Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Lucy looks at her feet and me. Of course, I’m staring at Beth again, frozen to the spot and flushed red in her round cheeks. The T-shirt she’s wearing hugs her curves and ample chest that she hurriedly covers with folded arms. She catches me red-handed, peeking, but as I said, this is getting out of control and nothing like I imagined.
“Lucy?” Brad asks, drawing my attention from the only thing I’ve come three and a half thousand miles to see again. I look over at Lucy, who seems suddenly pale, almost gray. She opens her mouth to say something before her hand shoots over it, and she pushes past Brad and me, racing for the bathroom. The door slams and the sound of her throwing up should have me going after her making sure she’s okay.
Beth moves first, shooting off her bed and giving me a final snapshot in my mind—the space between her legs in her sweatpants and the moving shapes of her breasts under her T-shirt. I almost let out a low groan before I feel the jolt of Brad’s hand clapping heavily on my shoulder.
“That went well,” he sighs, “but trust me, buddy. I’ve had six months of those two together, and I gotta tell ya, they’ve been nothing but angels, mostly.”
I turn and face him, almost not recognizing him, feeling like I’m in a nightmare where I can see and hear Beth but can’t touch her. I can’t be with her the way I know I need to be.
“You look like you could use a drink,” Brad announces. “Welcome home, Dad!” he adds with a hint of his trademark sarcasm, clapping my shoulder again, almost humoring me into thinking my bizarre frame of mind must be from the flight. With both hands on my shoulders, he pivots me toward the kitchen, both of us purposefully ignoring the sounds from the bathroom.
We both know from experience that if a teenage daughter wants your help in the bathroom, she’ll tell you. If she doesn’t, then stay the fuck away.
“Lady problems, most likely,” Brad observes, making me wince. As a doctor, it’s just a habit to get annoyed by some of the stuff people come out with, even my best friend.
“How the hell is vomiting a ladies’ problem?” I challenge him angrily and again, only feeling annoyed because it means another minute I can’t spend looking at Beth if she’s in the bathroom with Lucy.
Brad’s got the hide of a rhino and only chuckles to himself knowingly. “Six months,” he says to himself, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a couple of beers as if he’s the world authority on all things “ladies.”
I should show a bit more respect. Brad had Lucy here for a long time, and not once would he accept my attempts to pay her way, even though she has her own cards I pay for, which I hope she’s been using so Brad hasn’t struggled. Brad does fine. He got into sports medicine when we were in college. I was on the fence between a football career and medicine. I picked medicine after Lucy’s mom, Cathy, got sick. We were just dating back then. Lucy wasn’t even a thought. I was young, dumb, and naïve enough to believe that I could cure her—save her, even at the end.
Having a beer with my buddy should be something I crave as much as seeing my daughter—popping the top and clinking the bottle, creating a poor attempt at a smile as he welcomes me home again. I can’t help thinking how extra bitter and cold the beer is in my mouth. I don’t enjoy it as Cathy’s memory flashes in my mind along with the now-permanent tape of Beth.
“She’ll be fine, Bo,” Brad assures me, jutting his chin to the back door, urging me out onto the porch overlooking the yard that leads to a wooded creek. At first, I figure it’s to give the girls more privacy. The sound of dry heaving isn’t exactly a welcome home soundtrack, but once we’re outside, I can see Brad’s face with concern.
“I just wanted to let you know… and this is hard for me to say, Bowdie,” he starts to say in a low, confidential tone, making my guts twist into a guilty knot. A cold sheen of sweat dots my brow.
He knows. Of course, he fucking knows! Any fool could see the way you’ve been ogling her.
In a moment, I’m prepared for the “keep your goddamned eyes off my daughter” speech, but it never comes.
“What is it?” I rasp, feeling my throat drying up despite taking another pull from my beer.
“It’s-it’s just that… Well,” he says, looking uneasy.
“Brad,” I tell him firmly, signaling to spit it out.
“They’re just at that age, I guess,” he muses. “Boyfriends, I mean, and well… I just—” he starts to say, but I’ve already got him by the collar.