Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Yet, I refuse to point-blank ask. Instead, I inquire, “Any chance you could cancel your plans?”
Her smile turns almost sympathetic, which I don’t like either. She feels sorry for me, but her reply is firm. “I can’t. I’m spending the evening with my mom. She’s not feeling well, and my dad isn’t the most responsible person. It’s probably not necessary, but I’d feel better if I did.”
Well, that doesn’t quite make sense to me either. The way she worded it made it seem like it isn’t serious. Plus, it sounds like she has a perfectly capable father. And not only that, needing to provide parents that type of support is beyond my comprehension. My parents would probably rather die than ask my sister or me to care for them if ill. That’s what private doctors and nurses are for.
The man I am—who I have been for thirty-six years—should wave her off and make plans for another evening later. But fuck if I’m not even more curious than before.
“What’s wrong with your mother?” I ask. And then feel the need to explain my nosiness. “It’s just… it seems a little unusual for a woman your age, and by that I mean fairly young, to have to look after her parents.”
Bailey nods in understanding, pulls her iPad into her chest, then crosses her arms over it. “My mother’s disabled with significant lung issues and dependent on oxygen. She’s having a problem keeping her oxygen levels up. I’ll feel better if I spend the night watching over her.”
That fucking sucks. I don’t have a clue how old Bailey is—I’m guessing mid-to-late twenties. Her mom is most likely not that old. But I suppose lung disease doesn’t discriminate based on age. I now have more questions, though. “And your dad isn’t a reliable provider?”
Her smile slides away. She ponders the question before lifting her gaze to mine, resolute and slightly frustrated. “My dad—whom I love dearly—comes with his own set of issues.”
“What kind of issues?” I ask.
Bailey merely cocks an eyebrow. “Sir… I don’t want to impede on your workday with irrelevant personal discussions about my parents’ health issues. Again, it’s with absolute regret I won’t be able to join you tonight. I’m sure I would have a lot more fun with you at The Wicked Horse than I will at my parents’ house. But this is my life… It happens quite often.”
I’m sure she doesn’t mean for me to draw this conclusion, but from the fatigue in her voice, I assume it’s a bit of a burden. “You know, you can say no to your parents. Force your dad to step up. Your mom could call if she gets bad enough to need medical treatment, so you don’t have to spend your evening losing sleep looking after her.”
No matter what happens between Bailey and me in the future, I don’t think I’ll ever forget this moment. Her expression pitying, she regards me as if I’m the one who needs to be pitied because I apparently don’t understand fundamental truths. Yet, I don’t know what those truths are, and I feel as if I’m missing something important.
But I’ll also never forget the way Bailey lets out a small sigh before heading to the chair opposite my desk. Perching on the edge, she places her iPad on her lap, clasping her hands on top of it.
She takes in a breath, lets it out, and says, “Mr. Blackwood… I certainly don’t know how you were raised, but I was brought up by two parents who sacrificed everything for me. They worked two and three jobs to provide the basics, and they weren’t pleasant jobs. Hard, backbreaking labor. My mom’s gave her bad lungs, which will kill her far too early. My dad’s gave him a bad back. It’s not just my duty as their daughter to help them… but it is also my privilege. I could no more turn my back on them—no matter how stressed or frustrated I am—than I can say no to a breath of oxygen so I can breathe. I’m surprised you need me to explain that to you.”
Her words make me straighten in my chair. I have a feeling I was just given a lesson in real life. Whether she meant me to, I feel a bit like when Leonie used to chastise me when I was being a dipshit of a kid.
I also clearly understand how far removed I am from ordinary people because of my wealth and privilege. Not only removed, but also probably suffering from an actual dysfunctionality because of the way I was raised. That realization is stark. It never mattered to me before, but it does now.
My tone is appropriately abashed. “Why don’t you take off early and go check on your mom? Come in late tomorrow if you need to since I suspect you won’t be getting a lot of sleep.”