Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
It’s an empty threat. One she makes occasionally, but only when she’s annoyed with dad and only to me. “Or you could kick him out. The trailer is an option.” A girl can dream.
“He won’t survive on his own. The only can that man knows how to open is the kind that’s full of beer.” She takes another pull from her cigarette and hugs a pillow to her chest.
I lean against the edge of the kitchen counter, close to the open screen door, where I can breathe fresh air. This topic is going nowhere good, and I know better than to put too many ideas in my mother’s head. Otherwise I’m liable to get thrown under the bus. Not intentionally, but sometimes she runs her mouth to my dad without thinking things through.
“I bought a pound of ground beef today with my tips,” I say. “It’s in the fridge behind the coleslaw mix. I’ll soak kidney beans and make chili tomorrow night, if you want. I made sure we have everything we need.”
Her eyes light up. “That would be amazing. Maybe we can grab a bag of tortilla chips and some cheese. That’ll almost be like nachos, and it’ll go further.”
That’s always the goal with protein—make it last as long as possible since we often can’t afford it. “I can pick up a bag tomorrow. See if maybe there’s a sale.” My stomach rumbles, the energy I expended on the ice catching up with me.
“That sounds good.” She nods absently, takes one last drag on her cigarette before she butts it out.
I put the beans in a pot to soak and pull the loaf of whole grain bread from the freezer. My dad won’t touch the stuff, mostly because he has the taste buds of a three-year-old and only likes meat, potatoes, white bread, and cheese.
“You hungry for cheese toast?”
She shakes her head.
I pull out three slices. She often changes her mind once the smell of food hits her. “You sure?”
She waves a hand. “Go on then.”
I top the bread with cheese and broil them in the toaster oven. Once they’re done, I cut them in half, top them with a thin slice of fresh tomato, and finish with a sprinkle of salt and pepper.
“How was pick-up hockey? Did you have fun?” I hear all the unasked questions in her worried tone, like, how much did it cost?
I hand her a plate and sit at the other end of the couch. “Yeah. It was free, and it was at the new arena. You know the one the retired hockey players built?”
Her eyes flare. “You mean the real nice one on the edge of town?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Got my skates sharpened for free and everything.”
She nibbles on the edge of her toast, expression growing pinched. “You didn’t tell them you couldn’t afford it, did you?”
“No, Mom. It’s just the way they run things there. You remember the lady I told you about who works at the library? Clover? She runs the literacy program attached to the shelter. She’s new, though.” I take a bite of the cheese toast, chewing slowly to savor it.
She makes a face. “Doesn’t matter if she’s new. She still probably thinks she knows stuff about our family.”
“They’re not allowed to talk about the families who use the shelter, Mom.” June and July can be bad for thunderstorms around here. Sometimes we had to leave the trailer for a couple of days when the rain washed us out. Then it took a few days for everything to dry afterward. Dad never came with us, opting to crash on a friend’s couch instead. But since my grandma passed away and left Mom the cabin, we won’t have to do that anymore.
We won’t have to worry about ending up in the trailer for missing rent too many times either, since the cabin is paid for, and it’s in my mom’s name. Grandma wasn’t fond of my dad. But we have to stay on top of the property taxes and the electric bill so we don’t lose hot water or heat in the winter. There’s a wood-burning fireplace, though, so at least we’ll always have some warmth. Mom was able to cover the property taxes for the year with the little my grandma had in savings, so we have until January before we have to worry about that again.
“Just because they’re not allowed doesn’t mean they don’t.”
“Anyway,” I redirect the conversation. “Her boyfriend coaches over at the new arena. His name is Maverick, and his dad is one of the retired hockey players. I met him tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” Her eyes narrow, and jealousy leaches into her tone. “Those guys are made of money. Always driving brand-new cars and riding around the lake in fancy boats.”
She would shit a brick if she knew how close I’d been to denting one of those fancy cars. “I guess when you have a lot of disposable income, you can do that kind of thing.” I swallow, nervous about this next part. “Anyway, I shot the puck with them tonight, the retired players. It was really cool.”