Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Binx hasn’t even told her parents that we’re friends, but I can’t blame her. Her mother has a pole stuck up her ass, and from what I’ve seen at the hardware store when I stop in for renovation supplies, her father isn’t much better.
That’s another reason I ignored her invitation. I didn’t want to get her into an uncomfortable spot with her parents.
But looks like it’s too late for that now…
Everyone is staring, and I mean everyone. I’m sure her mother and father are getting an eyeful, and that Binx is going to get an earful later.
It’s that, as much as Binx’s gentle insistence that we talk before I push through the crowd to snatch Sprout up in my arms, that convinces me to follow her out of the tent. We step into the shadows outside the brightly lit gathering, but Binx keeps going until we reach what looks like a mini carnival.
There are games set up in the grass beneath softly glowing solar lamps, a photo booth, and what looks like…
“Are those punching bags?” I ask, already headed that way.
“Yeah. They’re for my mother,” Binx says, falling in beside me. I shoot her a confused look and she adds, “Not for her to punch. For me to punch, when she drives me crazy.” She stops beside the closest bag, holding it lightly on either side. “Listen, I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. What Sprout did was wild and dangerous and wrong, and she deserves whatever punishment you, as her father, decide is best.”
“I know,” I say, my hands curling into fists.
“But you also know that she’s had a hell of a time making friends,” she adds in a softer voice, clearly mindful of the older kids playing frisbee golf not far away. “And she’s so happy right now. She’s having a great time dancing with kids her own age for the first time ever. I don’t know about you, but I feel like there’s a way to honor that, to let her have a little win, while also holding her accountable for her actions.”
I shake my head. “She snuck out of the house at nine o’clock at night.”
“I know.”
I jab an arm toward the entrance to the vineyard. “And somehow made it five miles down the road in the less than twenty minutes that Mom was upstairs in the shower. That means she didn’t walk.”
Binx nods, her brow furrowing. “I know. And the thought of her hitchhiking her little ass up here terrifies me, too. Truly. Really, really bad things could have happened, but…they didn’t. Which means you have the chance to teach her this lesson in a kinder, gentler way than a kidnapper would have.”
I shudder and press a fist to my stomach. “Fuck, I can’t even think about that.”
Her hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “I know.”
“No, you don’t. She’s not your kid,” I say, even though I know that’s not fair.
Binx isn’t Sprout’s parent, but she loves her. She would do anything for her, a fact she proved this past winter when she moved heaven and earth to help us raise the money to pay for Sprout’s surgery.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“It’s okay,” she says, rubbing her palm in slow circles between my shoulder blades. “You’re right. I have no idea what it’s like to be a parent, but I do know what it’s like to be a kid who doesn’t fit in. As grown-ups, we know that’s not the end of the world, and that misfit kiddos will find their people eventually. But at eight or nine, when everyone else has a bestie, and you’re the girl who collects bugs and plays soccer harder than the boys and never knows when to shut her mouth…it can be rough. You start to think there’s something wrong with you, that you’ll always be the one who doesn’t fit in. And I didn’t even have the challenges Sprout has right now.”
I stretch my neck to one side, fighting to release some of the tension in my jaw.
Binx is right. My daughter was born hearing, but the accident that killed her mother when she was little left her with severe head trauma. She lost her hearing at three, at a pivotal moment, when so much of a kid’s skill with language is forming. Then, I wasted so much time grieving that we didn’t even get on the list for the children’s hospital that specializes in hearing loss surgery until she was five. She had hearing aids, but they didn’t do much. She did speak some, but heading into elementary school, she mostly used sign language to communicate.
By the time we realized how much of the surgery wouldn’t be covered by insurance, she was seven and we were scrambling to raise the money before she lost any more time. She had the procedure last March, recovering seventy percent of her hearing in her left ear and fifty percent in her right. She was finally able to hear music and her grandmother’s laugh and, for the first time in years, her own voice.