Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Just then, Summer starts to cough a little, sputtering out the nipple and spitting up, formula coming back out and shooting all over her chin and hands and up the sleeve of my shirt.
“Oh, oh shit! Ben, you better get in here. She’s throwing up or something!”
Bennett comes down the hall at a run and swoops her gently away from me, and I put a hand to my forehead and pace as he tries to figure out the problem.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Ben says, fussed. “She’s never had an issue with this formula before.”
Not liking this at all, I get on the phone and call someone I feel like might be able to help us clueless fuckers.
My girl. Josie Ellis.
12
Josie
Monday, September 22nd
Bennett and Clay hover over me as I put the thermometer to Summer’s forehead gently and wait for a reading. It beeps pretty quickly and comes back normal.
“Well?” Bennett asks, frantic to make whatever’s wrong with his little girl right, and I have to smother a smile not to laugh at Clay when he bugs out his eyes dramatically.
“Is she okay, Jose? Do we need to take her to the hospital?”
They’re a walking sideshow of worry, and Bennett’s farmhouse is their stage. And this isn’t the first house call I’ve had to make for them. Ever since Bennett and Summer arrived in Red Bridge, I’ve handled my fair share of panicked moments related to the care of this special little girl.
“She’s fever-free and doesn’t need to go to the hospital,” I tell them. “Honestly, she might have just choked on it a little when it was going down—”
“Choked?” Bennett cries, aghast.
I stand and busy myself with closing a curtain to block the piercing ray of dwindling sunlight that was shooting right in Summer’s face, and she coos and squeaks in my arms. Pulling the curtain and moving is a little counterproductive, but I’d rather be doing anything than looking at this panicked version of Bennett directly in the eye.
“Orrrr she just has a little bit of an upset tummy,” I offer, keeping my voice as calm and soft as I can. Ben is the sleeping bear that’s already been woken, and Clay looks like he’s one baby cough away from curling up in the fetal position. “A little bit of spit-up is completely normal in babies her age. Now, if it’s regular in frequency or projectile or something, then it’s more of a cause for concern.”
“How projectile?” Clay asks. “I mean, it definitely shot onto my arm.” He holds out his sleeve as proof, and I finally let myself smile.
“Your whole body would be coated.”
He frowns. “They can do that?”
I laugh. “Oh yeah.”
“How do you know so much about babies?” Bennett asks, taking Summer back from me and tucking her carefully into the special straps of her braced swing.
“I babysat. I had a younger sister.” Truth is, I had two younger sisters. One died when I was young, and my mom makes sure the other one is dead to me. But I’m not exactly ready to get into all that right now. “Plus, they do a pretty good job of explaining this on a place called the internet.”
Bennett makes a face, and Clay chuckles, shoving Ben in the shoulder and nodding his head toward me. “I told you she’s funny, Ben. A real cutup good time.”
Bennett glares before leaving the room with the discarded bottle, and Clay waggles his eyebrows at me as soon as he’s gone, strolling over and wrapping me up in the kind of hug that envelops me completely. I can smell and feel him, and it’s pretty much become the place I’m happiest on this earth in the last few months. “Don’t worry about him,” he assures, jerking his chin toward Bennett in the other room. “He’s grumbly with everybody.”
“Not with Summer,” I hedge. Honestly, if it weren’t for his daughter, I’d probably think Bennett Bishop was a total a-hole. But the way he softens for her, the way he spends every waking moment of his days prioritizing her needs, tells me he might be a real grouch, but his heart is made of gold.
“No, not with Summer.” Clay agrees. “He’d fight the whole damn world off for her, I’m pretty sure.”
Knowing what we now know about the diagnosis she got at birth, and what a tough road it is for her and for her loved ones, makes the sentiment all the more bittersweet. I did some research as soon as Bennett gave us the whole story, and it’s a guaranteed long and hard journey. I don’t blame him for being the way he is—he’s carrying the impossible on his shoulders. Type III is the most severe and progressive form of OI that can be survived past birth and has an almost invoiceable prognosis. The chances that Summer will live to teenagerdom are extremely low.