Total pages in book: 248
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
“’ed?”
“A red one?”
I smiled as widely as I could so as not to move my neck which was indeed starting to hurt as well.
“I think it’s best we just get the whole box.” He fastened my seat belt and paused to meet my eyes. “That way you can use colorful language without danger of getting your butt smacked.”
Who knew that not only could I smile wider despite an aching chin and jaw, but my insides could shimmy and shake without actually moving a single muscle. Well, if one discounted those muscles currently fluttering between my thighs that is.
Chapter Nine
Lincoln
Livvy’s mouth would open like a baby bird’s to accept the spoonfuls of ice cream I offered her. Between bites, I’d ask her questions and she’d answer using the notebook and box of colored pencils we’d gotten from the drugstore next door. It was slower than speaking her response, but after the first couple of exchanges, I discovered one learned a lot when answers were accompanied by drawings and curlicues in various colors. When I became aware that she was exchanging one pencil for another every time I fed her a different flavor of ice cream, it became a game with my pretending to be going for chocolate then dipping toward vanilla or strawberry. She only giggled, dropping one pencil after another before making a final decision the moment I filled the spoon with my choice.
It was not only the most entertaining conversation I’d had, her creatively illustrated responses reminded me of the drawings I’d see stuck on front of her grammie’s fridge whenever we’d run inside for a snack. It also reminded me of how I’d start watching the road the last day of school knowing she would soon arrive to spend the summer with her grandmother.
Luther and I had been entranced by the redheaded girl whose curiosity was boundless, her excitement contagious, her questions never-ending. The three of us had run around the woods, climbed up the mountain, and swung out over the river on a rope tied to a thick branch overhanging the water. Even as a kid, I remembered her screams of pure joy when she’d let go of that rope had both terrified and thrilled me.
As a rancher’s sons, Luther and I had both known about death. We’d been saddened when she’d lost her grandfather but to a boy, the man had been as ancient as the mountains. But we were completely stunned by the news of Livvy’s mother’s death. She’d been on yet another trip out of the country with her husband. Grace had been in the penthouse, but for some reason, Spencer had been on a lower floor of the hotel when the fire started and had gotten out, but she, like so many others, had perished. That was our first real encounter with how death not only tore at hearts, but changed the world as we knew it. The last time I’d seen Livvy, she’d been staring out the back window of a black car with tears rolling down her cheeks. Her father hadn’t even seen fit to come get her himself. He’d sent some driver in his stead.
All of us had expected her the next summer but June rolled into July and then August without her. The next summer passed as well and then another. As it does, time continued to pass and Luther and I grew into adults. We moved on to other adventures, but there had been many a time I’d stopped to look toward the woods when I thought I heard laughter, expecting to see a girl with red curls climbing over the fence to come visit. Then another death occurred and I’d accepted that Livvy wasn’t coming back.
“I’m so sorry about Grammie O,” I said and immediately wished I hadn’t when her mouth closed and her eyes welled. “Ahh, pixie.” I dropped the spoon back into the dish between us and picked up a napkin instead. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” She accepted the napkin and my heart hitched when she lifted it to her face then hesitated as if afraid it was going to add yet more pain. I intercepted it when she tried to drop it to the table and gently wiped her tears as she picked up a pencil and began to scribble on the pad.
When she turned the pad toward me, I read:
I didn’t know the truth about Grammie O’s death until a month ago. I would have come. I’ve wanted to come back for years…
I looked across the table, not understanding. “Why didn’t you?” I shook my head when she opened her mouth. “No, don’t move or try to talk, pixie.” I turned the pad back around after flipping to a new page and set it down. Tapping the blank sheet, I instructed, “Write.”