Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Lacey looks me over. Her touch is soft, and she moves my head from right to left. “Does this hurt?” she asks.
“No,” I tell her truthfully.
She reaches for her school bag and pulls it onto the couch, unzipping it and removing a notebook. I try not to laugh when she uncaps a pen and starts writing. “Did you take a nap?”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“I think after lunch?”
“Okay, good.”
Lacey writes this down.
“Did you play video games?”
“No, my doctor said I needed to rest.”
“Yes, I did,” she mutters as she scribbles on her notepad. “Did you take all your medicine?”
“Yes.”
She sets her pad aside. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
Don’t worry, kid.
When she comes back, she has packages of gauze and medical tape. We already made a deal she could play doctor but bandaging me up was out of the question for many reasons. One, she doesn’t need to see how gruesome some of my injuries are. Two, I don’t need her to accidentally pull my stitches out. And three, while she may be gentle, every part of my body aches and I don’t want to be touched right now. The agreement we came to was she can tape up my arm—literally the one part of my body which isn’t bruised.
I hold my arm out and let her add the bandage and gauze. The tape is a bit tight, but I don’t tell her. It’s something I can fix when she’s not around. No need to hurt her feelings when all she’s doing is trying to take care of me.
“There,” she says. “All your ouchies are getting better.”
They are, except for one.
“Do you think Thea can come over?” Lacey asks as she sits next to me. “Maybe we can go ice skating.”
“Thea has school, and I can’t skate right now.”
“What time does she get out?”
“I’m not really sure.”
“Can we call her?”
“My phone is dead.”
Lacey gets off the couch and takes my phone from the end table. She presses the screen, and the stupid thing lights up. “It’s working.”
Yay, me. I know I should tell her no, for my own sanity, but I can’t. She’s an innocent child caught in the stupid game of life. She’s not going to understand why Thea isn’t a part of our lives anymore, nor do I have the heart to tell her. Lacey isn’t going to grasp the magnitude of what Thea did or how it affects her.
“Later,” I tell her as I reach for my phone. A sharp pain shoots through my ribs and I grimace.
“Oh, no, Uncle Ky.”
“I’m okay.”
Lacey pouts and I beckon her forward. She gingerly crawls into my lap and nestles her head against my chest. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
She nods.
I press play on her DVD player and Aladdin comes to life. I wish she’d pick another movie and not one about a guy who has nothing going for him, except for being in love with the princess. That’s how I feel about me and Thea. She’s the princess and I’m the thief. I suppose this makes Lacey my monkey.
It dawns on me that Ally isn’t here, which doesn’t make sense. “Where’s your mom?”
Lacey shrugs and I look down to see her sucking on her thumb. I’ve suggested to Ally she do something about the thumb sucking, but Ally refuses, saying something about how Lacey needs to figure it out on her own. I don’t agree, but Lacey isn’t mine and Ally puts her foot down if I try to parent too much. I gently push Lacey’s hand away from her mouth. She doesn’t protest, which is good.
“Did your mom pick you up from school?”
“Yes.”
“Did she leave after she dropped you off?”
Lacey shakes her head. “She’s on the phone.”
I glance toward the window, as if I have X-ray vision and can see outside. I’m sure there’s a new boyfriend on the other end, someone else to take time away from Lacey and Ally’s job. Every day, I wish Ally was independent and nothing like our mother.
The door opens and Ally comes in. She’s carrying some boxes with her, reminding me they have to move soon. They still haven’t found a place to live, at least one they can afford, and it’s looking like I’m going to have to move with them, which means I need more hours at the bar. Which means . . . well a laundry list of shit I won’t be able to do.
Ally sits down on the couch and sighs.
“How was work?”
“Not good. Made a whole forty bucks in tips.”
“That’s forty more than you had this morning.”
“Yep, paid some of my phone bill so at least it won’t get turned off.” Ally covers her face and I know she’s trying to fight back the tears. It would be easier for her to work at night, in a bar or bigger restaurant where she can make a couple hundred in tips. But it’ll also mean paying a babysitter, which is going to defeat the purpose. Single parents don’t have it easy.