Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Were they mean to you? Did they hurt your brother? Is that why he killed them?”
Milo’s face remains twisted like someone’s pinching him really hard, the way Jolene pinches my arm when she thinks I said something stupid. After a few seconds, the wrinkles disappear, and Milo takes another long drink of his beer and returns his hat to his head. “What do you need from the house? You’re gonna stay here for a few nights until your dad is ready for you to stay at the house again.”
“He’s not my dad.”
Milo frowns. “No?”
I shake my head. “He’s Mr. Ellington. Sir. I call him sir.”
Milo’s head dips into a slow nod, and he chuckles. “I’m aware. But he’s your father.”
“He’s not. My father died. That’s what my mom said.”
Milo blinks several times like he didn’t hear me. Then he clears his throat. “Did you think of Ruthie as your mom?”
“No. She was an angel. We all have guardian angels.” I push the plate away from me, leaving a few pieces of black crust because I’m out of ketchup.
He narrows his eyes and rests both arms on the table. “Is that what Ruthie said?”
“Yes.”
For a few more seconds, Milo doesn’t say a word. Then he pops those burnt pieces of crust into his mouth and says, “I see.”
“Are you going to be my angel now that Ruthie’s gone to be with God?”
Again, he squints. It’s funny how his eyebrows look like one instead of two. “Hardly. You can do much better than me, Indie. You have a grandma. Do you think of her as your grandma?”
I shrug. “Her name is Grandma Hill. Everyone calls her that. I don’t know her name.”
Milo’s lips bend like he’s trying not to smile. “Fair enough. Her name is Helen. Let’s get back to my earlier question. What do you need from the main house?”
“Everything.”
With a chuckle, he scoots back in the chair and takes my plate to the sink. “You don’t need everything. I’m thinking some clothes, pajamas, and a toothbrush. Your school bag. You’ll go back to school tomorrow.”
“Ruthie said I can stay home until I’m not as sad.”
Milo rests his backside against the counter and crosses his arms. “Mr. Ellington wants you back in school. Back to your routine. He thinks it’s what’s best for you.”
When did Fletcher start knowing what’s best for me? Whenever Ruthie asked him, “Do you think Indie should wear the red or yellow dress?” he shook his head and said, “How should I know?”
“I should stay with Mr. Ellington. He’s sad. I can make him tea. Ruthie used to make him tea when he had a bad day. And she’d ask, ‘How would you survive without me?’”
Milo’s lips turn upward into a half smile, and he kinda grunts. “What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Miserably.’” I shrug. “Whatever that means.”
“I’m sure she did take care of him,” he says, plucking his beer from the table and emptying the rest down his throat in several long gulps. “But tea won’t fix him right now. He needs time to grieve. He needs time alone.” The bottle clinks when he tosses it into the bin.
I don’t argue with Milo. He’s not going to let me stay with Fletcher.
After lunch, Milo turns on the TV for me while he “takes care of things.”
Hours later, he returns, sweaty and dirty, with a bag in his hand—a bag of my things.
“Let me know if I forgot anything.”
I don’t look in the bag. I’m too busy staring at his TV. I’ve never been allowed to watch this many shows in a row.
Milo showers, makes another black grilled cheese sandwich, and tucks a wrinkled sheet into the sofa before handing me a fluffy blanket and pillow.
“Goodnight, Indie.” He shuts off all the lights.
Ruthie read books with me until I fell asleep. She left the light on in the hallway and kept my door cracked. When I had terrible dreams, she was always there to comfort me.
Ruthie is gone. No stories. Just total darkness.
I hold my breath for as long as I can. Tears run down my cheeks, and eventually, a sob breaks free. I quickly press a hand to my mouth. Everything inside my chest burns like I might explode.
“Indie?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to hold my breath again.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Milo hunches beside me and presses his hand to the side of my head while I shake with sobs.
I can’t speak. I miss Ruthie too much. I’m scared. And I feel unloved. No angel in sight.
“Indie, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you.”
“I-I’m s-scared.”
“Of what?”
“E-everything.”
Milo picks me up in his arms and carries me to his bed. Then he covers us in blankets while I hug his body like a koala bear in its favorite tree. I feel safe, a little less scared, and a lot less lonely with Milo.