Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Hey.” Ransom twists and cups my chin. His eyes are bright, not stormy or heavy with the shadows of his bad memories. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m so…so…I’m so wrecked hearing that.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No! Don’t say you shouldn’t have told me. I don’t want there to be things you can’t tell me because you think I can’t handle it. I don’t need to be spared. I’m just…it’s so hard hearing that you went through that, especially as a little kid. I want to create a time machine and go back and save you myself. I wish that were possible. To do that and still end up here.”
“I’d like to go back and save you too. And still end up here. I’m glad we’re here now. I eventually ran away from the foster home I was at—a different one—when I was twelve. Made it on the streets for a year, which doesn’t sound like a long time, but—”
“Are you kidding me? Living on the streets for a year at the age of twelve sounds like forever.”
Ransom’s big legs pump harder, and the water makes soothing splashing sounds beneath our little boat, which are totally at odds with the horrible picture Ransom is painting for me of his life before this one.
“It felt like it,” he admits. “But I made it. One day, thinking I was hot shit, I decided to mug this old lady. She had nice clothes on and was carrying a nice bag. I’d learned in the past that things like that meant a wallet full of cash. Old people usually carry around more than most. They’re old school, and they trust the plastic fantastic a lot less. I’d mugged old people in the past; I’m sorry to say. I’d stolen purses and even jumped out of an alley and made it seem like I had a weapon pressed into their chest or side before I asked for their wallet or their watch, or even their phone if they had one. Old people couldn’t really fight back. I’m still ashamed about what I did, but all I can say is that I did it because I needed to. I had to survive.
“I couldn’t go to a shelter or anywhere because they would have known I was underage, and I would have been put right back in the system. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let it happen. So, this particular afternoon, it was hot. I was so thirsty; I was dying for a drink. Anything. I was so scared of going into places alone that I didn’t want to go in or even use a bathroom to get water from the tap since I was afraid I’d be seen and someone would wonder why I looked so rough when I was so young and then call the police. I doubted they would, but I wasn’t going to take chances. Anyway, I spotted this old lady. Watched her for a few blocks. She had nice clothes on—all black. Her purse looked fancy, and she looked like she’d have some cash stored away in there.” He turns to me and wiggles his brows. It makes the scar on his face leap around, and I giggle because I know he’s making it okay to laugh. “I bet you can guess who this lady was.”
“Your granny?”
“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner. And I bet you can guess what she did to me.”
“Beat your ass? Pulled out a Glock and pistol-whipped your sorry hide?”
“Actually, she’d didn’t go that far. She might be wild in the gun range, but she’s more benign on the street, and I was just a kid. A hungry, skinny, malnourished kid. I was also desperate, and I wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I guess I brought it on myself. She was wearing expensive heels, which I thought was weird for an old lady. Well, anyway, she brought one leg back and launched one pointy toe right into my crotch. I thought my balls were going to curl up and die. I certainly curled up right there on the sidewalk. And then, this crazy old lady did the craziest thing. She offered me a hand and told me that she’d get me help. I told her to stick her help where the sun doesn’t shine—in much rougher terms—then I spat at her like a feral cat. She basically just picked me up, turned me upright, looked me in the eye, and told me right then and there that if I had nowhere else to go, I could come home with her, and there would be no funny business. No questions, no system getting involved, no more abuse. No more going hunger, no more living on the streets, no more fighting to survive. She’d go through the courts and adopt me herself. I had no idea why she’d do that, and I obviously didn’t believe her. She said no funny stuff, but I thought she was all about the funny stuff. I agreed, just because I thought I could get into her house and hit the real jackpot of things to steal. I was shocked to find that she was serious about everything. There was no one at her house who wanted to use me, no one who wanted to hurt me or abuse me. Just three of the most delicious squares I’d ever tasted plus snacks whenever I wanted them, a soft bed, homeschool, and one old woman who had—still has—the world’s biggest heart.”