Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I duck into the hall bathroom, where I know Dad keeps a mini first aid kit under the sink. I grab it and hoof it back to the kitchen, where this time Mo listened and didn’t move from her chair.
Sinking to my knees in front of her, I tear open an antiseptic wipe. “This is going to sting just a little,” I warn her. “Ready?”
She nods weakly.
When I swipe it over the tiny cut, her face scrunches up. “I don’t like that!”
“I know, but it’s over. See? It’s over. All done.” I check the wipe, gratified to find no blood on it. She might have a wee bruise, but that’s it.
Once the Band-Aid is on, I scoop her up again and search her face. “Are you okay? Does it still hurt?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Good. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”
We reach the stairs as the front door opens.
Shit.
I hear Nia and Dad’s voices. So does Mo, because she exclaims, “Mama! Daddy! I broke my face! Come see!”
I swallow a groan. “Monique,” I chide.
It’s too late. The adults are galloping in. Nia pries Monique from my arms, while Dad barks, “What happened? Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” I reassure them. “I promise. There’s a broken shelf in the kitchen, but Mo is fine.”
Eyes now completely dry, Mo shows off her Band-Aid. “Look! Maybe I’ll have a scar.”
“A scar?” Nia swivels on me in reproach. “What happened?” Her voice is sharp.
“I was walking Aaron to the door. Mo couldn’t sleep and was alone in the kitchen—when she was supposed to be waiting for me in the hall.” I frown at my sister.
“I’m sorry,” she says meekly.
“She tried to climb the cabinet to get a snack—”
Nia’s eyes blaze. “I told you not to let her climb anything, Cassandra.”
“I know.” Guilt jams in my throat. “I swear I only left her alone for thirty seconds. Aaron was just leaving.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dad says gently.
“No, it’s not.” Nia’s voice rises as she blasts Monique with a reprimand. “You’re not supposed to be climbing the furniture!” Dad touches Nia’s arm, but she pushes him away. “No. I’m taking Monique to bed. Say good night to your father and sister.”
“Good night, Daddy. Good night, Cassie.” Monique’s face is forlorn as peers at me over her mother’s shoulder. She knows she got me in trouble. I’m sorry, she mouths.
I flash a smile of assurance. Love you, I mouth back.
They disappear at the top of the stairs.
Dad observes my expression and sighs. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine. Kids are resilient.”
“I know,” I moan. “It’s just … Nia already doesn’t like me.”
His features soften. “What are you talking about? That’s not true.”
“You know it is.”
“It’s not,” he insists. “She thinks you’re wonderful. We both do.”
Sure. If he says so.
His false assurances still echo in my head as I drive home ten minutes later. It’s eleven o’clock and I’m exhausted. I was supposed to go on a fun date tonight, which somehow turned into my trying to prove to my stepmother that I can be a good big sister. Instead, I only validated her already low opinion of me. And I couldn’t even be assertive with Aaron. Too afraid to hurt his feelings by asking him to slow things down.
God. I feel like shit. My self-esteem is in the toilet, and for the life of me I can’t conjure up a silver lining for tonight. I simply want to go home and climb into bed and sleep the rest of this disastrous weekend away.
When I pull into the driveway of Grandma’s house, I’m startled to find another car parked there.
A silver Mercedes.
Oh no.
No.
Please, don’t let it be her.
Please.
My stomach churns as I shut off the engine. My mother’s go-to rental car choice is a Mercedes. She hates driving Grandma’s Range Rover when she’s in town. Claims it’s too clunky.
Only, Mom isn’t due to arrive for another two weeks. She’s scheduled to come on my birthday weekend, and there’s no way she would show up in Avalon Bay early. Not willingly. Ever since the divorce, this town has become a source of deep hostility for her.
In the front hall, my worst fears are confirmed when I spy several Louis Vuitton cases stacked against the wall. She always leaves her bags down here. Waiting for poor Adelaide to cart them up the stairs as if it’s our housekeeper’s job to play bellhop.
I kick off my tennis shoes and swallow a sigh when I notice the light on in the kitchen. I reluctantly make my way toward it. Steeling myself. Because apparently only bad things happen in kitchens tonight.
I enter to see Mom at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of white wine.
Yup. Only bad things.
“Hey!” I exclaim, slapping on a cheerful smile. It’s difficult, though. My spirits are already dismally low. And if there’s one thing I know about my mother, it’s that she has the power to drag me down even lower. “What are you doing here? You weren’t due for two more weeks.”