Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Jake had never actually warmed up to me, always seeing me as an extension of my mother who he hated so fully, even if we were nothing alike. But his roof was the one I had lived under for the longest. Almost five years. In the same room. In the same school district. Around all the same kids I couldn't exactly call friends, but did hang out with on occasion. He had given me a stability I had never known in my life, and he was ripping that away from me without a thought.
Then, to make that even worse, he was going to take Letha away from me. I wouldn't lie and say that there weren't times when her dependence on me hadn't been a burden. I was twelve. I wanted to be a kid. I wanted to hang out with people my own age. But those thoughts paled in comparison to the ones that loved my sister, that wanted to be able to read her bedtime stories like I always did, and push her on a swing, and have her wake me up too early on Saturdays by jumping on my bed and calling me Lazy Bones.
What was left of my bruised heart got stomped to slush that night as my mother dragged me out of that house, as Letha cried for me not to leave her, that she wouldn't be such a pest, that she would be a good girl if I stayed.
"Quit your bitching," my mother demanded, using a rare curse word that she wasn't known for because 'men don't like women who talk like truck drivers.'
"He is taking Letha away from me!" I shrieked in the shabby, dated motel room she had set us up in for the night. It smelled like clothes left in the washer too long and stale cigarettes.
"He doesn't get to win," she told me, voice fierce, yet calm, like it always was when she was plotting something. Like the time she planned to expose the infidelity of the current leader of the PTA so she could take over the bake sale. Mind you, my mother hated baking, and was totally known for buying store-bought ones then plating them so the men in her life thought she could bake. It wasn't about the baking or the money raised, it was her needing to look like the best housewife in town. She didn't have the adoration of her husband, so she needed to get it somewhere. So when she wasn't flirting with random delivery guys and store clerks and mechanics, she was trying to make all the women in town look up to her.
"What are you talking about?" I snapped, turning my back on her so I could swipe at the tears that were starting to escape my eyes. I had always hated how she used tears to manipulate people, so I had always felt the need to hide mine when they threatened, not wanting to be anything like the woman who gave me life.
"He doesn't get to win. I gave that man the best years of my life. He doesn't get to win."
I didn't understand what she meant until eight months later as I sat in the back of a courtroom during their heated divorce proceedings.
Jake had a great job, a house he owned, references, family ties.
He was the best choice.
But my mother had a sob story about his abuse, a male lawyer, a male judge, and the sympathy of the room.
So she got full custody, half of everything Jake owned, and a child support check I knew hardly a dime of which would go to the care of Letha.
I would never forget the look of devastation on Jake's face that day, or the fierceness in his face as he walked toward the door, stopping when he got to me.
"You take care of her," he told me, voice shaking. "For me."
And me, well, I was thirteen, ripped away from the only person I cared about, stuck with a mother who ranted and raged all day and night, never giving me a moment's rest from her plots to destroy a man who didn't - for all intents and purposes - deserve it.
I was angry. And bitter. And I had recently taken up cursing just to piss my mother off.
"You never gave a shit about me, Jake. I don't owe you a fucking thing." His face fell at that, and I let that linger for a moment. "But I will take care of Letha. Like I have always done. For her. Because I don't want her to end up like my mother. Or like me," I added, standing, and moving out the door myself.
My mother didn't even hug Letha when she was surrendered to her custody. So I gave her the longest hug known to man, telling her how much I missed her, promised her endless Barbie play and tea parties. I told her we were about to go on a grand adventure, because I knew our mother was plotting to take us out of town, take her newfound money, and go in search of another target.