Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“You know what,” I start. “I think I will.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
JOSIE
“Goodnight,” I tell the horses as I close the barn doors for the night. Using the flashlight on my phone, I go around and double-check that the chicken coop is locked and that the gates are latched closed. Bowser, the cow, and the llamas are finishing the last bit of hay in the threshold to their run-in shelter.
Stars twinkle above me, and a chorus of crickets and katydids fill the night. “Riley,” I call looking out at the dark pasture. “Come on, buddy. It's time for bed.” I make a kissing noise and wait for a beat listening for the jingling of his collar. I never had a dog that I could trust enough to let loose like this, and anytime I don't see Riley, I immediately assume he's wandered off and is lost.
Only a few seconds later, I hear him. I narrow my eyes as I look through the dark. He comes bounding out of the pasture, ducking under the fence and running towards me at full speed. I cast my flashlight beam down and pet him, smiling as he wags his tail like crazy. “You are full of burrs.” Shaking my head, I make another clicking noise with my tongue and pat my leg so he follows me up to the house. Both Mr. Meowster and Tinkerbell—the former outside cat who now lives inside with us— are looking out the screened door, randomly batting at bugs that are attracted to the lights inside the house.
I swat a moth out of the way and quickly duck inside, hoping a handful of mosquitoes didn't follow me in. I lock the screen behind me and sit on the couch, calling Riley over again so I can pick the burrs out of his long, golden fur.
The house is quiet, and I'm trying not to find it unsettling. Everly stayed the night at Maria's house tonight since both girls need to be at school early tomorrow morning to decorate a friend's locker for her birthday. As the assistant principal, Heather gets to school early anyway, and it made sense for Ev just to stay over there and ride with them in the morning.
Some mornings I still wake up needing to pinch myself to make sure this is all real. Well, not that the exhaustion and hard work are a dream come true, but the fact that my daughter has made friends so quickly and easily. From the very little interaction I have had with said friends, they seem like good kids. Though, of course, I know all too well how easy it is to appear like a “good girl” when you're actually sneaking out to have sex with your boyfriend in the back of his truck instead of staying for Spanish club.
I still don't know how my parents believed that lie. I took French class, not Spanish. I never brought it up. Though, I'm tempted to now that I'm thinking about it. Was it denial? Or my dad's insistence that Spanish was spoken more frequently than French so having the Spanish club on my resume would look good—regardless if I actually spoke Spanish or not.
I like to think my relationship with Everly is on a different level than most mothers and daughters, but who am I kidding? She's a fourteen-year-old girl and, even though I'm not as old as the average mother of a teenager, I'm still her mom: still a lame buzz-kill at times.
I don't want to criticize anyone's style of parenting, but the biggest mistake I've seen—in my eyes, at least—is when parents think being strict is the be-all-end-all for bad behavior. Not allowing their child to do anything that they deem unacceptable. Take it from me, all that does is make one sneaky child, who's good at lying and sneaking out. Everly knows the boundaries I've set. But she also knows I would rather have her come to me with anything.
“Finally,” I tell Riley after I get the last burr out of his Fur. “I don't know if you're up to date on your flea and tick prevention. They didn't say anything when we were at the vet a couple of days ago,” I go on, talking mostly just to fill the silence. I could call the vet clinic and not talk to Jacob. Typically, vets don't answer the phone, and I know Harris Animal Hospital is usually very busy.
It's not like the girls who answer the phone would go running to tell Jacob that I called, asking a question about Riley’s previous vet records. Yet, for some reason, that's what I assume will happen, and I don't want to give Jacob even an ounce of an excuse to tell me that I'm not doing a good enough job. Because, damn it, I'm trying.