Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Mindlessly, I tapped my foot on the floor as Brody drew back, and the ball went sailing in the air. Come on, Brody. Come on. I held my breath until the spiraling ball fell into the wide receiver’s hands. Being on edge, anxious for the win as Brody stood on the field, reminded me of sitting on the old metal bleachers in high school, so many years ago. My best friend, Anna, used to steady my leg. Quit playing the snare drum with your foot, you’re shaking the whole bleacher. God, those days really were a lifetime ago.
After the game, I decided to make cupcakes. I used to love to bake, although it had been a really long time since I’d had anyone to bake for. My apartment was small, with a galley kitchen that was tinier than most closets and a crappy stove, so baking wasn’t something I’d thought to do since I moved in. But today I made Gram and Brody’s favorite. The same red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting that I used to bake after Brody won a game back in high school.
On my way to my afternoon appointment with Dr. Kaplan, I knocked on my neighbor’s door across the hall, two cupcakes in hand. Waiting as I listened for the triple set of locks to clank open, I looked around the dim third floor of my building. This place was really seedy, and that was saying something coming from the places I’d spent time in over the years. But New York City was expensive, and it was the only place I was able to afford at the moment.
Eventually, the door cracked open a tiny bit, the flimsy top lock chain still securely attached. I kneeled down to the little girl’s eye level. “Hi, Abby. I made cupcakes. I thought maybe you and your mom would like some.”
She nodded quickly with wide eyes. The door shut and then reopened without the chain. Abby reached for the plate. Shit. I know that look.
“Is your mom home?” The poor little thing was starving. She didn’t even bother to lick the icing off the top or taste it before shoveling half the cupcake into her mouth with one bite.
Abby nodded her head while chewing. She was probably five or six, but she was tiny for even that. I’d gotten to know her and her mom over the last few months. Her mother was in recovery, like me. But I had a bad feeling that something might have changed over the weekend. The two guys I’d seen coming out of their place definitely screamed that the wagon had tipped, and Mom had fallen off.
I didn’t want to scare Abby by prying too hard. “How about Mom? Can I give her the other cupcake?”
“She’s sleeping.”
It was four in the afternoon. “Is anyone else home?”
Abby shook her head.
“Can I come inside for a second, Abby?”
She nodded.
Who else would this sweet little thing let in?
I walked through their apartment and found Lena sprawled across her bed. I checked that she was breathing. A few beer cans were littered around the sparse room, but there were no signs of drug paraphernalia, at least.
“Lena?”
She groaned in response and rolled over.
By the time I returned to the kitchen, Abby was already halfway through cupcake number two. Curiosity had me opening the refrigerator. Damn. It was emptier than mine. Way emptier. An expired carton of milk, some ketchup, a jar of pickles—with only the juice left—and a Tupperware with something moldy inside. The kitchen cabinets didn’t fare much better.
“I’ll be right back, okay? Lock the door . . . wait for me to knock.”
Abby spoke with her mouth full. “Okay.”
My apartment wasn’t exactly stocked with a gourmet feast, but I could make sure Abby had a full belly. I made a quick peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich and grabbed the half-empty carton of milk from my refrigerator before going back.
“Have you ever tried peanut butter?” The last thing she or her mother needed was for me to load Abby full of something that she was allergic to.
“I used to bring it to school for lunch sometimes. But I have to sit at a different table from Danny Mendez. He’s allergic.”
That made me feel better. I poured a glass of milk and watched her eat before leaving.
But the time I arrived at Dr. Kaplan’s office, it was five after four. She looked at her watch. “You’re late today.”
I plopped down in my usual spot. “Sorry. I had to take care of something.”
She took a notebook, stood from behind her desk, and moved to her usual chair across from me. Flipping to a new page, she wrote the date down before setting the notebook on her lap and giving me her full attention.
“So, what did you have to take care of?”
“I’m not using again, if that’s what you’re asking.”