Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
For a few chilling seconds, I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think.
There’s nothing more I’d love than to slip into his bed and feel those massive arms around me, except I can’t, and it’s my own dumb fault.
Eventually, I trudge down the hall to the guest room and throw back a few sleep aid pills from my purse just to knock myself out.
I will myself into a dreamless sleep, hoping I’ll wake up with my heart intact.
Grant is gone by the time I wake up early the next morning.
Nell’s already up, parked in front of her cartoons with a bowl of cereal and bouncing on the couch as she yells along with the Ben 10 theme song.
There’s a note on the fridge, too. I rip it off and read.
Had to go in early for an all-hands meeting about the local crime scene. Raleigh PD’s coming in to have a look at the bones. Will keep you posted. Nell’s already eaten, so raid the fridge for anything you want.
I can’t help smiling.
It’s his little way of reminding me I’m still welcome to make myself at home. That I wasn’t just buying my place in his bed.
I kinda love him even more for that and forget how disgustingly complicated it’s gotten.
I’m in no mood to cook, so I end up joining Nell on the sofa with some honey-tasting cereal of my own.
What is she watching?
I have no clue, it’s just bright flashing colors and crazy smears of green.
Nell’s enthusiastic explanations go right over my head. She doesn’t need me to understand, just listen, and I’m happy to let her chatter away.
But when I check my phone, my stomach sinks.
Ros left me on read without even bothering to reply. She saw the message last night.
Awesome.
Jesus, Ros. Do you even care that Mom almost died?
If I didn’t have a bouncy little girl next to me, I’d punch the fluffy accent pillow.
Nell’s quiet, almost like she senses my heartache, but she doesn’t seem upset.
I wash the dishes after breakfast and then bundle her up in her jacket. We share a few laughs over the fact that I’m still slumming it in sweaters to keep the chill away.
Someday, I will get that stupid coat.
On the drive to the medical center, she reaches across the front console and quietly rests her hand on my wrist—holding Mr. Pickle tight with her other hand.
How pathetic am I for being comforted by a little girl?
In the parking lot, though, I stop, looking at her worriedly.
“Nell, I need you to know my mom’s very sick. They’re using a lot of experimental stuff to get her better, but it’s pretty rough on her body.”
“Ohhh, like sci-fi drugs? Will your mom get superpowers?”
“Yeah. She just might.” I smile. “I just mean it might be a bit jarring to see her. If you change your mind and want to leave, I won’t think you’re any less brave. I’m glad you’re here.”
Nell looks out the window, her gaze heavy with a strange maturity that makes her look like more than just a little girl.
“...can I tell you a secret, Miss Philia?” She peeks up at me, working at her lower lip.
“Sure, shoot.”
“I... I saw some dead people.” She gulps. “Please don’t tell Uncle Grant, he’ll get so mad, but when I was at work with him one day Mr. Henri left his screen unlocked when he went for coffee. I got on the computer and got in the police files. I looked up my parents and... and...” She sputters, her eyes glimmering, but she fights so hard not to cry. “I saw them. Everything the firemen took away. I saw Mom and Dad—what was left of them. Don’t worry about me. I’m so strong I didn’t even cry in front of Uncle Grant or the other cops.”
My blood thins.
“Nell... Nell, honey—” I don’t even question what I’m doing as I unlatch my seat belt, unbuckle hers, and pull her into my arms with the stuffed unicorn squished between us. “You don’t have to be strong like that. Nobody does.”
Holy shit.
I need to talk to Grant about this.
I know he’s trying his best—so am I—but I wonder if Nell’s a little too curious for her age. Maybe she needs a good counselor as much as she needs a family.
She clutches at me, though, her tiny body shaking.
“My point is, I saw, Miss Philia. If I saw that, I can see your mom no matter what she looks like,” she whispers against my chest. “I want to see Miss Angela because she’s still alive. Even if she looks sick or scary... she’s here with us. So I just wanna see her in case she—you know.”
She won’t say it.
Even at her age, she knows not to tempt death out loud.
But I know exactly what she means, what she isn’t saying with that precocious little mouth.