Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I hated Mother’s Day.
“It’s okay, Willow. You’re okay,” Dad swore as he wrapped me tightly in his arms while I cried into his shirt, holding him as if I were holding heaven. I couldn’t stop sobbing, but he let me cry. He always held me and let me cry. He pulled me back and kneeled down in front of me. He wiped my tears and combed my messy light-brown curls behind my ears. “You want to play hooky and skip the rest of the day?” he asked.
I cried some more and nodded.
“Okay,” he agreed, lifting me into his arms. I rested my head against his neck and closed my eyes as he walked over to Mrs. Robinson and told her he’d be taking me out of school for a mental health day.
He kissed my cheek and walked us out of the school building. “You know how big my love is for you, Little Bird?” he whispered as he opened the back door of his truck for me and placed me inside.
“Bigger than the sky,” I said.
“And deeper than the sea,” he replied, kissing my forehead.
He closed my door and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Before he drove off, I called out to him. “Dad?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I like your bow tie.”
He smiled through the rearview mirror at me and nodded once. “Thanks, baby girl. I like it, too. And I know today was hard for you, and I know you’re feeling a lot of feelings, but do you know what you’re gonna be?”
“What?”
“Okay, Willow Rose. You’re going to be okay.”
I took a breath and kept wiping my tears as I echoed his words. “Okay. I’m gonna be okay.”
Theo
Twelve Years Old
Westin Lake, Wisconsin
August
“But, I d-d-don’t want to stay with P-P-PaPa and Grandma,” I told Mom as she dragged me by my arm over to my grandparents’ house with my suitcase. I’d tripped over my feet a few times, feeling unstable from the quick pace that we traveled. Whenever I’d trip, Mom ordered me to stop being a child and walk like a normal person, yet she yanked me so hard that it was almost impossible to walk normally. Plus, it was dark outside.
I hated the dark. It was my biggest fear.
It felt like the trees and their shadows were haunting me as we moved through them. Plus, the sounds of the forest at night made everything scarier.
I gripped the handle of my suitcase tighter.
The only time I’d ever used my suitcase was when PaPa would take me on fishing trips to different lakes in Wisconsin. We’d travel somewhere new every summer to fish on as many lakes as possible. I’d always pack my favorite books, and PaPa would pack his favorite cigars.
We weren’t going on a fishing trip that evening, though.
Mom was mad at me. I could tell by how she dragged me through the forested area to get to PaPa and Grandma’s house. Sometimes, it felt like no matter what I did, she’d end up mad at me. All I wanted to do was make her happy, though. Why couldn’t I make her happy?
“I don’t care, Theo,” she said with tears in her eyes. It felt like she was always crying, and I hated that she always cried. All I wanted was for her to be okay. All I wanted was for us to be okay. Yet, it seemed whenever I’d try to do the right thing, I’d end up making her sad. I tried my best not to upset her. I’d do my chores and get good grades. I’d pick her wildflowers from the woods and leave them on her nightstand. I listened to her favorite songs. Sometimes, I’d see what books she was reading, and I’d read them, too, so we’d have something in common. I’d tell her I love her.
She’d never say she loved me, too.
She’d just say I looked too much like my dad. I never knew him, but I resented the fact that I looked anything like the man who’d hurt Mom. I wished I looked more like her than him—maybe she would’ve loved me more.
When we made it to my grandparents’ house, Grandma came outside, flipping on the front porch light.
“What’s going on, Christina?” she asked Mom, concern in her eyes. The way I had physical traits of my father that I’d never known, was the same way Mom looked like Grandma. The only thing I could see that we had in common were our eyes. The blue eyes ran deep within our bloodline.
“I’m leaving,” Mom said, standing straight, with her chest puffed out.
PaPa came from the backyard with a stack of wood in his arms. “What’s going on?” he questioned, echoing Grandma’s words.
“I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want him,” Mom said, tears falling down her cheeks. “I hate him,” she swore.
The him was me.
She hated me.