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)
I bite my lips together. I don’t want to cry again.
He wraps his arms around me. They’re a family of huggers. “I can stay with you if you don’t want to be alone tonight.”
As much as I want the comfort, I don’t want to give his parents a reason to send me home. “I’m a thrasher. I’ll be okay on my own.”
He stands and gives me a chaste kiss. “I’ll leave my door open. If anything changes, you know where to find me.”
“Okay.” I climb under the covers, the sheets cool and soft against my legs. I’m used to being hot at night because we don’t have air in the cabin. I grab one of the other pillows and curl around it, trying to calm my mind enough to sleep.
I get there, but bad dreams make it hard to stay that way.
I must be noisy, because eventually BJ raps on the door and slips inside. “I can’t save you from the nightmares, but you don’t need to suffer through them alone.”
“What about your parents?”
“They’ll understand.” He climbs into my bed and curls his body around mine. “It’s gonna be okay, Snowflake.”
I want to believe him, but history tells me it probably won’t be.
16 OPEN YOUR EYES
Winter
I get a couple of hours of sleep with BJ wrapped around me. But I’m anxious and restless, so when six thirty rolls around, I climb out of bed, careful not to disturb him. I grab my backpack, change in the bathroom, and head downstairs. The house is quiet as I enter the kitchen. Huge windows offer a view of the lake and the sun cresting the horizon. The kitchen itself is bigger than our kitchen, dining room, and living room combined. The counter is white, polished stone. No empties litter the surface. There are no cigarette butts in the sink, no clutter on the counter.
My stomach rumbles as I fill my water bottle, and I glance at the pretty bowl piled high with fresh fruit. I won’t snoop in their cupboards, but it would probably be okay for me to take something from the bowl. I grab a banana and a shiny, red apple. I eat the banana standing at the sink, trying to savor it. I drop the peel in the garbage and tuck the apple into my backpack. I leave a note so they don’t wonder where I’ve disappeared to and hop on my bike.
I arrive at the hospital at seven thirty, half an hour before visiting hours begin, but the nurse at the desk lets me in to visit my mom right away.
A nurse is checking her vitals when I enter the room. She smiles when she sees me. “You must be Lucy’s daughter.”
“I’m Winter. The nurse at the front desk said it was okay that I’m early.” I thumb over my shoulder and bite the inside of my cheek.
“Your timing is perfect. She’s starting to come around again. She woke up for a few minutes a couple hours ago. She’ll be groggy, and she might not remember what happened. That’s normal. It can take anywhere from a few hours to a few days or sometimes longer for the memories to come back. Is your dad with you?”
“Oh, uh, no. I biked over.”
“Ah, okay. Why don’t you have a seat?” She motions to the chair beside the bed. “When she’s alert, you can press this button.”
“Okay.”
The nurse leaves, and I take a seat in the chair beside the bed. Mom looks frail and small, machines hooked up to her battered body. I take her hand, noting the scrapes and bruises littering her non-casted arm. There’s a round, blue spot on her biceps—maybe from where my dad grabbed her the other day. There might be matching circles on the other side, where his fingers dug in.
I catalog her injuries while I wait for her to come around. It’s just after nine in the morning when she finally hums and her fingers twitch. A few minutes later, her eyes flutter open. She blinks blearily, like she’s struggling to focus. That happens half a dozen times before her gaze settles on me. She opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a raspy croak.
“Hey. Hi, Mom.”
Her eyes dart around, panicked.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re in the hospital, but you’re okay.” My voice cracks, and the tears start to fall. “I’m so glad you’re awake. You scared us pretty bad.” I run my thumb over her knuckles. “I’m gonna call the doctor, okay? Let them know you’re awake.”
She watches as I hit the button to call the nurse. “You’ve got a few broken bones and a concussion, but the doctor said you’ll be okay,” I assure her.
The nurse and the doctor arrive, and she introduces herself as Dr. Coule. She explains that my mom had a bad fall, and she required surgery to repair some of her broken bones, but that they expect her to make a full recovery. The nurse brings a straw to Mom’s lips, and she takes a small sip, grimacing with the movement. They give her a moment before Dr. Coule asks the question I’m scared to know the answer to. “Do you remember how you fell?”