Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“You know where everything is,” Dad said quietly as he laid Etta down on the bed. “You want a cup of coffee, or are you ready to hit the sack?”
“Coffee,” I replied with a nod. “I’ll just get her tucked in and then I’ll be out.”
“I’ll start a pot.”
“You mean you didn’t have it waiting?” I scolded playfully.
“Wasn’t sure how tired you’d be,” he grumbled, swatting at me as he left the room.
I changed Etta and tucked her in, laughing quietly to myself as she slept right through it, then pulled my phone out of my pocket.
I didn’t have any new texts from Trevor, but I’d been texting with him throughout the day whenever we stopped. After the first stop when I’d pretended to forget to text him, I’d felt like such a jerk that I’d given in and replied to the rest of the messages he sent. Even though I tried to be irritated about his long-distance hovering, he cracked me up with his worrying and asking me to text him whenever I stopped or got on the road. I was surprised he hadn’t asked me to send him my exact location every time we’d stopped at a truck stop.
Got to my dad’s. Etta’s passed out and I’m visiting before I crawl in with her.
His response was immediate.
Glad you guys got there safe. Sleep well.
I sent a smiley face back, then left my phone on the bed when I left the room. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table with two cups of coffee. He slid one toward me as I sat down across from him.
“Let it percolate right into the cups,” he said with a grin, lifting his mug in a salute.
“God, your coffee always tastes better than mine,” I groaned after I took my first sip.
“That’s ’cause you make it so damn weak,” he replied. “Shit tastes like water.”
“It does not.”
“Does too. Stay away from my coffeepot.”
“Fine with me.” I leaned back and kicked off my shoes, propping my feet on an empty chair. “I’m not going to complain about someone else making my coffee.”
Dad laughed. “I bet not. How you been doing, princess?”
I sighed. “Fine. Pissed I lost that job over something so stupid, but fine.”
“Ranna says Etta’s other family’s been sniffing around.” He raised his eyebrows as he sipped his coffee. “How’s that going?”
“Okay.” Damn, my whole body was sore. I set my coffee down and stretched my arms toward the ceiling. “The only one who’s been around so far is her uncle, and he’s been cool.”
“Yeah?”
“Overprotective, maybe? But nice. He’s been asking if Etta’s grandmother and grandfather can come visit, but I put them off until we’re more settled here.”
“You worried about it?”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “Maybe a little. They were cool when I was a kid, but I don’t really know them anymore.”
My dad knew that I’d been fostered with Henry’s parents. It was hard to keep that kind of thing a secret when I was trying to explain to him why he shouldn’t kill the absent father of my child. Dad didn’t understand what would possess a father to abandon his children—Miranda and I were the most important things in his life—but he did understand demons, and how they could ruin a person’s life and force them to make decisions that didn’t make sense to anyone else.
“Good thing for baby girl to have family,” Dad said, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes. “Scary for you, though, I bet.”
“A little,” I conceded, wrapping my hands around my coffee mug. “Dealing with Henry was one thing; dealing with his entire family is a little bit much.”
“You’re a good mama,” Dad replied, understanding the words I wasn’t saying. “You don’t need to worry.”
“We’ll see.”
“Sometimes I could strangle your mother,” he said tiredly. “For making you and your sister’s lives so damn hard.”
“Well, she’s dead,” I said soothingly, patting his hand. “So I’m not sure what good it would do.”
“Give me some satisfaction,” he said under his breath, making my lips twitch.
We’d had the same conversation a hundred times, and I was sure we’d have it a hundred more. When my mom had taken off with us, my dad had looked for us, but he’d eventually stopped, assuming that Miranda or I would contact him if we needed him. He hadn’t had any idea about the life we were living in Oregon, and he hadn’t known when my mom overdosed and we’d been placed in foster care. He’d been in prison when he’d eventually found out that Miranda and I weren’t with our mom or each other, and as soon as he was free it had been an uphill battle to get us back.
He was bitter about it, and I didn’t blame him one bit.
After a while of drinking our coffee in companionable silence, I stood from the table and stretched again. “I’m gonna get some sleep,” I told him as I put my cup in the sink. “I’m beat.”