Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
But in my mind, Binx was always here with us.
She’s a phenomenal skater. Last year she took Sprout with her to watch the intramural hockey tournament Binx plays in with her brothers. Sprout couldn’t stop talking about it after. She doesn’t want to be a figure skater girl anymore, she wants to be strong and fast, like Binx.
I hate that I’ve taken someone she loves so much away from my daughter.
I hate the black hole in my gut that feels like it’s sucking all the misery in the world deep inside it.
I hate that I have to go back to the cabin and sleep alone in the bed I shared with Binx, the one where the sheets still smell like her.
It makes me wish I’d razed the cabin to the ground, after all. It had mold in the walls and foundation issues that took months to get sorted out before I could even start the renovation. It wouldn’t have cost much more to demolish and start with a fresh slate, but the cabin is nearly a hundred years old. I wanted to help preserve the history of the camp, while building additional facilities to attract new people to the land.
Now I think—fuck history.
I wish I could erase the history of the past two days from my mind. I wish I had no idea how good it feels to touch her, kiss her, hold her close as she falls asleep and feel like I have everything I need right there in my arms.
I was at peace with her, but it was a stolen peace, a rotten one.
“It’s your fault,” I mutter to my dick as I relieve myself against a tree. “You’re a weak-willed piece of shit.”
It has the decency to look ashamed of itself as I tuck it back in my pants, but shame isn’t going to do either one of us any good.
That’s what I always tell Sprout—don’t let shame take root inside you. It’s okay to feel bad about something you did; it’s not okay to feel like you’re the bad thing. That kind of thinking only dulls your light, hurts your heart, and makes it harder to be the good person you want to be.
It’s hard to love other people right if you don’t love yourself.
I know that to be true with every piece of me. I also know that it’s way easier said than done, especially when you’re a middle-aged man who’s made so many mistakes. I thought I’d have more things figured out by now, but all I really know is that I’ll never understand other people. I’ll be lucky if, some day, I reach a place where I truly know myself.
Trying not to think about the memories I wish Binx could have made with us here this winter, I get back on the four-wheeler and head toward the cabin. I’ve been gone nearly two hours by the time I pull into the shed, long enough for the sun to set and soft pink light to fill the air.
There’s a chill in the air, too, the cold cutting through my shirt as I head toward the porch, intending to snag the plate of sausages I left outside and force myself to eat something.
But when I reach the grill, the plates and the veggie tray are gone. For a second, I wonder if Tater Tot somehow found his way up onto the grill and made off with all the food, but there’s no sign of a smashed plate on the ground. And Tater Tot is surprisingly agile, but he’s also bulked up for winter. I don’t know if he’d be capable of climbing the grill at this point, which is a good thing. Eating a bunch of processed meat would have made him sick if he’d tried it.
As soon as I dismiss that theory, I realize what must have happened.
Binx cleaned up before she left.
Instantly, I feel even worse than I did before. I broke her heart and in return, she cleaned up my mess. Or maybe she took the sausages with her as some small form of retribution.
I hope so. I hope she took all the food in the house and left me to forage for acorns with the groundhogs. It’s what I deserve…better than I deserve.
With a sigh, I double-check again to make sure the propane is turned off on the grill, then plod inside, trying to think of what to listen to on the speaker that might take my mind off my abject misery. Maybe that podcast about people getting murdered in national parks. Those people had it much worse than I’m having it right now.
Maybe I’ll manage to unsettle myself enough that going to sleep in the middle of the woods alone with no way out will start to feel scary. Better to lie awake in bed, fearful of being axe-murdered, than lie awake thinking about Binx.