Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“And then you got sick,” I murmur. It’s hard to imagine. One thing after another.
“At first, I blamed it on being worried about her. Especially when she came home from the rehab center, and I still had to go to school during the day. We couldn’t afford a nurse all day long, only a few hours at a time, and it stressed me out. I was doing as much of the housework as I could, too—the cooking, the shopping.”
Fuck me. Just hearing her talk about it is exhausting. All that responsibility at such a young age. On her own.
No wonder she’s so damn tough. We must have looked like a joke compared to the shit she’s battled with.
“You figured it was wiping you out.” Easton frowns when she nods.
“But then I started losing weight because it was harder and harder to eat, and it felt like I was picking up every bug that came around.” Then she snorts and chuckles. “You know what Grandma did? I took her to a follow-up appointment with her doctor, and she told him everything that was going on with me because I kept telling her I didn’t have time to go to the doctor between taking care of the house and taking care of her and going to school. He wrote me a referral to get blood drawn that same afternoon, and… here we are.”
I am liking Grandma Lois more and more all the time.
“So, you being stubborn—that’s not a new thing,” Easton muses.
I’m glad he said it, because it makes her laugh, but I’m not in the mood to joke right now. It’s hard to imagine what she just described. I’ve never been through anything close to it. We see a little less of Mom all the time, and we’re not supposed to know it’s because she can’t get off the pills, and of course, there’s this Sarah situation. Finding out my sister was being abused isn’t a highlight of my life, but it’s nothing compared to what Emma has going on.
Have I ever had to take care of a sick person? Was there ever a moment in my life when I worried I would be completely alone? Because that’s what would’ve happened to Emma if her grandma died. She would’ve been alone. Completely. It must’ve been terrifying.
And all of that happened before she got what could’ve been a death sentence. She has been through more in eighteen years than some people go through in fifty. When I think about how pissed I was when Dad told us about our volunteer hours—not just pissed, enraged—it makes me feel sort of small. Like I have anything to complain about.
I can’t shake those thoughts as we leave for the night, once Emma is finished. She won’t let us drive her home. No big surprise. “I told you. No pity.” I don’t know if she thinks she’s being brave by stonewalling us in the parking lot.
“There’s a difference between pity and basic common sense, you know.” I’m wasting my breath, obviously. “At least let us follow you home to make sure you get there okay.” She can’t argue with that. Maybe she doesn’t have it in her.
When we’re in my truck, ready to follow her, Easton elbows me. “What’s with asking permission to follow her? Like we need permission.”
“She needs to feel like she has a say.” When she pulls out of her spot, I follow. “I’m starting to understand the way she thinks, I guess.”
I’m starting to understand a lot more than I did before. Some of it has to do with knowing more about Emma, seeing things through new eyes. The rest, I think, has to do with paying attention. Looking deeper.
Like when we reach the house, which is one of only a few single-story buildings on the block. Easier for Emma—and Lois, now that I think about it, even though she seems energetic enough. Maybe she has her bad days.
“You don’t need to come in.” Emma might say one thing, but I see a different truth in how long it takes her to reach into the car for her backpack before closing the door. How winded she seems, how she takes a second to lean against the car before pushing away from it.
“Yeah, right.” I don’t say another word or even look at her before I take the backpack out of her hand. Easton winds an arm around her shoulders, and I watch from behind them as she stiffens at first but ends up leaning on him by the time we reach the porch.
“She knows we know, right?” he asks before Emma unlocks the door. “No more lying about Grandpa?”
“She knows.” The fatigue is already worse. Like every word takes effort, like turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open is too much.