Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
But I wasn’t going to have a pity party. I had a lovely, vibrant, healthy little person beside me. Money in the bank. I’d be back to finish nursing school soon, then I’d have a steady, healthy income. I could make friends. I could create a life.
Even if the thought of doing that and not seeing Clara every day made my stomach pitch.
“What are you doing today, Bug?” Beau asked, cleaning his hands before wiping down the already spotless counter.
Another thing he always did. Asked Clara questions I knew he wanted to ask me. Because apparently, he couldn’t so much as address me directly unless he needed to.
I prepared to do the same thing I always did: answer his questions through his daughter. We were like some divorced couple, forcing civility for the sake of the child. Except I didn’t even have the knowledge of what Beau looked like naked or how the sex was.
Which was good.
I shouldn’t have been thinking about my boss naked. Because I hated him. Because his four-year-old daughter was sitting right beside me.
I looked at Clara, swallowing my pancake. “First, we’ve got to feed the fairies…”
Clara’s eyes lit up. “Oh, the fairies!” she squealed.
I’d made her a fairy garden in a small unused space in the backyard, which she’d been delighted by. Her imagination was something to behold, and giving her a bit of childhood magic almost did more for me than it did for her. We ‘fed’ them flowers, buttons, and other little treasures we found. I’d already been out to rearrange the little fairies we’d placed there so she thought they’d moved in the night.
“We’ll do it right now!” She pushed away as if to get up.
I placed my hand on hers. “We’re going to finish our own breakfast first,” I reminded her.
She resumed eating, though she took her bites at double speed. I smiled and took a bite of my own before swallowing, noting the heaviness of Beau’s gaze. He was still waiting for more. He needed to know every plan of our day before he left for the restaurant. Controlling, maybe? Overprotective, for sure. But I didn’t blame him. Clara was his everything. He’d watched an illness chisel away at her health, her vibrancy, then the thing that cured her made her immune system so delicate that a simple cold could land her back in the hospital.
And now that she was being allowed to tentatively go back into the world, it was exciting for her yet terrifying for him.
I’d made sure to keep our outings close, safe. Outdoors, no direct contact with people. If we were around them, Clara wore a mask, and sanitizer was my best friend. Even though Clara was excited about her newfound freedom, I knew it could be overwhelming for her too—such a sudden change, so much stimulation, being around more than a handful of people. Although most of the time she seemed so much older, she was still only four.
She’d been responding to it all with wonder and joy, but I never wanted to push her. Never wanted to make her afraid. I’d protect her precious little heart and her blinding smile with all my might. Not to mention, I did not want her to get sick. She was responding to the treatment at a remarkable rate and was able to do much more than was conventionally expected, but she was nowhere near out of the danger zone.
I swallowed my bite, running through the plans for the day and trying not to look directly at Beau.
“We’re going to go to the library.”
We’d go while it was quiet, not during story times, no groups of infectious toddlers. The librarian was aware of Clara’s condition and would text me if it was too busy.
I toyed with Clara’s hair. It was still wild from sleep. “Once we get you dressed, hair done. Then the park. Then Nora’s bakery. Then we’re going to come home, nap if you’re tired. Read if not. Then we’ll eat dinner.” I continued the pretense of telling Clara what the plan was, feeling Beau’s heavy, judging gaze.
Though we had officially entered fall, Maine had not clutched us with the chill I knew was coming. The mornings were cold, but the days were plenty warm enough for us to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine.
I waited with bated breath to see if Beau found any of this against whatever rules or set of standards he had for my time with Clara.
The past few years consisted of me working my ass off. Doing assignments, not sleeping, working two jobs on top of studying. Crying in the shower when I thought of Waylon and the disaster I’d made of my mind. I was always stressed, always running from one place to another, always exhausted.
I slept well here. The days with Clara were not rushed; we took our time. We picked daisies, we said hi to dogs on the street, chatting to whomever was working at Nora’s bakery. Clara’s favorite librarian would show her books she thought she’d like. We could simply be, enjoying without a deadline, without that sense of urgency that had pushed me through life in perpetual fight-or-flight mode.