Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Is that what you call them? That louder and louder voice that keeps reminding me how worthless—ha—I am?” I’d had a low-level version of that type of self-talk for so many years that I’d forgotten others didn’t routinely tell themselves all the ways in which they were failing and didn’t carry around the heavy cape of guilt.
“Yes. That’s the depression talking. And it’s treatable. Along with whatever’s going on with your stomach.”
“Here, let me do it.” I didn’t like how Buttercup was shivering and how businesslike Sam was in washing her. After he moved out of the way, I took over, adjusting the water to be slightly warmer and using a cautious touch to soap the dog up. “And your guess is as good as mine as far as my stomach. Like I said, no health insurance. Antacids used to help. Those stopped working, along with all the other over-the-counter stuff. I’m okay as long as I don’t eat or drink.”
The weak joke earned me a glare from Sam.
“Sorry.” I huffed a breath, my inappropriate humor yet another reason to be mad at myself. “ER is going to be a nightmare though. It’s the Fourth of July. They’ll be swamped with burns, barbeque indigestion, and assorted accidents. My problems will keep.”
“Maybe until morning.” Sam’s expression turned thoughtful, and after drying his hands on a dishtowel, he dug out his phone and started clicking around.
“Hey. What are you doing on the phone?” My voice came out more outraged than the situation warranted. God, I missed being in control of my emotions, being able to put up a front of competency. “Don’t tell Monroe or Holden I’m here.”
“I’m not. I have a doctor friend. I’m verifying that she’s on duty in the morning at urgent care because, if so, waiting makes some sense. She’ll know how to best help. But I’m keeping an eye on you in the meantime.”
I made a frustrated noise but kept my hands gentle as I rinsed Buttercup. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
Sam’s wide-eyed expression called me a liar as he fished a set of keys from his pocket, dangling them from one finger. “Start cooperating, or we’re doing the ER now. Dr. Washington would be my preference, but if you can’t behave, I’m taking you in tonight.”
Behave, or I’ll turn this car around. Sam wasn’t the least bit paternal, but he was equally serious. I believed him.
“I’ll cooperate.” I hoped I could keep that promise. “Never would have predicted you’d grow up to be all stern.”
“Trust me, I’m surprised too.” Sam shook his head as he grabbed a towel from the top of the dryer and handed it to me. I blotted my face before starting in on the dog. It was entirely possible I’d ended up wetter than the dog.
“Do you think she’s hungry?” Thin as she was, she’d likely been scrounging awhile. A slow anger, something I hadn’t thought I could feel anymore, built behind my sternum. Whoever dumped this defenseless dog was the worst kind of human. “Can she eat any of that?”
I pointed to his storage shelves, which held no less than three kinds of dry cat kibble.
“She shouldn’t have cat food, but I’ve got some leftover rice and chicken she can try.”
“Where is your cat anyway?” I glanced around the laundry area, which had a litter box but no cat in sight.
“Undoubtedly upstairs, plotting my doom.” Sam laughed and headed toward the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s see what we can find for you and Buttercup both. What do you think your stomach might tolerate? And no, nothing is not a suitable answer.”
“Toast. Not too dry. Weak tea. Sometimes sweet stuff isn’t too bad either.” Wrapping Buttercup up like a swaddled infant, I followed Sam into the kitchen. “Sorry. I know I sound like a diva.”
“Or a princess.” Sam gave me an unexpectedly fond smile before patting Buttercup on the head. When had he gotten so tall? We were disconcertingly eye-to-eye until he turned to gesture at the table. “Sit.”
I had no idea why Sam’s orders worked on me, but I sat in the nearby breakfast nook anyway. The previously white kitchen had been transformed with marigold walls, flat dark-wood cabinetry, and sand-colored countertops. Nothing was particularly high-end, but the space was fresh and modern, a far cry from its homey past. The L-shaped built-in breakfast nook was one of the few unchanged things, and I settled myself in my usual corner space.
“Did the table shrink?” I frowned. Why did I keep forgetting I was bigger and broader now? The recent weight loss due to my stomach issues notwithstanding, I was nowhere near the skinny tween who had spent hours in the corner of the nook, doing homework and talking to my mom.
“Here.” Sam plucked Buttercup off my lap, placing her nearby in front of a colorful dish with a cartoon cat full of rice and plain chicken. Absorbed in watching the dog bolt down her dinner, I started when Sam slid a plate in front of me. “Try this.”