Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
She pokes her head through the opening in the heavy wooden door.
“For fuck sake!” I hunch up, imagining her walking in here when I was touching myself. “Privacy? Heard of it?”
She shrugs. “I’ve heard of Santa Claus and flying reindeer too. Doesn’t mean they exist.”
I roll my eyes. She’s almost as impatient as Leonardo, my pet reindeer when it’s dinner time.
I grab the lotion from the counter and start rubbing it down my arms as I think of the first night we were here after our parents were gunned down by a rival family over a disputed delivery of God only knows what. I was immediately obsessed with the giant red barn and the enormous fuzzy animals that occupied the pastures around it.
Grandpa gave us both rules when we arrived and one of them was never to go to the barn alone and never into the reindeer pens or pastures. He said they were dangerous and unpredictable. They were wild animals and needed an experienced adult to handle them.
But, I was a sad young woman and my curiosity drew me out into the starlight of that July night toward the mysterious creatures with the giant antlers that surely helped Santa deliver all the gifts I had received under the tree.
I stole away with some carrots from the kitchen in my night dress and bare feet. Even in July, the night air was cool and the wet grass soon turned my toes frosty.
As I worked to unlatch the gate, the herd turned my way, snorts and stomping of hooves wrapped around the quiet of the night as stepped into the paddock holding out my hand with the orange offerings, mud squishing between my toes. “Hi, my name is—”
I didn’t get my name out before the herd spun, twisting and darting this way and that, coming closer, closer, sniffing and pawing at the ground until they were whipping around me as I hugged myself. The damp scent of fur and dirt spun in the air. I wondered if Lucy would find me the next morning trampled into the dirt on my first night in my strange new home with my grandfather that made my belly feel funny.
I fell to the ground, cowering with a sob when a warmth came over me. The noise around me became muffled. Coarse fur brushed my forehead then a stern snort from above forced my eyes open.
Looking up with all the bravery I could muster, there I saw the biggest of the reindeer standing like a bridge over me. Two thick front legs caged my shoulders, his head bowed with steam snorting from his flaring nostrils, driving the rest of the herd back into the far reaches of the paddock.
That reindeer stood guard over me until Papa came looking hours later, the sun just peeking over the horizon.
“That’s Leonardo. He’s the herd leader. And your protector from the looks of it.”
Papa had given me a stern talking to that night, along with a cup of hot chocolate before tucking me into bed and muttering something about upgrading the security system.
From that day forward, Leonardo has been my best friend. Outside of Lucy, of course.
“Carinaaaaa,” Lucy sings my name, still looking at me impatiently while I stand in front of her in towels.
“God damn,” I say with a grimace, “I’m coming. I’ll just throw on my jeans and be right there. Fuck.”
“Stop swearing, trash mouth. No shirt?” She gives me a considering squint. “Gonna be a lively lunch. Let’s go!” She claps twice, then disappears back into my bedroom as I drop the towel and struggle to stuff my damp legs into the denim, not bothering with underwear. “What do you want for Christmas this year, the girl with an unlimited Black Amex asked of her sister with the same?”
“Donuts and flying lessons,” I call toward the open door. “Same as last year.”
“Grandpa will buy you all the donuts in Canada if you just ask him. But, are you going to eat them?”
“Maybe. If I get a tapeworm.”
She chuckles, but it’s not funny and we both know it.
“Well, the flying lessons you know are a no-go. He would never let you go that far away from here and flying is dangerous. You’ve been asking for flying lessons every year since we got here and it’s a big ole nope from Papa.”
I sigh and a lump lodges in my throat as I tug on my white thermal shirt dotted with red snowflakes. I gave up bras six months ago. My chest is barely there, but still, as I think of the stoic man that will be sitting at the head of the table, my nipples tighten, pushing through the fabric.
My sister is right on both counts as far as the donuts and flying lessons.
The donuts, I’d never eat, but I wish I could.