Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
I bent down to grab my father’s arm and shake him.
“Wake up,” I said firmly. “I have coffee.”
He grumbled, then opened his eyes in a squint. “Why you waking me up so early?”
I continued to pull on his arm. “Because Grams thinks a drunken stranger is on our sofa, I have to get to class, and you need a shower. Now, drink.”
He sat up and held out his hand for the cup. I gave it to him and made sure that he had it before letting go. I might want to slap him most of the time, but I didn’t want to cause a third-degree burn. He wasn’t the best dad—or even a good human really—but he was mine.
“What time is it?” he asked, then took a sip, wincing as it hit his tongue.
“Ten after seven. I’ll get Grams something to eat, and then I have to go get dressed and leave. And I’m taking the Bug,” I told him, already knowing he was going to bitch about that.
“Why can’t Anya pick you up? I need the car,” he immediately said.
“Because Anya doesn’t go to college, Dad. You know this. And she’s been at work for an hour already.”
Anya was my best friend and had been my entire life. Her family lived two houses down, and although it was the same size as ours, her dad took pride in their home. The paint on it wasn’t peeling, there wasn’t plastic sheeting over any of their windows, and the front porch didn’t have holes in it from rotten wood.
“You don’t go to college either,” he shot back at me with a scowl. “Going on like you do is a waste of time. Maybe if’n you got a job, then you could buy yer own car. Stop wasting time sitting in classes for nothing.”
“I don’t need a car. I have my Vespa,” I informed him.
I’d bought it with my own hard-earned money two years ago. I loved my candy-apple-red wheels, but lately, it’d kept breaking down on me. Like now. It was back in the shop.
“No, ya don’t. That piece of shit ain’t here now, is it?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m doing you a favor. If you get caught behind the wheel again, you’re gonna be back behind bars. Suspended license means no driving,” I replied, then spun around to go back to the kitchen. I’d left Grams alone long enough.
“You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do!” he shouted.
“I’d be easy on me, old man,” I called back to him. “I’m the reason you have food to eat and a roof over your head.”
I heard his muttered cursing and smirked. He didn’t have a comeback for that one. Grams’s monthly check from the government was spent at Miller’s Bar, thanks to him. I’d given up on him getting and holding down a job years ago. I had learned early to be resourceful.
Grams was sitting at the table, staring out the window, with her hands in her lap. She had a lost expression on her face. It was never easy to see her like that.
I remembered her singing hymns in this kitchen while she cooked meals with the fresh vegetables from her garden. She was the only mother I had. The woman who had given birth to me split when I was six months old. Grams was the one steady, dependable parent I’d had—until her mind started going my senior year in high school. It was little things back then, but by the time I was nineteen, she’d forgotten how to cook or garden.
“Ready for that coffee?” I asked her.
She turned and looked at me. A sad smile touched her wrinkled face. “I suppose.”
I took down her favorite mug and filled it. She didn’t take sugar or cream in hers either. Her eyes followed me as I took it over and placed it in front of her.
“A strong cup of joe to get you going,” I said brightly.
She patted my arm. “You’re a good girl, Royal. Don’t let him bring you down. You’re better than him. You’re better than both of ’em.”
Seems her memory had been jogged, and she was remembering who Dad was again. I should be relieved, but with the memory came the disappointment.
I bent down and kissed her cheek. “I learned from the queen,” I teased her. “You taught me everything I know.”
A small chuckle came from her, and it eased the tightness in my chest.
“Now, don’t be giving me the credit for all that you do,” she said, patting me again. “I’m thankful for it. Good Lord knows, without you, I don’t know where I’d be, but that savvy you got, it ain’t from me.”
I smiled, straightening back up. “Well, it ain’t from Dad. It had to have come from somewhere.”
I never mentioned the woman who’d given me life. None of us did.