Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
“She got a job working as a drug tester in a state-run lab. Apparently, having access to cocaine and oxycontin on a daily basis proved too tempting. She got caught. Arrested. The judge gave her the option of going to prison or checking into rehab, and she chose rehab. My dad wasn’t in the picture, not that he ever was, so the only place for me to go was Gramps’ house.”
“How long were you there for?”
“Only a year.”
“Why’d you have to leave?”
Her mask slips. She wanders a few paces, her blonde hair fanning about her face as she stares down the row of fruit trees.
“Gramps suffered a stroke. I found him on the floor in the kitchen with blood dripping from his nose. He couldn’t take care of me after that.”
My chest clenches, wringing out a sigh. I can’t help picturing her as a sweet and curious ten-year-old, walking through her grandpa’s house and coming upon such a painful scene.
“So you went back to living with your mom,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Mom dipped out of rehab and never came back. Nobody could find her, so the state stepped in. But the saddest part is that no one told me Gramps had died until three weeks after it happened.”
I touch the back of her hand, then pause, giving her a chance to pull away if that’s what she needs to do. She weaves her fingers between mine, and I take the gentle squeeze she gives as an invitation to move closer.
“I’m so sorry, Kenz.” I cradle her cheek and tilt her head back so I can gaze into her eyes when I tell her, “I know it’s not your grandpa’s homestead, but I want you to think of this place as yours. If you want to clean out the garden and prune the fruit trees or whatever you feel like, you’re welcome to it.”
She leans into my palm.
“Thank you, Austin.”
“And don’t hesitate to ask for help,” I say. “I don’t want you falling out of a pear tree while I’m inside the house.”
She chortles, wetting her lips. “I’ll take the help. And, hey, if I do clean out the garden, maybe you can start canning your own produce. It’d be a lot tastier than that freeze-dried crap you keep in your dystopian survivalist bunker.”
I squint, confused. “In my what?”
“Those military ration kits you’ve got stacked in your basement. I saw them when you sent me downstairs for more pickles.”
My basement is my favorite room in the entire house. It’s where I keep my old Ranger gear, my firearm cabinets, any surveillance tech Mike throws my way. I could hole up down there for two years if I had to. But somehow I don’t think pointing that out is going to help my case.
“Don’t knock ‘em ‘til you’re stuck on the side of a mountain with nothing but your rib-shaped barbecue patty and a few packets of hardtack.”
She laughs, and it’s nice to hear her laugh again after telling such a heartbreaking story. “I still think I’d prefer canned peaches.”
I skim my fingers along her jaw. It’s darker out now than it was when we started our walk. I can’t quite make out all the details of her face, but my lips find her lips like magnets in a box.
“All right,” I say. “If you’re willing to teach me how to can peaches, I’ll help you take care of the trees.”
I hear the smile in her voice when she says, “Deal.”
8
austin
I grill up some burgers and brats while Kenzie works on her room. It's fully dark out by the time we sit down to eat, and not being able to see out the windows gives the kitchen a snug, intimate feel. It's just the two of us, alone, enjoying a meal, as it should be. I can’t shake the feeling that I've been waiting my whole life for a moment to feel as perfect as this one. Now that I'm living through it, I can't imagine going without.
After dinner, we load the dishwasher, the silence between us companionable.
"Where do you keep your aluminum foil?" Kenzie asks, holding up half of an onion I didn't use. I'm closest to the drawer in question, so I grab the roll for her.
We perform this dance of domesticity so easily that I can't believe Kenzie's only been here a few hours. It hasn’t fully sunk in yet that she’s gonna sleep in my house tonight, and every night thereafter.
I’ll finally be able to look after her the way I’ve always wanted to, up-close and hands-on. No more worrying about whether she’s eating or sleeping enough, or if one of the reverend’s zealots decided to follow her home.
She dampens a paper towel and wraps it around the onion before covering the whole bundle in aluminum foil. She catches me watching her and gifts me a shy smile.