Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 104151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I bit back my grin.
“I assured them we can help take care of him,” Mom said. “Between the four of us, someone should always be able to be here.”
“That’s overstepping,” Anne said. “But we really appreciate all that you’ve done.”
“It’s the least we can do given the circumstances in which it happened,” Mom said dismissively.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Has no one told you?” Mom narrowed her eyes.
“Apparently not. Told me what?”
“Nothing,” Kyle mumbled.
“Your dad wanted to check out the tree stand with Kyle, and while they were up there, your dad started to fall. Kyle grabbed him, but while your dad grappled to find leverage, he pulled Kyle out of the stand.”
I winced. “But Dad didn’t fall?”
“Kyle saved your dad from falling,” Fred said.
“Your dad is indebted to him forever,” Mom said, smiling at Kyle.
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “My dad owes you a lot.”
Some might have said my dad owed Kyle his first-born, but Sarah was taken, so Kyle would have to settle for the second-born.
Kyle eyed me with an unreadable expression.
“Well,” I clasped my hands before me, “I can get Josh breakfast every morning and on the school bus. Then I can work at the motel. But I can be home before he gets off the bus. Make dinner. Get him ready for bed. Laundry. Whatever needs to be done.”
“That’s a lot to ask of an eighteen-year-old.” Fred shook his head. “Our parents will come stay whether he likes it or not.”
“Stop. I’m not a child. This is my house. I’m not in a wheelchair. I’m capable of doing things, and if I need help, I’ll ask. Okay?” Kyle sighed, lips resting into a scowl.
Fred and Anne exchanged a look.
“You have a child. Don’t let your stubbornness get in the way of doing what’s best for him,” Fred replied, thickening the tension in the room.
“Listen. Our family has this.” Mom jumped in to save the day. She could organize anything. That’s what preacher’s wives did.
Fundraisers.
Community volunteer days.
Bridal showers.
Funeral luncheons.
Vacation Bible School.
Nothing was too big for her.
“Let’s take Clifford and wait for Josh,” Anne said, squeezing Fred’s hand.
I was planning on doing that, but I didn’t argue. Fred needed some fresh air.
With a nervous smile, Mom stood too. “I’m going to head home for a bit. I’ll get dinner started soon and bring it over around five thirty.”
“Thank you so much,” Anne said.
My feet remained rooted to the floor as all three passed me and exited through the front door.
“Are you mad?” I asked Kyle.
“I hate being treated like a fucking child,” he grumbled.
“On the upside, I bet you’ll need a sponge bath several times a week. I could help with that.”
He eyed me, jaw muscles clenched despite his lips wanting to curl into a grin.
“My dad owes you. I say we tell him about us and let him deal with it.”
“Eve,” he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose, “yeah, that’s a great idea. Before my brother and Anne leave, let’s drop that bomb on everyone. That’s just what I need—everyone judging my poor decisions when I’m already at my lowest.”
My back stiffened.
Poor decisions?
“You’re right. How stupid of me.”
“Eve—”
“I gotta go.” I turned.
“Eve, stop.”
“I’d better help my mom with dinner.”
“Eve—”
“Feel better, Mister Collins.” I fought to keep my emotions in check. I ran out the door and straight home as soon as I got my shoes on.
Before I reached the front door, I stopped and stared at the milk box. Then I removed the planter, grabbed a bottle of vodka, hid it in my sweatshirt, and headed inside.
“Eve?” Mom called my name from the kitchen.
“Huh?” I said, halfway up the stairs.
“Want to help me with dinner?”
“Uh, I’m feeling a little unwell. Menstrual cramps. I want to lie down,” I said.
“Okay, honey. We’ll be taking the food to Kyle’s house. Are you going to join us?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“If you change your mind, you know where we’ll be.”
I continued to my room and locked the door behind me before screwing off the cap to the bottle and taking several big gulps.
I told him I wouldn’t be anyone’s regret.
“Eve, wake up.” Gabby patted my cheek a half dozen times.
I grumbled, rolling to my side and curling into a ball.
“Wake up before Mom and Dad come home. Why are you drinking tonight?”
“I was a bad”—I rolled onto my stomach and mumbled with my face in the pillow—“not bad. Poor. I was a poor decision.”
“I can’t hear you.” She shoved my shoulder to roll me onto my back. “Josh wants you to stay the night. He’s been asking for you. But you can’t go over there now. What’s your problem?”
Peeling my eyes open, I tried to focus on Gabby’s grumpy face. “He called me a poor decision.”
She frowned. “Well, you probably are. If you were a good decision, you wouldn’t have to keep your relationship a secret. And you wouldn’t be drunk.”