Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Now, between both of them, they make sure Brooke is taken care of and even go so far as to leave the older ones for Nellie to see.
“You want any help?” I offer when I notice the brown wrapping paper the florist wrapped the bouquet in starts to give her hell. Nellie must be losing patience when a loud rip sounds from beside her. I let out a low chuckle.
“Daddy.” Nellie stops her tasks to give me a stern look, similar to that of my mom’s, before saying, “That’s not very nice.” I’d laugh even louder if it weren’t for the fact that she’d tell my mom, then my sister, and while Dad would snigger, too, we’d both be in a world of trouble with the women.
So, I recover as quickly as possible, shake my head at how my daughter has me wrapped around her finger, and say, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” Nellie gets back to her work, tongue peeping out, eyebrows furrowed, and I let her do her thing. I’m about to ask her again if she needs help, except I know that will lead to a conversation that could end in tears, a fiasco that neither of us needs nor wants, especially on her birthday, over something as silly as Nellie asserting her independence and me having a penchant to do what I can for her, when she’s more than capable of doing it herself.
“You’re welcome.” I look around, noticing that we're the only people in this area, probably due to this shitty-ass weather.
“These are so, so...” She huffs out a puff of breath, swats at her loose hair to get it out of her face, and looks at me with an emotion that I witnessed earlier today. “Frustrating.” She drops the flowers, and her shoulders quake. That’s when I swoop in. My arms scoop her up, and I rock backward, landing on my ass as she wraps her arms around my neck. I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. I didn’t think it’d be a rubber band wrapped around the stems that would push my seven-year-old over the edge, but grief will catch you unaware any day of the week. Even if you’re grieving a person you’ve never met before.
“It’s okay, Nellie girl. Let it all out, and then we’ll work on placing the flowers exactly how you like them. I’ll even take care of cutting off the stems.” I feel and hear her attempt to control her emotions. I’ve got no other place to be but here, she can take all the time in the world.
“Please.” I rub her back for a few more seconds while Nellie continues to gather herself, only pulling away once she’s damn good and ready.
“That’s my girl. Love you, Nell Bell.”
“I love you, too, Daddy,” she says in a wobbly tone. “A butterfly!” She points over my shoulder, and my eyes move to where she’s looking. Sure enough, there’s not one but two fluttering around in the air, chasing after one another and helping my girl work through a day that should be nothing but happiness. Except at moments like these, when I can’t protect her from these instances unless I take her away from seeing Brooke. And that’s a promise I won’t take back, from either of them.
“It’s beautiful, Nellie, just like you.” I’m taking it as a sign, a good fucking sign at that.
3
Sable
“Wow, trees, so many trees.” I’d bang my head on the steering wheel, but that could potentially become a disaster. You know, in the form of my car veering off into the woods and landing on top of a tree while traveling over an overpass. Needless to say, if I don’t find a place to pull off and caffeinate my depleted system, I’ll really be in for a not-so-fun surprise.
Since I’ve already passed a rest area and this stretch of highway is pretty damn deserted, I do the next best thing possible: I crank the volume up on the radio, roll all four windows down to the halfway mark, and start a jam session. I’m not sure Clay Walker’s This woman and This Man counts as what one would call an upbeat moment, but it’ll do because if there’s one thing I won’t do, it’s change the station when one of my favorites comes on.
Instead, I belt out the music, sway my body in my seat, and pass the time until I reach an area where I can fuel up on more of my beloved Diet Coke. The gauge on my dashboard indicates I’m starting to hit the halfway mark for gas. It’s been beaten into my head to never let it go below a quarter of a tank. Thank you, dear older brother, the man who raised me when he didn’t have to and is still holding rock solid in the presence department, even though he’s been deployed overseas recently. One day, he’ll quit re-upping, but until then, this is who he is. And truth be told, I don’t think he’ll retire until he finishes his twenty years or I get that phone call.