Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I guess I’m worried that I’m not being true to myself. My ex-husband did such a number on me—and I have so fully resolved to never fall prey to another man—in my mind, that meant I would never get involved with my heart again. Unfortunately, it’s become curious and has started opening up to a man I never thought would bother to reciprocate such a thing.
Janelle and I grow closer with every week that ticks by. Between the time we spend intermittently here at the bookstore, texting or calling, me hanging out with her when Riggs is away for games, and going to Grandma Katie’s, she’s become a very important part of my life. The thing that scares me the most about this tenuous relationship with Riggs is that if it doesn’t work out, will he forbid Janelle from having contact with me? I don’t want to lose her care or friendship. That’s far more important to me than anything I could have with Riggs.
The question is… will he see it that way too? Would he agree if we didn’t work out that it would still be in Janelle’s best interest to have me in her life?
These are things I have to discuss with Riggs before we continue forward.
A new song comes on, and Janelle starts to bop around to a different beat. “This is a good one.”
Her way of dancing is sure different from my way, and I know I look ridiculous at my age. Still, no one here to judge me except Janelle and Clarke, and I am okay if I make a fool of myself in front of them.
So I dance with Janelle, trying to mimic her moves.
“That’s good!” She laughs and moves beside me. “But do it like this.”
I watch what she’s doing and try to conform. I long for the days when I could teach her the “Macarena,” which is far easier than this.
Bells above the front door chime, and Janelle and I freeze. I spin quickly and grab her iPhone, pausing the music.
When I turn back around, a man and a woman have entered, and the door’s closing behind them. I peg them as tourists by what they’re wearing, but it’s the woman’s fanny pack that gives them away.
I hand Janelle her phone and it’s then that I see her face has gone pale. She’s staring right at the couple, and I give them a closer look.
“Well, aren’t you going to come give your mom a hug?” the woman asks Janelle as she holds out her arms. She’s got long, acrylic nails done in a tacky bright pink and her hair is frosted with dark roots. Janelle doesn’t move an inch.
This is Janelle’s mother, Sandra, and that must be her stepfather, Shep.
I’ve come to learn a lot about Janelle’s relationship with her mother. It is incredibly guarded. They talk about once a week, and always when Janelle calls her to check in, but the relationship, in my opinion, was forever ruined when her mother refused to believe that her stepdad tried to assault her.
While Riggs is the one who originally told me what happened, over these past weeks Janelle has opened up about the entire situation. She’s so damn bitter that her mother didn’t believe her. The closer she and I get, the more she’s willing to share, not of what happened but how it made her feel. The more she shares, the more I vow to help ease those memories by giving her good ones.
There’s a standoff with Janelle’s mom holding out her hands, the man beside her, who I assume is her stepfather, with a smirk on his face I would like to smack off.
When they entered the store, they had positioned themselves between me and Janelle and the cash desk—beyond that sits Clarke’s office. Just over her mother’s shoulder, I see Clarke peeking out with a worried look on her face. She holds up her own phone and mouths the word silently to me. “Police?”
Even though this is Janelle’s mother standing before her, given everything I know about this woman, about the stepfather, and the fact that Riggs took Janelle away for her own safety, I don’t hesitate in giving Clarke a very imperceptible nod that she acknowledges with her own. I don’t have a good feeling about this, and calling the police may be going overboard, but I would rather be safe than sorry.
“What are you doing here?” Janelle asks her mom. She puts a bit of a forced lilt into her voice, trying to sound politely curious. But the fact that she hasn’t moved an inch to hug her mother as has been requested tells me she is not happy to see her at all.
Her mom drops her arms and purses her lips, giving Janelle a chastising look. “Can’t your parents come to see you?”