Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 139029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
After they left, Dustin cleaned the coop of the dead carcasses, then dragged the trash bag to the trash can. He had to turn the trash can on its side to shove the heavy bag inside. Then, using all his strength, he righted it again.
Feeling tired, he put the shovel and flashlight in the barn before going inside, where he softly closed the door.
He was startled to see his mother sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for him.
“You okay?” she asked softly as he went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Going to the table, he stared down at the birthday cake they hadn’t had a chance to eat when Duke started barking.
“I’ll wrap it up, and we can have the rest of it tomorrow night.”
“Throw it away,” Dustin choked out.
“I’m not going to throw away a perfectly good cake. I’ll save it for your father and Greer. Nothing ever ruins their appetites.”
Dustin couldn’t help smiling at his mother, who was trying to make him feel better.
Reaching out, he took the candle off.
“What’re you going to do with that?” his mother asked as she got up to carry the cake to the counter.
He shrugged, using a dishcloth to wipe the frosting off the bottom of the number nine. “We didn’t have time to take any pictures, so I’ll save the candle.” His eyes watered at the memory of the party that had been interrupted.
“Baby …” His ma tried to reach out to hug him, but he sidestepped her, going into the dining room.
“Good night, Mom.”
“Good night, Dustin.”
He heard his mother crying as he went into the bathroom to shower. Taking his clothes off, he stepped into the shower, staying in there until the water ran cold. Then he got out and put on the pajamas his mother had lain out for him.
Quietly, he went into the bedroom he shared with Greer and Tate. Without turning the light on, he made his way to the bunk beds that were placed against the wall. Getting under the covers, he stared up at the bunk over his.
The candle still in the palm of his hand felt like it was burning a hole through it, even though the flame had been extinguished hours ago.
“You okay?”
Tate’s whispered question had him turning his head on the thin pillow toward the opposite side of the room. “Yeah, I’m fine. Go to sleep.”
“No need to get snotty, bro. I told Pa that he built that hen house too close to the woods.” Greer’s head came over the bunk, looking down at him. “How many chickens did he get?”
“Two.”
“Could have been worse.” At that matter-of fact-statement, Greer’s head disappeared.
“Duke’s dead. How could it be worse?” Dustin put an arm over his face to keep from crying.
“You could have shot your foot off,” Greer joked.
“Or you could have shot Duke,” Tate said. “The way he was jumping around the coop, it was hard to get a clear shot. Besides, you didn’t have time to practice with your new rifle. Get some sleep. No sense in crying over something that you can’t change.”
Dustin rolled to his side as the bedroom went silent, except for the even breathing coming from his brothers, who he knew had fallen asleep.
He was still awake when he heard his mother wake up in the morning to fix breakfast. He got up before she could knock on the bedroom door to tell them to get ready for school.
The school day felt never-ending. On the way home, he ignored his friends on the bus, doing his homework as the they tried to talk to him.
Getting off as soon as the bus stopped, he walked up the rutted road to his house.
His mom gave him a curious look when he went to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. It took only a few seconds to fall asleep, still wearing his shoes on the bed he had made before going to school.
The smell of his mother cooking dinner woke him up. Changing his red shirt for a black, long-sleeved one, he reached for the hunting bow and arrows that used to belong to Tate. Tate had given them to him when he had gotten a new one two Christmases ago. Greer hadn’t wanted them, preferring the rifle that hung beside the front door under Tate’s and Pa’s.
The sound of his family settling down at the dinner table spurred him out his room.
“Dinner’s ready.” His mother placed a plate down at the spot he always ate as he walked by the dining table.
“I’m not hungry.” Dustin didn’t look at his father as he went out the door.
Walking down the steps, he walked toward the chicken coop. It was already getting dark. Studying the surrounding trees, he picked one that would give him the best view. Then he expertly shimmied up the tree to a branch that was almost over the coop. Supporting his back against the tree trunk, he settled back and waited.