Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
I guess Breezy wasn’t lying when she said she was fielding daily calls from people wanting a painting of mine. I should probably consider myself lucky my sabbatical hasn’t hurt my reputation.
“The highest offer I have right now is five mil,” she continues. “But I’m going to let this baby go to a bidding war. Make them work for it.”
“Still a shark, I see.”
“In business? Always.” Her voice lightens with humor. “Add in the fact that profits help my brother and niece? I’m out for blood.”
“Okay, well, keep me updated, then. And let me know when you’re heading our way.”
“I will, but before you go, I need you to do one thing for me.”
“Yeah?”
“Look at the list of potential buyers and make sure you’re okay with them.”
“Afraid I’m going to burn another Lambo if you sell it to some prick the old Bennett Bishop hates?”
All she does is laugh. “I’m emailing it to your phone. Can you look at it now and call me back?”
I almost tell her to fuck off with the demands of now, but when I look around at my surroundings, I’m reminded of Summer’s current situation. “Fine.”
Anything I can do to help my daughter, I’ll do it.
Norah
Once Bennett excused himself from the room to talk to his sister, I set up Summer’s bedside table in front of her so we could browse the People magazine I brought together and put her favorite sunglasses in a place she’d be able to see them. Wearing them inside while hooked up to all these machines isn’t ideal, but I hope just having them around will brighten her day a little.
I flip to a two-page spread talking about Taylor Swift’s wardrobe. They highlight how her street style is simple yet sophisticated and that she utilizes anything from feminine skirt sets to cozy crewnecks to create a very wearable aesthetic.
“Ohhh! I love that.” Summer is entranced as she points to a photo of Taylor wearing a flowy white blouse and faded, light-blue jean skirt. “Do you like her?”
“Do I like Taylor Swift? Girl, I love her.”
“Me too!” Summer exclaims excitedly. “I love all of her songs! My favorite is—” She’s cut off by a deep, rattling cough that barrels from her weak lungs. Instantly, her face goes from happy and relaxed to scrunched up in pain.
Memories of yesterday alarm inside my head, and it takes everything within me to stay calm.
“You okay, sweet girl?” I ask as I gently rub my hand over her hair.
Through another cough, she offers me a little nod.
The scared part of me wants to run out of the room to get Bennett or a nurse, but the logical part of me knows that would be too much dramatics for Summer. The last thing she needs is for me to act like an emotional lunatic and push my anxiety on to her. So, I stay rooted to my spot, rubbing my hand whisper-light through her hair as she works her way through the coughing fit. The entire time, my gaze stays fixated on her face, watching for any signs of respiratory difficulty to arise.
Thankfully, her lips stay pink, her breaths don’t appear to be any more labored than they have been since I got here, and the coughs subside within a minute or two.
“Norah?” she asks, her voice still faint and raspy from the strain.
“Yeah, baby?”
“I’m so tired,” she whispers.
“Oh, okay,” I tell her and lean down to kiss her forehead. “You should let yourself get some sleep, then. We can finish the rest of People later.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she says, and her voice is this painfully fragile sound that urges a deep ache to spur inside my chest. “I’m tired of this stuff, Norah.”
Her face is missing the smile that was there when we were browsing the latest celebrity gossip, and her eyes are no longer on the magazine. Instead, they’re staring down at where her small, frail body lies secured to the bed with padded contraptions immobilizing her limbs.
“Do you want me to get your dad?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet.”
I pull the chair Bennett was using earlier back over to her bedside and sit down, leaning my elbows on the edge of her bed and gently taking her hand into mine. “Is there something you want to talk about?” I ask her softly. “Because I promise you can tell me anything. I’m a really good listener.”
Slowly, her eyes lift to meet mine. “What do you think heaven is like?”
Her question catches me off guard. Hell, it makes my knees want to give out and I’m sitting down. I’m sure it’s normal for kids to ask questions about heaven, but it feels heavier when a little girl in a hospital bed is asking you those questions. A little girl who has a disease that makes it possible for her bones to break with just a simple touch.