.
The way I stared back at her was all antidote.
But she never saw it that way because she never saw herself how others should see her—the way her family saw her.
As precious.
Something to fight for. Someone to protect. Someone to also annoy, because there was nothing better than someone who fought for something without sitting down. I wanted that for my future.
I jolted awake and rubbed my hands down my face. “Nope, no. Nope. Not thinking about family. I’m young, so young. Ha, ha, nightmares. Is Mom smoking weed and suddenly getting everyone in the house high and delirious, thinking all the thoughts?” Voice weak and raspy, I lay back down and turned onto my side. Her window was right there. The light was on.
I shook my head. “What could she possibly do to make me mad?”
I hated myself a bit for turning onto my side and staring back at her illuminated window across the yard, wondering if she would crawl up that tree or lie in bed.
What was she doing?
Was she the same Hazel I remembered? She seemed stronger, angrier. And I liked it more because a weak Hazel made me want to hold her. A strong Hazel made me want to fight for her, and I wanted to fight more than I wanted to hold because that meant she was strong.
And I needed someone strong.
Because every time my mom coughed, I felt weak.
Every time I heard her laugh, a part of my laugh died a bit.
People are people. In the end, we all want a shoulder to cry on, someone to laugh with. Or, at the very least, someone who won’t just stand by our side but shove us behind them and say, “I’ve got this.”
God, what would that even feel like?
It was the last thought I had before random knocking filled the air and I heard the chicken—or wait, rooster? Who the hell had a rooster? And why? Why at this hour? Why? We weren’t in the country. We both had houses by the freaking Columbia River. Did they suddenly release random roosters and chickens to entertain the ducks and fish?
My imagination. Obviously.
I yawned and closed my eyes again.
The rooster sounded.
Again.
I jolted awake and rubbed my blurry eyes, attempting to focus on the white wall in my room. Suddenly, I heard it to my left. Slowly, I turned and saw an honest to God rooster in my front yard. “The hell?”
It wouldn’t shut up.
I had no pellet gun, but I wouldn’t lie about it or to myself. If I had one, I would have been tempted to use it and then cook the thing…wait, could you even eat a rooster?
Was that inhumane?
Probably. I did live in Portland, after all. Animals had rights, and we were within city limits. I’d learned last year when we had wild turkeys roaming and eating people’s gardens that, apparently, it was frowned upon to hunt for Thanksgiving. Who knew? But going to the store…totally fine.
I could deal with the rooster once I had coffee and did a jumping jack or two. Whatever.
I rolled out of bed and put my feet onto the cold hardwood, swearing both pinky toes almost cramped. Going back to bed sounded like the best idea ever, but I knew Mom would be up—not because of the rooster but because mornings had always been her thing. And while my dad was gone, it was my job to get her ready, perch her in front of the window to watch life pass her by, and fill up her coffee cup. While it sounded depressing, it was actually the highlight of her days.
“Look.” She pointed at the school bus that’d pulled up down the street. “Leslie’s six now. Wow, she’s gotten so big. And those brown pigtails. Aren’t her pink bows adorable?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I always agreed because, in my world, my mom was right. She was my world, what kept it spinning.
“Oh.” She swatted me weakly. “Did you know that Hazel’s going to start working at her dad’s ranch soon? She’s taking over as the main bookkeeper while she gets her MBA. So wonderful. Aren’t you proud?”
Of sparkle queen? Yeah, maybe. Sort of. “Yup,” I answered. “So proud.”
A knock suddenly sounded at the door.
Mom rested a weak hand on my arm, her small diamond from Dad still shining under the lights of the room. “Get that, will you?”
“As if I’d let you race me,” I teased, swallowing the lump in my throat. Her skin was paler today, and I knew I’d been helping with her meds and getting her to sleep as much as possible. But I needed Dad to come back. Not because I wanted a break—I would spend every moment with her—it was just…I didn’t want to fail.