Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
The rest of the students make their way down the hallway toward our classroom. Two boys push at each other, knocking into a quiet little redhead with long pigtails. She doesn’t say anything to them—she rarely says anything at all—so it’s my job to make sure the boys understand that horsing around isn’t permitted inside the school and remind them to apologize to little Emily. Her father passed away last year, and the little one hasn’t been the same since. I’ve spent many moments on the phone with her mother or visiting with her in person to assure that we’re doing everything we can to help Emily learn and grow as a person, and hopefully, come out of her shell soon. It’ll take time, and only the child knows the schedule.
“Good morning, Emily,” I say sweetly and quietly as she gets ready to pass through the door.
“Hi.” That’s all I get. That’s all I ever get for a greeting.
Closing my eyes, I get ready for my day. I push aside the looming sickness, the sadness I feel when I think about my ex-husband, and the despair that engulfs me for little Emily. That one right there is what makes my heart race in overtime. It’s part of the reason I pushed Harrison away when I did. We had a plan, and that plan was to transpire by my thirtieth birthday.
Tomorrow.
And it’s a reminder that we failed.
I slip inside my classroom and meet the students at the hooks in the back. I watch as they go through their routine of hanging their jackets and book bags from their designated hooks, place their empty folders in the take-home folder bin, and gather around the brightly colored reading rug. As soon as everyone’s set, I join them, sitting cross-legged in their circle. “Good morning, friends. Are you ready to begin?” I ask, watching as they all nod. “Well, it’s Friday, so we’re going to go around the circle and you can tell your classmates what you’re excited about for this weekend. Allie, you’re the room leader today, so you go first.”
We go around the room, each student eagerly sharing their weekend plans or something they’re looking forward to. When it’s Emily’s turn, she tucks her chin and whispers, “I’m going to my grandma’s house.”
My heart pitter-patters a heavy beat in my chest. Emily’s mom had confided in me that Emily often spends the weekend with her grandma so she could work at a local diner, where she’s a waitress. The weekend shifts bring in more money, which has been scarce ever since her husband passed away. They’ve managed to stay in their family home, as well as seek a few additional services from a counselor for Emily, but I know money is very tight for them.
“That sounds like fun. I’m sure you and your grandma are going to have a wonderful weekend together,” I tell her with a soft smile. She doesn’t return it. “You know, you’re very lucky, Emily. My grandparents passed away either before I was born or when I was very young. The fact that you get to spend time with your grandma is wonderful.” Again, I offer a reassuring, friendly smile to the little girl who has already experienced so much heartache and hurt in her short four years.
“My grandpa watches The Price is Right all day! He smokes cigars and calls his neighbor a jerk,” Carson says proudly, making the other students giggle.
“We don’t say jerk,” I state.
“My papa smells like fish!” Helena proclaims, again sending another round of laughter through my room.
I smile, listening to them all share their stories, not even worrying a second that we’ve reached the end of our time on the rug. But coloring and working on word association for the letter P can wait a few more minutes. The train wreck that is my life can wait. Spending the morning with these precious little beings is my top priority, and their laughter does wonders for my soul.
Today, they’re just what I needed.
“Happy Birthday to Gwen, Happy Birthday to you!” the crowd sings, bringing a smile to my face. I bend forward and blow the two candles. A three and a zero. In that exact order.
“Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” my mom says, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me into her petite frame.
“Thanks, Mom. So glad you guys could be here,” I tell her, glancing around at the familiar walls of Twist of Lime, my favorite local hangout. Well, it used to be my favorite. Now, it seems to hold too many memories of my past. I haven’t been here in nearly a year, and when my sister informed me we were headed here, I tried to back out. I didn’t want to come.
Not without Harrison.
“Look! Aunt Tina is here! Let’s go say hello,” Mom says to Dad, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him toward the front door.