Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” I turn back around, lock my seatbelt into place, and we head down the street. My usual twenty-minute walk is going to be cut in half, which means I have ten minutes to prepare for the inevitable.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell the quiet cab of the truck. Ryland makes a humming noise and nods.
“You welcome!” Case states, making me smile with his enthusiasm. In a different world, a ride like this could be my everyday occurrence, if I hadn’t screwed myself over with Shane. Now, I’m starting over, later in life, and the only way I’ll ever get ahead is if I keep my head down with my eye on the prize. Girls like me, we weren’t meant to have men like Ryland Johnson or a son like Case Johnson, and doesn’t that just suck.
ONE
SUTTON
Present Day
I look at my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me isn’t the same person from a few years ago. I’m skinny, skinnier than I’ve ever been and ever should be. I could use a few healthy and hearty meals, heavy on the carbohydrates. Except by the time I work my two jobs and finish my homework, the last thing on my mind is leaving the sanctuary I made inside these four walls and roof. Surviving on protein bars, snacks here and there, and whatever the owner at Down Home Diner would shove at me when we have a lull in customers is about the size of my dietary functions throughout the day. Now, though, it seems I’ve done a lot more harm than good, and eating better isn’t in my budget for the foreseeable future, either.
My skin is pale, my cheeks are sunken in, and there are deep circles beneath my eyes, dark purple and an instant reminder of the four hours of sleep I’ve been living on.
“Something has to change, Sutton.” I take a deep breath, trying to calm the emotion bubbling up inside of me. Mom always said there’s no use crying over spilled perfume, a lyric from a song she’d have blaring through the house every Saturday morning when it was time to do chores. I’d be in my teenage years, wanting to sleep in, and she’d come into my room, a broom in hand, using it as her microphone while singing a Pam Tillis song. Her two favorites were Spilled Perfume and Shake the Sugar Tree. It was hard to stay in bed when for a few hours a week, the two of us didn’t have anything going on. Mom didn’t work Saturday mornings, I didn’t have school, and while we may have done something as mundane as cleaning together, it was our time, completely uninterrupted by outside life, and as I got older in my teenage years, I still made sure to be home Saturday mornings.
Until one day it all came to a screeching halt.
Mom on the couch, sitting next to Mrs. Johnson, both holding each other’s hands, tears streaming down their cheeks, and my world shattered.
Terminal lung cancer.
She tried to battle it, did chemotherapy and radiation for a while, but soon enough, the cancer ravaged her body. Nothing worked on this type of aggressive cancer, and after a few months, Mom didn’t want to continue. Another piece of my heart broke, but as much as I wanted her to win the war on this, I knew, the doctors knew, Mrs. Johnson knew, and Mom knew.
We spent her final days doing whatever she wanted—driving around town and through the neighboring cities, a smile plastered on her face and the wind in her hair, what was left of it at least. How she managed to have time to knit three blankets, I’ll never understand, but it was on her list. One was king size, beige in color, and she insisted that it’s mine to keep forever. And two much smaller ones for one day in the future.
“Don’t cry, Sutton, you don’t have time for a mental break down today. Save it. In a couple more months, everything will be better.” I’m in this predicament because frankly, I’m an idiot. Mrs. Johnson stayed with me for weeks after Mom passed, but I had to let her get back to her life. I also needed to get back to mine. There was a new semester of college to enroll in, bills to take care of, and like another song of Mom’s, time marches on. A few months later, Shane Sullivan entered my life. I was lonely, vulnerable, and he gave me attention when I needed it most. What I didn’t expect was for him to ask me to marry him. He moved in, and while things were okay at first, it didn’t last long.
Shane Sullivan is lazy, he can’t keep his job, verbally attacks me, and expects me to pay all of the bills. Which I did before he came along. Mom’s house is paid off. Minus the taxes and homeowner’s insurance, it’s free and clear. The water and power aren’t too steep. It’s the man who sits on his ass, day in and day out, who refuses to get a job, who thinks his main goal in life is to be a kept man.