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)
When he moved closer to me, I stepped back on instinct. He grasped the lighter from the counter, lighting the candles, not looking at me.
“Calculate it.” He spoke without looking up. “Text me the number, I’ll deposit it tonight.”
A dismissal, clear as day, then he turned his back.
My throat burned, and my vision blurred with tears as I stood there, silently.
Beau kept his back to me.
I swallowed my pain and wiped my eyes, wishing I could run into my room and hide from the world. But I wouldn’t give that to Beau. Nor would I take that from Clara. I wanted her to see me; she considered me her friend, and she was mine. Maybe even my best friend.
Maybe Clara was all I had in the world.
And she wasn’t even mine.
But I’d take her while I could.
So I steeled myself, mentally flipped him the bird, then walked back to the party.
six
BEAU
“What did you say to that poor girl?” my father asked me.
We were sitting on the back porch, smoking cigars. Just as we had on the day of Clara’s birth. The best day of my life. Her last birthday was not the best day of my life. It was one of the worst.
She’d spent it in a hospital bed. We’d done everything we could to make it special. The nurses had sung her happy birthday, my father had brought presents, Elliot hung all sorts of decorations. Clara had loved it, even if she was weak and tired from all the medication. She’d managed a few bites of cake, opening her presents before she fell asleep watching a movie.
I’d been preparing for things to only go downhill from there. I’d been preparing to bury my daughter. Then fucking Naomi, of all people, arrived to turn things around. For once in all her time on this planet, she made Clara’s life better. Thankfully, she then slunk back under whatever rock she crawled out of. The unanswered questions I had about her sudden appearance and obviously selfless gesture still kept me up at night.
But Clara was healthy. Not completely, though, leaving me taut with fear that the party, despite all the precautions, would cause her to catch a cold. Her doctor had assured me that if it stayed outside and she stayed masked, she’d be fine. Yet I still couldn’t quite believe that she’d be fine. Couldn’t stop tensing, waiting for the next shoe to fall.
Clara was five years old. And she’d had the “best day” of her life—which she told me as I put her to bed, still wearing her flower crown.
Largely, that day being what it was, was thanks to Hannah. Who had tirelessly given my daughter the day of her dreams. I’d thought a store-bought cake and a bouncy house would do the trick. I hadn’t wanted to commit to too much, didn’t want to go overboard in celebrating her birthday because I was fucking terrified that if I celebrated too much, then life would take her from me.
Selfish. Fucked-up. Unforgivable that I’d let that shit get in the way of giving my girl the birthday she deserved.
But she got the birthday she deserved anyway. Just not from me.
“What are you talking about?” I asked my father, wrenching myself from my thoughts, blinking the backyard back into existence. Fairy lights had been strung up by Clara and Hannah at some point, along with solar-powered lanterns, dotting around the “fairy garden.” Our trash can was bursting with remnants of the party after everyone had helped tidy up. I took in the flowers—again, planted by Hannah and Clara—which they watered every morning. And her “mud kitchen” where she made “potions.”
The backyard that had been a slab of half-dying grass that I forgot to mow, water, or fertilize had become full of life and light. Now, it looked like a little girl lived here. Clara had made her mark somewhere other than in my soul. And Hannah did that. In a couple of short months, with winter approaching, Hannah had made our life bloom, even while everything in nature should’ve been dying off.
“Hannah.” My father plucked the name right out of my thoughts, turning to regard me. “She came out from inside before you brought out the cake, looking like someone killed her puppy. And I’m guessing that someone was you since you seem to think it’s a sport to be as rude as you can to her.”
He took in a long inhale. “I know I didn’t raise you to treat women that way. Especially not a woman who your daughter adores and just happens to be one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met.” He paused, letting the words hang, letting them pummel my already battered conscience over my treatment of Hannah. “And let me tell you, Beau, finding a woman who loves your daughter enough to give her this...” He motioned to the yard. He’d been there plenty, he knew what it looked like before, and he knew the changes were because of Hannah, not me.