Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“I have to go,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“Is your mom okay?”
I shake my head. “She’s not doing well.”
Noah frowns. It seems genuine. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to take you to the hospital? Maybe you shouldn’t drive when you’re so worried.”
God, he really is sweet. I’ve done nothing but play hot and cold with this man, and yet here he is concerned, offering to drive me. I force a smile. “I’ll be okay. But thank you.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
At my car, Noah cups my cheek. “I know how hard it is to lose your mother. Call me if you need anything, okay? I mean it.”
I nod. “Good night, Noah.”
A mile up the road, instead of taking the right turn for the hospital, I make the left turn home. Mentally, I berate myself—for almost getting caught, for enjoying him. As insane as it is, my body is still on fire for the man. Even if his eyes do look just like Mr. Sawyer’s . . . God, what the hell is wrong with me that I’m attracted to him, knowing they’re related?
As soon as I’m inside the front door of Mom’s house, the stench of stale liquor and sickness hits my nose, and I realize I’ve forgotten my purse in the car. This may be a small town, but I’ve been living in New York City, and there, you don’t leave anything anywhere if it matters to you. So I walk back out the door, through the country-night darkness, and lean from the driver’s side to grab my purse from the passenger’s seat. As I’m climbing back out, a car whooshes by on the road behind me. I look up just in time to catch the taillights. The taillights of a red pickup.
CHAPTER
18
I’m fine all by myself.” Mom swats my hand away.
I push the walker in front of her again. “The doctor said you need to use it. You might be out of the woods for now, but it’s going to take some time to get your strength back.”
She reaches for it like she’s going to take it, then lifts and flings it across the hospital room. Guess he misjudged your strength. Whatever. The one thing my mother taught me that’s been valuable in my life is you can’t help people who don’t want to be helped. So instead of hovering as she makes her way to the bathroom, I decide to pack up her stuff. It’s been a long six days since she was admitted, four since she woke up.
The nurse comes in as I’m zipping the duffel. She looks around and smiles. “Mrs. Davis make an early escape?”
“She’s in the bathroom. Wouldn’t let me help her, of course.”
“She’s an independent woman with a beautiful soul.”
I have to turn away so the nice nurse won’t see me rolling my eyes. My mother swings open the bathroom door.
“Elizabeth, you better . . .” She stops short when she realizes someone else is in the room. God forbid anyone see how she treats her own flesh and blood.
The nurse rushes over and grabs Mom’s elbow. “Mrs. Davis, you shouldn’t be walking unattended.”
Of course, my mother doesn’t tell her where to stick it. She even plays into the role of a dying woman. She hunches her back and shuffles her steps like she didn’t just have the strength to toss a piece of medical equipment across the room.
The nurse helps Mom into bed and tucks her in. “I just started working on your discharge paperwork,” she says. “We should have you out of here within an hour.”
“Take your time, dear.” Mom pats the nurse’s hand. “I know how busy you are. I’m just grateful for all you’ve done.”
As soon as the woman leaves the room, my mother’s face changes. It contorts back to the miserable one reserved just for me. I’ll never understand what I’ve done to deserve so much hatred. Then again, I suppose, my being born was enough of a burden on her.
“Did you even bring me clean underwear? I can’t be going into God’s house without my privates covered.”
“You almost died a few days ago. You were on life support. Don’t you think maybe you should just go home and rest?”
“The Lord doesn’t rest. Besides, it’s Sunday. Where else would I go after my life has been spared but to thank our maker? I’m walking out of here on my own. It’s a miracle.”
“Or,” I mumble under my breath, “it’s antibiotics.”
“I heard that.”
Forty-five minutes later, we’re in my car and on our way. My mother looks over as I merge onto the highway. “It’s disrespectful to wear dirty sneakers to church.”
“Your shoes don’t look dirty.”
Her eyes narrow. “I meant yours. Do you have a change of shoes in this fancy rental car somewhere?”
I smile and keep my eyes forward, focusing on the road in front of me. “Not planning on going in, Mother. I’ll take you, if that’s what you really want. And I’ll happily help you inside. But after that, I’ll be waiting in the car.”