Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Not only had he yelled at me about Jeremiah, but then he’d yelled at me for not covering up the bruise on my face well enough that people were noticing it.
It fucking broke my heart that my daughter had been present to listen to him berate me in the empty candy store.
The only sale we’d made that day had been from the man that’d offered me help.
And now, Dad and I were both driving home because the winter storm had started.
It was cold.
So. Cold.
My heater had stopped working sometime last fall, and I hadn’t had enough time or money to get the thing fixed.
I was lucky that was the only thing that’d broken at this point.
At least I could bundle Anleigh up in her new coat.
My eyes took in the neighborhood as we drove past.
Everyone was home and preparing for the winter storm that was about to hit.
The weathermen predicted that we were about to get ten inches of snow.
In our part of Oklahoma, ten inches was the max we got in one year.
To be getting that in one winter storm was going to shut the town down.
Dad had given me thirty dollars to buy enough food to last us for the next week—which was laughable because thirty dollars wasn’t enough to feed one person for a week, let alone three—and I’d stopped by the store and did my best to stretch thirty dollars.
The lady that’d been working had been steadily shutting down the store, preparing herself to leave and not come back for at least three days.
Which was how I’d walked out of the grocery store with twice what I expected to get because she said “it’s going to go bad anyway.”
My back hatch was loaded down with groceries, and I was hopeful for the first time in weeks that my kid would have three meals a day.
When I got out, my hand went into my pocket again.
Pulling out the yellow paper, I stared at it.
I looked down at the number that was written on the Post-it he’d given back to me and knew now why he’d looked at me so hard when he’d handed it over.
He knew that my dad had been the one to hurt me, and he was giving me his number so that, if I ever needed a way out, I’d have it.
Little did he know that I didn’t have a cell phone to even call him.
Those cost money—and required a credit check which I couldn’t pass.
I shoved the note back into my pocket and got Anleigh out of the car, taking her straight to my room.
The groceries came in next, and the entire time I was freezing my ass off because of how cold it was getting.
The wind was howling, too.
Once I had everything put away, I went back for Anleigh, thankful that my dad hadn’t bothered coming out of his room to help me bring them in.
When Anleigh was in my arms—as well as her Christmas bear that she carried around with her everywhere—I walked back outside and hurried over to Mrs. Rawls’s house.
I knocked on the door and smiled when Mrs. Rawls answered.
“Hey.” I smiled. “I was coming over to see if you needed any help with anything before this storm hits.”
Mrs. Rawls reached for Anleigh and said, “Oh, no. Not today. My grandson helped me with everything.”
“Oh, good,” I said. “I didn’t get here as early as I’d intended, and I was worried.”
“Come in,” she said. “Meet my grandson.”
I would like nothing less, but I smiled and did it anyway.
My feet had just hit the carpet when Mrs. Rawls said, “Oh, dear. Where is your jacket?”
I laughed. “Oh, yeah…well…I don’t have one.”
I hadn’t had one since I ripped mine up and made a smaller version for Anleigh.
She’d outgrown it for this year, already.
“You don’t have a coat?” she gasped.
I shook my head. “I cut my old one up and sized it down for Anleigh last year and haven’t gotten a chance to get a new one yet.”
“You can have one of my old ones,” she immediately offered.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s…”
She walked away with Anleigh, leaving me in the entryway.
I followed, finding her in her hall closet.
She pulled out a long coat that would cover me entirely and said, “I haven’t worn this one in fifteen years. It’ll be out of style, probably smell like old lady, but you are certainly welcome to it.”
I took it, my fingers digging into the lush material.
“Oh, Mrs. Rawls…”
“Please call me Lucinda,” she begged. “Or Cinda.”
“Grams!” a male voice called out from somewhere beyond the hallway. “Come back here and tell me what you think about this height for your showerhead!”
Cinda grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the sound of that voice.
As I moved, my heart started to pound.
Because I knew that voice.
I’d heard it just hours ago in the candy store.