Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Growing up in New York, I felt like my life was the equivalent of running full speed on a treadmill. My mother dragged me from one after-school activity to the next and then to whatever social engagements she’d scheduled after that. We dined and we mingled, and we bent ourselves over backward to find “the right people.” When I was in college, we met Thomas, and unfortunately, I was naïve enough to think that meant we’d succeeded. But the truth is, there is no finish line when you’re obsessed with being the best.
Out here, like this, I feel like I can hear myself think. Like there is no world outside of whatever I choose to create for myself, no goal to be achieved. Rather, it’s this and these little perfect moments that are worth striving for, and even better than that, there’s no finish at all—just infinite opportunity.
Fingers crossed that all of that opportunity starts with me getting the job.
17
Bennett
Wednesday, August 11th
“Jeez, Daddy. Hurry up!” A sigh follows that mouthful of sass, leaving the lips of the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Even though she’s rarely ever on her own two feet, she’s a tiny thing, standing at only three foot five. She loves girlie stuff and sparkles and reality television. Her birth certificate reads Summer Beatrice Bishop, but to me, she’ll always be my Summblebee.
This little girl right here was love at first sight for me. And the past seven years have only made me love her more. Love her more than I love myself.
“I’m moving as fast as I can, Bossy Pants.” I roll my eyes at the annoyed purse of her lips, but I laugh a little at the same time as I unclick her custom-made mobility seat from her wheelchair and lift her up with the carefulness I’d use to carry around an egg made of glass.
God, I hate that she feels lighter in my arms than she did a few weeks ago.
As I walk us from the living room toward the front door, I never once take my eyes off her face, watching like a hawk for the first sign of discomfort.
Once we’re on the porch, the warm wind brushes through her blond ringlets, and her bright blue eyes stare up at me. A cute little pirate’s smile follows, crinkling her nose, and my heart expands inside my chest.
“You’re a total slow-mo today, Daddy,” she teases, her sweet, melodic voice filling my ears as I reach the golf cart I parked near the bottom of the porch.
“I’m a slow-mo?” I question on a chuckle.
“Yeah.” She giggles. “You’re takin’ forevah!”
With cautious movements, I set Summer down into the passenger’s seat of the golf cart, clicking her into the specially made apparatus I had installed a few years ago. She rolls her pretty little eyes at me when I double- and triple-check her safety straps, but it only makes me smile.
“You all set?” I ask, gently kissing her on the forehead.
“Actually, no,” she responds and dramatically blinks her eyelashes toward me. “You see anything we’re missing?” When I stare down at her, confused, she adds, “Perhaps a pair of the prettiest sunglasses you’ve ever seen in your whole life?”
Shit. Seeing as those are one of Summer’s favorite belongings—and something she rarely gets the chance to wear—this is a huge dad fail.
“Sit tight, honey,” I tell her and head back into the house on a jog.
It only takes a minute for me to locate them on the dresser in her room and another minute for me to get back to the golf cart and set them gently on her face.
“Looking good, Summblebee.”
Immediately, a little girl with her favorite pair of heart-shaped pink sunglasses looks up at me with a smile and a giggle. “Thanks, Daddy.”
The sunglasses are still too big for her face, but Summer doesn’t care. She’s been in love with these lenses since she saw them in a magazine and begged me to get her a pair. And since she’s had me wrapped around her finger since the moment I held her in my arms, I scoured the internet for hours until I found an exact replica.
“Now are we all set? Or do you want me to run back in the house—”
“No!” she exclaims. “Let’s go!”
Without delay and before receiving any more eye rolls from Sassafras, I round the golf cart to climb in on the other side. Once I hit the gas, my ears are blessed with the sounds of her excited giggles as we slowly take off.
There is nothing I love more than the sound of her laughter.
Away from the main house, I drive us toward the barn on the other side of the pasture. Summer’s face is the picture of peace and joy, everything I’d want it to be, but I’m terrified like never before.