Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Goldie comes into the house, kicks off her flip flops, and makes her way toward me. Her long, curly, chocolate colored hair with natural blonde highlights—thanks to her mom—is tied into a ponytail. I’m grateful Ana taught Goldie how to do this because I’m not that great at it, and I refuse to try the vacuum technique. Mostly because I’m afraid I’ll damage her hair. The videos make it look simple but I’m still leery.
“Hi, Daddy,” she says. She rests her head on my shoulder after she kisses my cheek and leans into me. I know she wants to go through everything her grandmother bought her, but she also wants to cuddle. I wrap my arm around her and give her a tight squeeze.
“How’s your swing?”
She shrugs.
Ever since the night in question, Goldie has been clingier than usual. I’m not complaining, but I don’t like that my daughter experienced some type of trauma or witnessed her mother going through what she did. Especially at the hands of her stepfather. The world is confusing enough for a seven-year-old. Goldie didn’t need this as well.
“It looks like Grandma went shopping.”
Goldie nods. “Do I have to go to school?”
“Yes,” I say, tickling her sides. She lets out a sweet giggle and tickles me back.
“And I’ll be there two days a week,” my mom says. She put her name down as a class volunteer, which is something I would like to do, but my schedule doesn’t allow for it.
“What if no one likes me?” Goldie asks. Her normally happy tone shifts to a sad one and it breaks my heart. There are a few kids Goldie’s age that I know from my landscaping contracts but none of my friends have kids yet, and when Goldie’s visiting, she’s often with my parents doing whatever they can cram in before she has to go back to Jacksonville.
“Nonsense,” my mom says as she taps the table. “Everyone is going to love you, and Ms. Matson is a fabulous teacher.”
“How do you know?” Goldie asks her grandmother.
“Because we do yoga together, and I’ve heard through the grapevine.”
Goldie laughs and shakes her head. “Grammie, you can’t listen to everything Ms. Linda says. She’s old.”
I stifle a laugh. “Marigold, it’s not nice to call people old.”
“Well, she’s not wrong,” Mom adds. I roll my eyes at my mother. Here Ana and I are trying to teach our daughter impeccable manners, and my mother is encouraging questionable behavior. I have nothing else to say and direct Goldie to the slew of things my mother bought her.
“Wow, this is pretty neat,” I say as I hold up the relic known as the Trapper Keeper. “I think Grandpa had one of these when he was a bit older than you.”
“They’re making a comeback,” Mom says as she beckons Goldie toward her. She sits on her grandma’s lap, and they go through everything, leaving the clothes for last. After a full fashion show, where my daughter declares every article of clothing her favorite, we pile into my mom’s car and head to Mimi’s Gasoline Grove for lunch.
Thankfully, only the locals and some out-of-towners who have been here before know the secret deep frying inside of Mimi’s. She has the best catfish in all of Alabama. You can eat while the guys fill your gas tank, wash your windshield, and check your oil.
My nerves are on fire, to the point where I think everything—and I do mean everything—itches. It’s a silly notion, especially since I took two showers before even getting dressed. With everything making me twitchy like I’ve got ants crawling all over me, it reminds me of summer camp when some prankster would bring itching powder into the cabin and sprinkle it all over our sleeping bags. Of course, this was a fear when your parents tell you you’re going to summer camp and assure you nothing will go wrong.
It doesn’t help that Goldie is probably feeding off my energy. She barely ate and told her mom via video chat before we left that she didn’t need school and suggested we take her to Hollywood where she can become an actress. Only, Goldie didn’t say Hollywood and instead used Dollywood. Ana and I did a stand-up job not laughing.
Before heading to the elementary school, I detour to the high school and check out the football field. Last winter, the school finally converted to a turf field, and while turf isn’t my friend and could put me out of a job, I manage the grassy area around the field. During the install, the people hired didn’t protect any of the surrounding area and left far too many dirt spots in what I considered a flawless green space.
“What are we doing here?” Marigold asks.
“I just need to check and make sure the grass is growing in a couple of spots.”