Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
“No!” She pulls hard on my hand and bursts into full-on tears. “That’s my puppy! I want my Cherry!”
After a few seconds of her screaming and trying to get away from me—which she’s never done before—I’m forced to carry her, kicking and screaming, back to the car. She fights me like a little wild animal as I buckle her into the car seat. She continues to cry for the dog and begs me to take her back to her house—the cottage across the street. Her shrieking has me worried a passerby will think I’m attempting to kidnap her.
“Shhh… We’re going home, Penny. Everything is okay.” I turn to check on her once I start driving away. Thank God for child safety door locks, or else I think she’d be attempting to jump out of the car.
“No! I don’t want to go there! I want to go to my real home! My husband is waiting for me! Watch the road for crying out loud!”
Quickly turning back to the road, I inhale a deep breath and release it slowly through my nose. My hands grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles hurt. A dull ache pulses in my head and radiates to the back of my neck. This is the worst outburst Penny has ever had. It’s also the first time she’s had one outside our house.
There’s no doubt Penny believes she’s seen that house before. I wholeheartedly believe that she believes this. I just can’t stop wondering how—and when—she could have. Even though it’s only one street over, it’s not a road I’ve ever driven down before today, and I’ve never seen Ben go this way. But the more I think about it, the less I believe she’s seen a similar house and dog in a movie or book.
Scenarios flip through my mind for the rest of the afternoon, and by my second glass of wine, they’ve jumped on the crazy train. Sometimes, Ben takes Penny out with him to run errands. Or so he says. What if he’s having an affair with a woman who lives there, and he’s been taking Penny with him as a cover-up? That might explain how she recognized the house.
No. I sip more wine. That’s ridiculous. Ben’s not a cheater. We might be having our problems, but he’d never go so far as to have an affair, especially with our daughter tagging along. People having an affair don’t want a child there asking a million questions and demanding snacks every ten minutes. What fun would that be?
Unable to put my mind at ease, I go up to Penny’s room and stand in her doorway. She’s sitting at her little desk, deeply engrossed in drawing a picture of a path in the woods.
“Penny,” I ask casually. “Have you been to that house before today?”
“What house?” she asks innocently.
“The one with the dog.”
She doesn’t even stop drawing when she answers with a simple “Yes.”
“When? Does Daddy take you there?”
My heart races when she looks up from her drawing. Torturous seconds tick by while she chews her lower lip, studying me. Cocking her head, she says, “Don’t you trust him?” When I’m too dumbfounded to answer, she shakes her head and sighs. “Distrust will ruin your marriage, you know.”
Goose bumps erupt over my arms. A subtle shift darkens her irises. Her voice, although childlike, suddenly had an unexpected tone of maturity and confidence. Of knowing worldly things a child couldn’t know. It was quick as a blink, as if she had suddenly morphed into a miniature adult.
It’s the wine. I haven’t eaten today, and it’s making me loopy.
Unfazed, Penny turns her attention back to her drawing, carefully selecting an emerald-green pencil from her pencil set, then leaning closer to the paper. “No,” she replies, once again back to the sweetness and innocence of her little girl self. With a chill, I wonder if she was even aware of the pronouncement she just made about my marriage. “Daddy’s never been there.”
Relief filters through me. Ben’s not cheating. Penny’s talking like a little girl again. Everything is fine.
Everything is fine.
“Honey, can you tell me when you were there? Was it when you snuck outside at night?”
“Nooo,” she singsongs. The pencil scratches lightly across the paper, sketching out fluttering leaves that actually appear to be blowing in a breeze. Her drawing is so realistic I can almost smell the pine. “I was trying to find it.”
“But why, sweetheart?”
“I told you already. That’s my house. I lived there with my husband and our dog and we were going to fix it all up. I bought it with the money from my grandfather.”
“What money from your grandfather?”
She continues to draw, not bothering to look up at me as she does. “The money he left me when he died.”
An odd feeling flutters deep in my stomach. “All your grandparents are alive, Penny.”