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)
“Are you going to burn it?”
“Is there any other way?”
I giggle. “But I need fruit for my skin.”
“Did Ruthie tell you that?”
I nod.
Looking off in the distance, just over my head, his cheeks fill with air, and he blows it out all at once. “Figs?”
Another nod.
“Lead the way,” he says.
With a massive smile on my face, I skip toward the gardens and fruit trees, where Ruthie spent so much of her time with me. Micah takes care of them now but doesn’t talk to the plants like Ruthie did.
“Which figs do you want?” Shirtless, Milo rests his hands on his hips, face tipped toward the sky to inspect the hanging fruit.
“The big, dark, droopy ones. And they have to be soft when you give them a gentle squeeze.”
“I have a better idea.” He squats in front of me. “Get on my shoulders.”
“Are you going to drop me?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I climb onto his shoulders, and he holds my legs while standing straight. “Get your perfect figs, Indie. We’ll put them on our grilled cheese.”
“Eww … no.” I giggle.
Milo Odell is the most interesting person I have ever met. Sure, he walks around all day with animal poop on the bottom of his boots. He’s a terrible cook (but I don’t tell him that). And he sucks at helping me comb my hair. Yet I find myself in his barn more than in the house. When Fletcher’s away on business, Milo lets me swim with him in the pond behind the house—without a life jacket.
“If you tell your dad, he’ll kill both of us,” he says just seconds before I jump off the dock into the cool water.
He launches me in the hot summer air and laughs when I land with a big splash.
We race to the other side of the pond and lie in the tall grass, staring at the cloudless sky. The invisible, fiery flames of the sun lick our skin like a dragon. I close my eyes and pretend it’s just Milo and me living on the ranch.
Before bedtime, he takes me on horseback rides. Sometimes, with my arms around his waist and my cheek pressed to his warm back, I fall asleep before we reach the barn.
And … he makes me a burnt grilled cheese every day—with figs.
Milo isn’t Ruthie, but I feel like I did with her when I'm with him. I feel loved. I feel like I fit in this world. I fit with him.
As with all good things in my life … it comes to an end when I least expect it.
“You’re leaving tomorrow. Faye will be here soon to help you pack your bags,” Fletcher says without looking up from his phone. He takes a bite of bacon and chews it slowly before licking his greasy fingers.
Micah gives me a sad smile while setting a plate of pancakes on the table. All the same perfect size. Golden brown and dotted with blueberries. The sweet aroma of maple doesn’t distract me today.
I don’t feel hungry at all. I’m too busy feeling rejected and punished for something I didn’t do.
“You’re selling me?”
This gets Fletcher’s full attention. I’ve heard the phrase “if looks could kill,” but I think I’m seeing it in person for the first time.
“No, Indiana. You’re going to school.”
“Why do I have to pack my bag? You mean my school bag?”
He shakes his head before taking a sip of coffee. “It’s a private school. You’ll stay there. You’ll get to come home for the holidays and for the summer.”
“Are my friends going?”
Fletcher chuckles, shaking his head. “No. You’ll make new friends.”
“I don’t want to go to a new school.”
“It’s not up to you.”
“Why not?”
“Indiana…” he gives me that stern look, the one he gives me when he’s had a lot to drink, “…don’t press me on this. You need to learn manners and how to respect authority. Start now by saying, ‘Yes, sir’ and getting any personal belongings together that you think you can’t live without.”
“I don’t want to go.” This feeling in the bottom of my stomach feels similar to the pain I felt when Grandma Hill and Faye told me Ruthie died.
Fletcher leans forward, spilling his coffee, but I don’t have time to focus on the black liquid absorbing into the white tablecloth. And he seems not to care either.
Smack!
Silence. The room is entirely silent. It’s as if life paused. No movement. No sound.
A gasp of breath balloons my lungs. And I hold it while my cheek stings from his hand striking it. My head spins with a dizzy feeling. Tears burn my eyes, and my hand lifts to my face. No one has ever hit me. In a blink, hot tears fall hard and fast.
“Yes, sir,” he says.
The ringing in my ears makes it hard to hear his words. “Say it, Indiana. Tell me the only two words I want to hear from you.”