Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Yeah, he missed you,” she goes on. “I could tell. In the morning, he’d take his coffee out on the front porch and stare off, moping.”
“I wasn’t moping,” I insist. “I was just enjoying the peace and quiet.”
“And he told Nana all about the meals you make us and how you helped me with my lemonade stand even though you didn’t have to.”
I stand up from the table. “I’m going to open some wine. Does anyone want wine?”
“Me!”
I ignore Harper and look to Chloe. She nods. “Would love some. Thanks.”
“Yeah, so anyway…did you miss my dad?”
Chloe laughs good-naturedly. Meanwhile, I cut to the chase, bypassing the wine rack and grabbing the Jack Daniel’s from the liquor cabinet instead. I pour a finger’s worth and down it in one go just as Chloe tactfully replies, “Of course.”
Her answer is light and fluffy, and it doesn’t appease Harper in the least.
“No, like did you miss him how a girlfriend misses her boyfriend?”
“Harper, go get ready for bed,” I snap.
She whips around to face me with a look of utter disappointment. “But it’s early!”
“It’s not. We ate dinner a little later than usual.”
This is a lie, of course, but I’m banking on the fact that Harper won’t check the time on the oven and realize I’m, in her words, a “liar, liar, pants on fire”.
She groans, and I know what’s coming. Yup, another groan, louder this time, more from her chest than her throat. A stomped foot. Crossed arms. Angry eyebrows. Oh yeah, she’s shooting daggers at me as she curves around the kitchen island. I am single-handedly ruining her life, and she wants me to know it.
“This isn’t fair!” she shouts from down the hall.
I almost shout back “Life isn’t fair!” but I bite my tongue. She’s as stubborn as I am. We’ll go around and around in circles if one of us doesn’t put a stop to it, and since I’m the parent, it needs to be me.
I grip the edge of the counter and take a deep breath, knowing I’m about to have a rough bedtime routine ahead of me.
Then I see Chloe stand up from the table in my periphery. “Maybe it’d be better…” She clears her throat and tries it a different way. “Would you mind if I went and helped her get to bed?”
I swing my head to look at her, really look. Not at the lush curves and the full lips that have filled my mind every time I’ve closed my eyes this week. Past that, to her eyes full of pity and her hands wringing together in front of her waist, the slow nervous swallow as she waits for my reply. Everything Chloe is sits right there on the surface. Her heart of gold is worn on her sleeve for anyone to see…and anyone to hurt.
“If you’re willing…”
She’s already on the move, eager to be helpful. “Yeah. Let me do it. She’ll cool down with me.”
I push off the counter and drag my hands through my hair. “If she keeps going on about the stuff she was just talking about…”
“It’s fine. I know kids say silly stuff,” she assures me. “Why don’t you open that wine you promised me while I’m gone? It won’t take me long.”
TWENTY-THREE
CHLOE
I decide to go the gentle route with Harper, letting her work out her annoyance without much input from me. I lay out pajamas for her to put on while I prepare her toothbrush in the bathroom. She changes, but with a grumpy attitude. While she brushes her teeth, I start perusing the books on her shelf, pretending I don’t even realize she’s watching me while I do it.
“Oh, I love Amelia Bedelia. I read those books when I was a kid.”
Harper doesn’t take the bait.
“Pinkalicious—that’s my little cousin’s favorite book character. I haven’t read this one though. Pinkalicious and the Pink Drink…huh, sounds cute.”
I tug it off the shelf. On the cover, a cartoon Pinkalicious stands in front of her homemade lemonade stand, pouring from a pink pitcher. I smile, wondering if that’s how Harper got her idea to start a lemonade stand of her own.
I take the book and carry it over to Harper’s bed while she finishes up in the bathroom. When she comes to stand on the threshold, her arms are still crossed. Her anger must feel so hard to let go of, and I don’t say a word about it. At that age, every emotion is a big emotion.
I lean back against a soft pillow, open the book, and start reading.
She doesn’t budge from her spot for the first few pages. Not an inch. But I keep going.
“Oh, wow, that lemonade looks so good.”
I hold the book closer to my face as if trying to get a really good look, and Harper hurries over so she can see the picture too. I angle the book so it’s in front of both of us.