Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
But as time went on and I had no company or contact with anyone, my perspective began to shift. Help wasn’t coming. My parents weren’t going to come to their senses.
One day I realized that I was going through the large stack of firewood against the house faster than I’d thought possible, so I started painstakingly splitting the rounds that were scattered around the yard. At home, we’d used a gas-powered splitter to process wood, but all of us had been taught to use an axe anyway. It was back breaking work and slow going because I had to stop so often. Eventually, though, the muscles in my arms and back began to firm up and it didn’t seem so difficult anymore, even though it still took forever to accomplish.
I began bathing at night, washing myself using a small bucket of water, dish soap, and one of the few towels I’d found in a cupboard. I was hyper aware of the supplies I had available and how quickly I went through them, so I only actually warmed the water with the propane stove once a week, using the leftover water to wash my hair and clothes at the same time. I emptied the bins that held all the non-perishable food and set them out to collect rainwater just in case I ran out of the barrels of water inside.
There’s a difference in how you survive when you’re waiting for rescue and when you realize that rescue isn’t coming. You begin to figure things out. You push the worry to the back of your mind to take out in the quiet of the dark and mull over before shoving it away again so you can focus on living.
Instead of leaving the old sleeping bag I’d found on the couch all the time, I started rolling it back up every morning when I got up. I structured my days around meals, carefully picking out what I’d eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. After breakfast, I worked on the wood outside until lunch, knowing that I’d need much more than I had if I was going to be stranded there all winter. I prayed that someone would pick me up before then, but considering the fact that a month had passed without any contact, I assumed the worst.
I’d sit down for lunch midday, usually reading while I ate for some kind of company. The books I’d brought with me were old favorites, the characters both familiar and comforting. After lunch, I’d count my supplies, obsessively going over how much food and water I had and how long I could go before I ran out. In the afternoon, I explored outside.
There wasn’t much to see around the cabin, just a bunch of trees, but it still felt nice to get a little fresh air and hear the birds calling to each other. It felt like I was at the edge of the world, making a little place for myself. Some days it wasn’t so bad and I daydreamed about the child growing beneath my heart, feeling more connected to it. On other days it was a struggle not to start screaming for help or walking toward town even though I knew no one would hear me and the chance of even seeing a car was slim.
I thought about Otto Hawthorne. The memory of him coming to see me a few days after the disaster out in the woods played over and over in my mind.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed, glancing toward the cash register where my dad was helping someone check out.
“You took off the other night,” he said quietly.
“I had to get home,” I replied shortly, not looking at him as I arranged bags of potting soil.
“Listen, is there somewhere we could talk?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I’m guessin’ that was your first time,” he said, so softly I almost didn’t hear him.
My stomach lurched. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” I glanced at the front of the store again. “Please, just go.”
“Can you meet me after work?”
I couldn’t see my dad at the front of the store anymore and my heart started thumping in a familiar staccato. Any moment he’d show up beside us and I’d be in more trouble than I’d ever been in my entire life.
“Fine,” I said, looking around Otto to make sure no one was listening.
“How about the high school parking lot?” he asked, leaning down a little so I’d meet his eyes.
“Okay.”
I hadn’t gone to meet him. For weeks afterward I’d been on edge, waiting for him to show up at the garden center looking for me, but he hadn’t come again. It wasn’t until later that I regretted the fact that I’d blown him off. By the time I’d realized I was pregnant, I hadn’t had any idea how to get ahold of him and the fact that he’d pretended like he didn’t know Becka seemed trivial and unimportant.