Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
And it never mattered I made way more than Ella. Both our salaries went into the joint account, and we were a team in every sense of the financial word.
After I exit my vehicle, I trot up to the front door. I don’t feel comfortable walking in as I respect this is Ella’s sanctuary now. Pocketing my keys, I ring the doorbell, but the wait isn’t long. Ella’s there, opening it and looking like a breath of fresh air. She has on an old Quebec Royals t-shirt, a pair of white shorts that aren’t indecent but show a good amount of tanned legs and her feet are bare. Her face is devoid of any makeup, blue eyes sparkling, and her blond hair is up in a ponytail.
“Hey,” she says, her expression a bit guarded as it always is. “Thanks for coming over to look at this thing.”
“Not a problem,” I say as I step over the threshold. My gaze, as usual, goes to the row of shelves in the living room that are stuffed with photos and knickknacks. Like I do every time, I slowly let out a sigh of relief to see Ella hasn’t removed all of our family photos she had framed and put on display there over the years.
Ella turns, then walks through the living room into the kitchen. I follow and I’d be dead not to check out her ass in those not-quite-indecent but still-sexy shorts. It’s something I quickly avert my eyes from, though, as I realize Lucy is sitting at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of cereal.
As I move to my daughter, I ruffle her hair—blond like her mom’s—and say, “Morning, my Lucy Goosey.”
It’s a nickname I started calling her when she was about four, and she’d always respond by calling me “Baddy Daddy”.
She ignores me, hunches over her bowl, and shoves another spoonful into her mouth. Leaning to the side, I bend to put my face close to hers. Pointedly, I say, “Good morning, Lucy.”
“Whatever,” she mumbles around a mouthful of Lucky Charms.
“Lucy,” Ella growls, her tone filled with warning.
It’s one of the reasons I respect Ella so much. She’s suffered pain and heartbreak at my hands, and it would have been so easy for her to use Lucy as a pawn. To turn my child against me. But every step of the way, if Ella’s present, she refuses to let Lucy be disrespectful to me in any way.
My gaze moves to Ella, and she gives me an apologetic look. I slightly shake my head, telling her silently to let it go. I’m not up for Lucy getting dramatic on us.
Ella holds her tongue from further rebuking her, but she says, “Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for school?”
“Gladly,” Lucy says, beaming a sarcastic smile at her mom, then at me. After picking up her bowl of cereal, she moves to the staircase.
“Remember, I’m picking you up tomorrow morning,” I remind her as she starts up the stairs. She doesn’t respond, so I yell, “Be ready at nine.”
It’s my day to spend with Lucy, one of the few I have completely off from my job and Ella is always flexible for me, which I appreciate.
“Sorry about that,” Ella mutters, referring to Lucy’s attitude. She grabs a mug from the cupboard, then holds it up in silent invitation. I nod, and she turns to the pot. “I can’t keep up with her mood shifts anymore.”
“I’m quite sure the shift has everything to do with me,” I offer, willing to take my share of the blame as I head over to the sink.
“Not true,” Ella replies, sitting the cup of black coffee on the counter so it’s in reach. “She’s been doing it to me as well.”
“She’s thirteen.” I turn the spigot on, watch the water run, then start to back up from the disposal drain. “I remember being a shit to my parents at that age.”
Ella laughs. “Me too.”
It’s her laugh and not her words that have me twisting toward her. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it in response to something I’ve said, and I’d forgotten how much I like making her laugh.
I mask my reaction, instead pointing at the garbage disposal. “I’m going to have to remove the drainpipe from under the sink. Let me get my tools.”
Ella nods, moving over to her laptop, which she has sitting on a tiny nook desk off the left of the island. I can see she has Facebook up, which she uses mainly to keep in touch with family and friends from back home in Michigan.
I head into the garage, which is off the kitchen with a mudroom in between. I hadn’t bothered taking any of my tools with me when I’d moved into my new house. It’s a rental, and anything I might need fixed, I have a landlord to handle it. But I’m good with my hands and have always been mechanically minded, so, over the years, I’ve learned all the basic household repairs that need to be made.