Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Davis looks over his shoulder at his niece, who’s still prancing around the yard like a goofball.
“Yeah, she’s not that shy.” He grins. “Not sure where she gets it from since Penelope tends to be the quiet one around here.”
Jack glances down at me. “She always was. Only spoke when she really had something to say.”
That’s true.
I don’t talk to hear myself speak. I always believed my words had more power when they were used wisely—not that anyone gave a crap about anything I said.
“You in town much longer?” Davis asks Jack.
“No. I’m actually going to catch a flight tonight. I’m heading straight from here to the airport, but I’ll be back before you know it.”
Davis looks at me and raises his brows.
I wish he’d stop doing that! It’s weird, and it’s making me nervous, and all it does is draw attention to the situation. Ugh—freaking brothers, making everything awkward.
“If you two wanted to go somewhere and talk, I can keep an eye on PipSqueak.”
Jack shakes his head. “Nah, I want to watch her race around and show off. She’s living her best life right now.”
I clear my throat, injecting myself into the conversation for the first time. “She wants to make him spaghetti.”
Davis’s eyes go wide. “Her world-famous sketti? Good for her. It’s the best. You’re going to love it.”
Jack laughs. “Oh, I’m sure. I can’t wait.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking bashful for the first time. “Thanks again for inviting me, bro—appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it.” My brother winks at me before saying, “Well, I’m going to keep mingling. Stay as long as you’d like.”
And with that, he’s gone.
And I’m not sure if he told any of his friends—or their wives—to leave us be, but no one comes over. No one approaches us to make small talk or introduce themselves to Jack.
We sit on that pool lounger, watching our daughter in silence without speaking to each other. Skipper plays with the other kids. Skipper also goes down the slide again and again and again.
The sun begins to fade on the horizon, and in the background, guests begin saying their goodbyes. I hear a few of them mention Monday night football and needing plenty of rest. There is clatter in the kitchen as the dishes are piled up near the sink to be left for the cleaning women who come to Davis’s home first thing Monday morning.
I had offered to do it at one point for extra cash, but he shot the idea down.
“Would you like to come over and read her a bedtime story?”
He looks at me, surprised. It’s the least I can do, and she really, really likes him.
Any fool can see they already have a bond.
“Sure. Yeah, I’d like that.”
Chapter 12
Jack
“Would you like to come over and read her a bedtime story?”
Was she serious? Of course I want to go over and put Skipper to bed. Read the little shit a bedtime story.
I imagine that it’ll be a production getting that kid to bed. Her high-energy theatrics haven’t stopped since I arrived at the Halbrook’s barbecue, her adorable little face seeking out mine all the while.
Is it weird to feel that she…knows?
Somehow, she knows.
Instinctually, Harper knows we’re somehow cosmically connected, though she has no idea how.
It feels surreal being inside Penelope’s house. Almost identical to her brother’s, it’s a spacious two-story with hardwood floors and gleaming wood I suspect she scrubs herself. Granite countertops, brick fireplace, winding staircase.
A punch in the gut.
The reality of seeing her house—a house provided for her by her brother—is sobering. They should’ve been with me. That should’ve been me taking care of her like this.
I’m not going to say that I feel guilty, but I feel guilty. I feel misplaced guilt I know I shouldn’t feel but feel nonetheless. All these years, I could’ve been providing for her. Correction—providing for us.
I know she wants to return to school to finish her degree, and that’s something I could offer her. Something that would be easier if we lived closer. That’s not a conversation I’m ready to have with her yet, but it’s certainly something on my mind. How could it not be? I have a daughter now, so it stands to reason that I would want to make moves to involve myself in her life. To make up for the times I’ve lost out on. To start making memories with her.
With them.
Skipper practically drags me up to the second story, chattering the entire way about swing sets and a kid name Brian from the barbecue who tried to take her ice cream, showing me her bedroom and her toys and her crafts. It’s a purple room with a cartoon horse mural painted on the wall and rainbows everywhere.
Cheerful.
Cute.
Exactly like her.
She has a bedtime routine and runs me through it, leading me into the bathroom and showing me how to start the bathwater. Penelope leans against the doorjamb with her arms crossed and a smile on her face.