Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“I was going to do that this weekend,” I say, tone vibrating with anger. “I told you that. Hope was excited we were going to have a girls’ shopping trip together. Instead, you let your current flavor of the week take her?”
I think my head is going to explode, so I barely hear his mocking laugh. “What were you going to do, Hannah? Take her to some cheap discount store? Buy her twenty dollars’ worth of cheap dresses? Because we both know that’s all you can afford.”
Tears spring to my eyes because he’s right, but I blink them back. It’s all I have to offer her, but Hope is a sweet girl. She doesn’t care about the quality of her clothes, but rather the time spent with me doing something fun. As she’s a girlie girl, she loves trying on dresses. I might only be able to afford discount, but I had set aside some tip money from my evening job to take her for a manicure, too.
Nelson leeched me dry in the divorce. I caught him cheating, told him we were over, and he ended up winning everything. It’s what happens when a man’s golfing buddy is a judge and said man has the wealth, power, and prestige to buy justice. Nelson got primary custody, and I get to see Hope on the weekend. I was also ordered to pay child support, which is one of the reasons I work three jobs. Since she’s living with him for the greater period of the week, I have time.
But I don’t begrudge paying child support for Hope’s welfare, court ordered or not. She’s my child, and I’ll always support her.
“I’ll have her call you when they get back,” Nelson says grudgingly. Because I dared to end the relationship, he punishes me at every turn. I guarantee he will not have her call me. Even if he did, I couldn’t answer. I’ll be working at my evening job as a bartender.
I hang up on Nelson, not bothering with any further courtesy. He extended none to me, and I’m feeling beat to shit by the course of my day so far.
Before I can set my phone back down, it rings. While I’m tired as hell and really don’t want to talk to anyone, I see it’s the one person who is always there for me. “Hey, Mom. Is everything okay?”
“Of course, honey,” she replies with a laugh. God, I love her laugh, and it makes me smile. “Can’t I just call my daughter to see how her day is going?”
Sucking in a breath, I refuse to give into emotion. My mom is calling to check on her only daughter, so I do what I always do with my mom. I paint a gloriously rosy picture. In essence, I lie to her.
“Everything is great,” I say cheerily. “Just got off work and heading home now.”
Instead of, “I miss my daughter, my ex-husband’s an ass who does everything he can to ruin my time with her, and, oh yeah… I broke a vase today worth seventy-five grand, but hey… no worries. I’ll just pick up a fourth job to work and pay it off.”
I don’t tell her any of that because Carol Brantley busted her ass to raise me and my brothers. Now it’s her time to put her worries to rest when it comes to us. As such, I’ve done a damn good job of keeping most of the ugly stuff hidden from her.
That includes how badly I’m failing at life. Of course, she’s aware Nelson has primary custody, but that’s all she knows. She doesn’t have a clue it’s a constant fight to get my basic visitation rights, that I have to work three jobs to support myself and my daughter through child support payments, and certainly she’ll never know I gained an additional seventy-five-thousand dollars of debt today.
She’s also in the dark about the fact I help my two younger brothers out with money as needed. They’re good guys, but both are immature. Toby, the youngest at twenty-one and six years my junior, got a DUI a few months ago. I helped to pay for his lawyer. Frank, who is twenty-two, is struggling to cover the payments on a way-too-expensive truck he bought while working on a road crew for the State Department of Transportation. It’s growing pains for my little brothers, but I’d rather them come to me than Mom because she already paid her dues while raising us.
Settling in for the drive home, I listen to Mom chatter about the mums she planted in the front yard in anticipation of fall, and how she’s making a poke cake for her church’s bake sale this weekend.
When I turn into my neighborhood and see my house, I notice a tow truck sitting out front. My foot hits the brake pedal, and I come to a fast stop.