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)
He hugs me, but my tummy hurts, and I still feel shaky.
“I don’t want to go,” I manage in a whisper.
His hand rests on my head for a few seconds, fingertips touching my cheek when I peel away from his warm body and glance up at him. The angry expression from this morning returns. “Nobody will hit you at school.”
“I don’t want to go.”
Milo gives me a sad smile similar to the one Ruthie gave me before she told me she was going to die. I hate that smile. Like I hate Jolene. And Fletcher.
I follow him to the barn. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“It’s happening, Indie, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” Milo kicks off his boots, banging them together a few times before he flips on the lights. His keys hit the counter with a heavy clink. After he hangs his hat on the hook, he turns to me.
Milo sweeps a hand through his hair, eyes squinted.
“You said I’ll have you forever.”
Dropping his head, he exhales a hard sigh. When he raises it again, he curls his hair behind his ears. “I said one day at a time. This isn’t forever. I’ll see you over the holidays, and you’ll be back next summer. You can call me anytime you want.”
“I don’t have a phone.” Fletcher and Ruthie never wanted me to have a phone, a computer, or an iPad.
Books.
They gave me lots of books.
Milo frowns, sliding his hands into his back pockets. “Well, you’ll have access to a phone somewhere or computers in school. You can send me an email or write me an actual letter with a pen and a piece of paper. I’ll give you money for stamps.”
I nod, hugging myself and staring at the floor between us while my fingernails scrape along my arms. His words don’t make me feel any better. The only thing that can take away this awful feeling is someone telling me I don’t have to go. Fletcher can hit me every day if it means I don’t have to leave Milo.
“I’m gonna miss you, too, Indie girl.”
I glance up at him and his half grin. “You are?”
He lifts his shoulders. “Of course. Nobody else likes my cooking.”
I giggle, and it relaxes my scratching fingers and stiff arms. They fall to my sides with a bit of relief.
“It’s late. You leave early in the morning. I’ll walk you back to the house.”
“Okay,” I say, but I don’t mean it. Nothing is okay right now. My feet drag along the gravel to the pavement. The night’s air is thick with smoke. The workers who live in one of the other barns sit out back for hours around a big fire. I’ve heard they roast marshmallows, but I’ve never been allowed to stay up that late. And Ruthie always said I didn’t need to listen to their conversations. They weren’t for young ears.
Milo reaches back and takes my hand, giving it a tiny squeeze while pulling me to catch up to him. “You’re not gonna want to come home after making so many friends. You’ll say, ‘Milo, who?’ I’ll be nothing but the hired help with dirt under my fingernails and a bed in the barn.”
I like the way my hand feels in Milo’s hand.
Safe.
Cared for.
I’m scared of how I will feel when he lets go. Then he does … he lets go.
“Here.” He hands me money from his front pocket.
I don’t count it, but I think it’s everything he had in it.
“Buy stamps. Buy candy. Just don’t forget me.” He winks.
I love Milo Odell. Maybe one day I’ll marry him. But I’ll wait to tell him my thoughts about our future.
Letting the fireflies near the porch distract me from crying, I slip the money into my pocket. “Thank you.”
“Are you gonna give me a hug?”
I grin right before throwing myself into his arms, hugging his waist with all my strength. “Bye, Milo.”
“Bye, Indie girl.”
3
FRISKY BUSINESS IN THE BARN
Fletcher Ellington dives headfirst into full-on alcoholism over the following years. Milo is the only reason I go home for the holidays and summers. Maybe Faye and Grandma Hill too—but mostly Milo.
He makes me his famous burnt grilled cheese, and we add cherries to them during early summer and figs in late summer. He teaches me to saddle a horse and gather eggs from the chicken coops. He even tries to teach me to rope, finding the one thing for which I am not a quick study.
“I don’t want to hurt the calf.”
“You won’t.” Milo shakes his head and chuckles.
He’s still coffee, cinnamon, and leather—aka happiness. And the epitome of a man. My young heart is so invested in Milo Odell it feels like it stops beating when we’re not together.
Fletcher keeps Milo busy nearly every waking hour during the summer, but we still manage to find time to race in the pond and stare at the sky from the tall grass when Fletcher’s out of town. I find myself inching a little closer to him, entranced by every word he says. Every look he gives me.