Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
The smashing of glass is all that can be heard. Along with the pounding of my heart.
And then there’s nothing left to hit. My eyes are blurry, and my breaths are heavy. I drop the metal pipe to the floor with a loud clang in the echoing silence.
I clench my fists in and out.
Dead.
Mama’s dead.
“River.” Gran’s soft voice comes from the doorway.
I turn my blurry eyes to her. “S-she’s dead.”
Her eyes dim. “Yes.”
“S-she … I-I -k-killed her! I k-killed Mama!”
“No.” Her voice is firm. She steps forward.
I back up, bumping into the workbench. “Y-yes! I-I k-killed her! S-she wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t—”
“Stop!” Her voice comes out like a rumble of thunder.
I press my trembling lips together, holding all of my pain inside.
Gran walks over to me and gently wraps her hands around my upper arms. “You did not kill your mother,” she speaks gently, but her voice breaks. She clears her throat. “I will not have you carrying that around with you. You blaming yourself is not what your mama would want. Not one thing that happened all those years ago was your fault. You hear me? You were just a child. You are still only a child.”
I dip my chin, nodding, giving her the answer she wants.
But I don’t mean it.
I know I killed Mama.
She was in prison because of me. Because of what I had done to him that day.
It should have been me in jail.
I should be dead.
I press my fingers into my palms. They’re slick.
I look down. They’re bleeding. Cut up from the glass.
I take in the state of the workshop. I’ve trashed it. Broken all of Gran’s work.
“I-I’m sorry. I b-broke everything.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s just glass.” She puts a hand under my chin and raises my eyes to her. “It can all be replaced.”
But Mama can’t be replaced.
I’m never going to see her again.
And I have no one to blame but myself.
A tear runs down my cheek.
I see Gran’s eyes shimmer, and something deep inside me breaks.
Gran never cries. Not ever.
I’ve made her cry.
Because I killed her only child.
She must hate me.
I hate me.
“You stop those thoughts right now, River,” she firmly says the words, like she can see straight inside my head. “I don’t blame you. And I most certainly don’t hate you. I love you.”
But I don’t feel worthy of her love.
Because I’m not worthy of anyone’s love.
There is nothing good inside me.
Just blackness and broken parts that can never be repaired.
Carrie
It’s one thirty in the morning, according to the clock on the dashboard in River’s truck, and Selena Gomez’s “Only You” is playing quietly from the radio while we drive back from the veterinary clinic.
Buddy—that’s what I named the dog because they needed one to register him at the vet—is sitting in my lap, looking a lot better than he did when I took him there. The vet had the nurse give him a bath before he treated him for fleas. He said he didn’t appear to have them but better to have the treatment than not. Apparently, the treatment keeps him free of fleas for a month, and then I’m to treat him again. He also gave him an injection, which the dog wasn’t too happy about. Can’t blame him really.
The vet assured me that, aside from being a little underweight, Buddy is just fine.
I bought some dog food from the vet and also a bunch of other things that Buddy will need.
So, now, I officially have a dog.
And he’s the cutest dog ever.
I always thought it would be nice to have a dog. I couldn’t have one while growing up in foster homes. And Neil hates dogs.
It makes me happy that I can give my baby this. A home and a dog.
Sounds so simple when I put it like that. But, sometimes, it’s the simplest of things that matter most.
River reaches over and cuts the radio. I was enjoying the song, but I don’t say anything.
River waited at the clinic the whole time I was in with Buddy. When I came out of the examination room, I was surprised to see him sitting there.
We hadn’t talked about him giving me a ride home, and I figured I’d inconvenienced him enough by having him bring me out in the first place.
And I realize that I haven’t thanked him either.
“Thank you for the ride to the vet and for waiting for us and giving us a ride home.”
“Well, I couldn’t exactly just leave you there,” he grunts.
Yes, you could have. But I don’t point that out.
Silence, and then, “So, you’re keeping the mutt then.”
“Don’t call him that.” I frown. “His name is Buddy. And of course I’m keeping him.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“What?” I stare over at him, aghast. “I’m an idiot for keeping a harmless little dog who has nowhere to live? Well, if that determines an idiot, then I’ll happily be one.”