Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
“Okay.” I smile and smooth her hair. I’ve learned it’s not worth it to push her.
On the drive home, we hit the detour again. I follow the car in front of me down a residential street one street over from where we live.
“Mommy! Stop!” Penny suddenly screams from the back seat.
My foot hits the break and we pitch forward. “What? What’s wrong?” Heart racing, I scan the road for a child or an animal that may have run out in front of the car.
There’s nothing there.
Worry slides into my veins. Up until a few months ago, Penny would cry and scream every time she had to get in the car. I’m not sure I can handle the stress of an ordeal like that again.
She kicks her sneakered feet against the back of the passenger seat. “That’s my house. Let me out!”
I glance at her in the rearview mirror to see her staring out the window. Her eyes are wide and frantic, cheeks bright red, lips parted. This street is more rural than the one our house is on. The houses here aren’t as modern, and most of them are on larger wooded lots with hobbyist farms. I’m pretty sure the woods behind these houses abut the woods behind our own house.
“Honey, that’s not our house. We had to go a different way home. This isn’t where we live.”
“It is!” she wails at the top of her lungs, banging her hand against the window and thrashing in her seat. “Let me out. Please!”
She’s so upset I have no choice but to pull over to the side of the road. “Okay, calm down. I’m pulling over.” Worry and frustration course through me as I put the car in park and get out. When I open the passenger door to console her, she’s already gotten herself unbuckled from the child seat, jumps out, and bolts toward the street.
“Penny!” I chase her with my heart pounding so hard the air is sucked out of my lungs. My hand clenches the fuzzy fabric of her sweater just as she’s about to run into the road. Yanking her back, I spin her around and immediately kneel to her level. “Never run into the street!” I shout. “Do you hear me?” I rarely raise my voice to her, but my God, my stomach dropped like an anchor and my hands are still trembling. “You cannot jump out of the car like that ever again.” My voice is still stern but not as loud. “You wait for me to unbuckle you.”
Nodding solemnly, she turns away to stare across the street at the little house that’s captivated her. “That’s where I lived,” she tells me in a faraway voice. “When it was before.”
I follow her wide-eyed gaze to a two-story cottage nestled deep among flowering rose bushes and lush trees as if it grew right out of the earth. Small, yet charming with peeling white paint, faded red door, and weathered roof and shutters. Vines twist from the ground all the way up to the roof, embracing the front porch and possibly even holding it up. Soft green moss fills the cracks between the stones of the walkway. Behind the house, off to the left, is an old wood barn. A picket fence, which may have been white some time ago, runs around the perimeter of the house. A smile tips my lips at the sight of a colorful painted mailbox in the shape of a birdhouse that’s posted near the crooked front gate.
With a sigh of relief, I realize Ben is right. It looks exactly like a cozy old house Penny might have seen in a movie or a book.
I release my grip on her arm and take her hand in mine. “It’s a beautiful little house,” I say with a smile, standing upright.
“It's a fairy-tale house,” she replies softly.
“It is. I can see why you like it. But it’s time to go home now.”
Reluctantly giving in, she frowns and then suddenly gasps and points to the house. “It’s Cherry Pop!” she yells, tugging at my hand. “See?”
On the front porch, a big, fuzzy red dog emerges from behind an old rocking chair where it must have been napping. It stands at the top of the stairs with a ball in its mouth, eyes locked on my daughter, tail wagging happily.
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up as things start to click in my brain. For years, Penny has been talking about—and drawing pictures of—a little house with a red door and what I thought was a red lion with a big mane. Is it just a coincidence that something she’s seen on television or in a book happens to be right in front of us?
I tighten my grip on her hand. “Come on, Penny, it’s time to go.”