Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137588 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137588 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
“He had extenuating circumstances.”
She laughed, and it was music. “Sunday dinners will be interesting for a while... when you come to visit.”
“I think that’s a little way off.”
She shuffled down in the passenger seat and looked so small. “I can dream though, right?”
I sighed a happy sigh. “We both can. I’m counting on it.”
The house came alive again the moment she was over the threshold. She ditched her bag in the hall and kicked her shoes off as though she’d never been away. I ditched my jacket and burrowed in the freezer, pulling out the waffles that had been waiting for her for far too long. She appeared in the doorway and stared as I fired up the oven.
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “You don’t have to do that.”
“No arguments. I promised your mother.”
She smiled. “No carrots, though. Deal?”
“Not today.”
Her expression turned serious. So serious. “I missed you,” she said.
I tipped beans into the saucepan, and then I looked at her. Properly looked at her. “I missed you, too.”
“Never again. No matter what. If you go anywhere, I’m coming.”
“Agreed.”
She took a breath. “And I’m staying. Next year, I mean. I’m not going to university. I don’t want to go. I’ve never wanted to go, not really.” She sighed. “I mean, Dad might still hound us out anyway, but if he doesn’t… if he doesn’t, then I’m staying, too.”
I shook my head. “You’re going to university, Helen. That was the deal.”
“The deal’s changed,” she said. “I’m serious, Mark, I don’t want to go.”
“And I’m serious. You’re going to university and finishing your education.” I stirred the beans. “There’s all the time in the world, Helen, and you can take some of it to finish up your study.”
But she was shaking her head. “I’m not going.”
“Helen. Stop.”
But she was walking forward, closing the distance. “Shh,” she said. “I know my own mind, and I’m done with talking.” Her fingers brushed my cheek. “Just for tonight, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“This conversation isn’t done,” I said.
“I know.” She shrugged off her blazer and tossed it aside. “But it’s done for now.” She kissed my mouth, the lightest touch, just a butterfly landing. “I need to wash my uniform, Mr Roberts… I’m all dirty…”
She pulled off her tie, and my stomach tightened, everything tightened.
“You need to eat your dinner, Helen.”
She smiled, and took the pan from the flame. “I like cold beans, cold waffles, too.”
Her fingers danced down her blouse, and I opened the washing machine. She tossed it inside and giggled, and she was still giggling when I kissed her. I lifted her onto the side, and pulled up her legs and kissed her ankles as I pulled her socks off. I hitched her enough to slide her skirt off, and pulled down her knickers as she unhooked her bra. The light above the cooker cast her in an orange glow, and the shadows were unforgiving. I swallowed as I saw her ribs, and she bit her lip.
“I’ll get better now,” she whispered. “It’s all better now.”
“Never again,” I said.
“I need you.” Her voice was just a dance of air, a simple, honest statement from the pit of her, and it moved me.
I held that girl so tight I feared I’d crush her little sparrow bones to dust, but she held me right back. She wrapped her legs around my waist and gave me her weight, and I carried her to the living room with her mouth on mine.
I dropped us onto crusty paint and sheets, and she pulled away enough that her eyes widened at the sight of the mess.
“I haven’t been here,” I whispered. “I haven’t been anywhere.”
I made to start up a fire, but her hand gripped my wrist. She pulled me back to her and shifted down onto cushions splattered blue and yellow. Her fingers worked at my shirt, adding more paint splattered fabric to the surroundings until we were skin on skin and it was divine.
She arched her back as I kissed my way down her front, and giggled as my hair tickled her, giggled until her breath dried up.
I cast off the rest of my clothes, and when I returned to her she had a grin on her face and a tube of cobalt blue in her fingers. She squeezed the paint onto the palette, a fresh splodge of colour. I didn’t say a word as she daubed her hand in it, didn’t even breathe as she pressed her palm to my heart.
Her fingers trailed down my chest, leaving jagged lines of blue, and I felt her fall all over again, only this time she didn’t crumple on my art room floor, because I caught her. I caught her heart right there on that sheet in my living room, and I loved her. I loved her back to life.